Mostly feline, and a bit of migraine

The f-listers belonging to the same age group as I surely remember the days when there was no such thing as round-the-clock TV. At midnight at the latest, the programme was over, and all you saw when you switched on the telly was what is called Testbild (test image) in German, i.e. a geometric image in black, white, shades of grey and primary colours which allowed you to check whether the colour tuning was right and the image sharp.
That's more or less what flimmers past my eyes sometimes, when a bad migraine attack is approaching. Happened last night -- I was just playing with Lola, and suddenly half the cat was covered in geometric, flickering patterns-- and it was throroughly unpleasant but unusually and mercifully short. It was, in fact, so short that the usual ravenous post-migraine hunger set in about an hour after the migraine had started. So I gobbled olives and almonds and half-watched Catwoman, and then took myself off to bed around 10 p.m.

On to matters feline: I don't know why, maybe because I'm a child at heart, or maybe because I'm half-cat, half-human (though without Catwoman's amazing superpowers), but whatever the reason, I do have a certain knack for understanding cats. It's not so difficult either, you just have to stop wanting them to do whatever you think they ought to do (pretty useless with cats anyway), and watch, and follow their lead. This is how I play with Lola -- at first, balls were *the* thing, and then I noticed she was getting a bit bored with chasing them. So I guessed that hiding behind corners and purring loudly meant that she wanted to ambush the balls instead of running after them -- bingo. (She'd make an awesome goalkeeper)
And yesterday I figured out that ambushing may still be fine, but the real ting is hiding beneath a small woven rug -- nothing costly, fortunately -- and waiting until I gently roll one of those small balls with bells inside towards her, preferably so that it comes to lie on the rug, and then she explodes out of the thing, wrapping the ball tightly into the rug, and then the rug gets the thrashing of its life. More fun, but I have to be very cautious: I hold the ball in my hand, which I then move under the rug. The important thing is to withdraw the hand quickly when she pounces, because claws and teeth penetrate even thick cloth without any problems.

Ze boyz, on the other hand, have pretty much figured out where I'm going when I put on my slippers. I was more or less sure they know I'm in the flat next to theirs mine, but today I realized that they (or certainly Lucius) really do. A few days ago, when I paid Lola her evening visit, I just left the music on at my place, and since it was quite late there was no noise from outside. Even though the music wasn't overly loud, I could hear it through the wall, not very clearly, but distinctly. OK I thought, so whenever I'm over here, ze boyz certainly hear my and probably also Lola's voice, because their hearing is much better developed than mine.
And this morning, when I came back from the Lola-visit, I finally understood why Lucius is always lying on his not-quite-favourite blanket on a chair pushed up against the wall between Alexandra's and my flat, when I return from the morning visit. He is of course listening, and today gave me one of those "I know exactly where you're been at what you've been doing" looks. Clever boy.

Still feeling a bit headachy today, but nowhere near last night's level. In some ways migraine hangovers are worse than their alcoholic siblings. But I'm sure it will improve with time, so tonight's tennis will be better than yesterday's -- I thought I was merely being tired, but should have known better; the feeling of being totally drained of strength and the slight dizziness aren't my usual symptoms of tiredness. It's the weather's fault of course, not unusual in April.

OK, now I'll get on with my work. If I remember correctly that's what I'm being paid for...