Weekend roundup

Not that there's that much to be rounded up, but since it was a good weekend, it deserves to be recorded.

First, a eulogy on Monk's Pepper: that miraculous stuff doesn't only deal with the mental, but also with the physical aspects of PMS. Whoever suffers fromw whichever PMS symptom and isn't allergic to the plant, get it NOW! You'll be amazed.
Due to the wonder drug I wasn't just able but willing to go running on Saturday, Sunday and Monday, and play tennis in the afternoon. Yesterday I did the whole stretch from Sredno Vodno to Sveti Pantelaimon, which is maybe 4,5 or 5 km, which may sound little unless you know that it's not flat but has lots of ups and downs. More ups on the way to Sveti Pantelaimon, so I'm more or less proud to have done it in 40 minutes. The return trip was made at a very brisk walk, which took me 45 minutes -- not a big difference, but I'm still not able to do anything but a very slow run on uphill stretches. Anyway, the whole expedition took me 2,5 hours, and the muscles aren't sore.
In the afternoon I played tennis with Oliver, the ex-director of the opera.
One word about men: They may play tennis like Neanderthals, bu will they refrain from giving you advice on how to play? Unsurprisingly the answer is no.
I mean, I know that my serve is still not very good, and I know why, and I try not to make the mistake, but sometimesI make it. We played a set yesterday, and in spite of making 5 double mistakes (i.e. two wrong serves, which lose you a point) I beat him 6:3. He made two double mistakes, and the rest was all down to just not being a very good player. Whe he told me for the third time what to do, I said very politely but firmly, Thanks Oliver, but I've got an instructor, and one is enough. To do him justice, that shut him up. That, and probably also the shame of being neatly beaten by a beginner (and a woman, which might have rankled even more, heh).
I'll have to thank Elena for training me so well -- all those exercises have definitely paid off, because I'm now able to place a ball exactly where I want to, i.e. the point where my opponent can't reach it. Especially if he has trouble running. *gloats* Yes, you need to be fit in order to play tennis, especially if you want to return those impossible balls a bad player gives you (read: high, slow and absolutely random).
OK, enough gloating. But I won't deny I loved beating the shit out of him.

Not much else to report, and since today is cool and grey, going back to work doesn't seem so bad. Especially as I'm planning to take Friday off, so this might be a 3-day working week, i.e. the best kind.

The letter/speech I'd really like to write/hold but won't

Dear Alexandra,

right at the beginning, so as to avoid misunderstandings, let me say that I really like you a lot.
Let me also say, without leaving any room for ambiguities, malentendus, double-entendres etc., that I think you're totally and utterly irresponsible, admittedly by my own definition of the term.

Exhibit A: Your dog Lily. When it comes to Lily, I have at least to concede that you worked out a system which safeguards her well-being (I wouldn't presume to make assumptions as to her happiness, but I guess she's a happy dog). Whenever you're not in Vienna, you take her to a friend who breeds labradors, where she has a good life in the company of fellow labradors. May I observe, though, that you pay for this service, and not too little. Still, you always complain about how guilty you feel for leaving Lily so long and often in the care of your friend, so I can only assume that in your heart of hearts you feel that you don't give her all she deserves.

Exhibit B: Your cat Lola and me. When you took her in, I had no idea what I was getting myself into by offering to look after Lola on weekends. Because, you know, back then we had met a few times, and talked quite a lot, but little did I know that 1) your definition of "weekend" accomodates anything between "Wednesday to Monday" and "Friday to Monday", that 2) you planned on spending three, not two out of four weekends in Vienna, and that 3) the nature of your job sometimes entails impromptu trips, which then result in "22 April to 2 May" turning into "21 April to 9 May". I also had no idea that a successful businesswoman of 42 years might be totally incapable of micro-managing her two households.
Do you have any fucking idea of how much time I spend with Lola? Did you ever stop to think, if only for a few seconds, what it means for a young cat, who hasn't been born or grown up in captivity, to get used to a 50m² flat? It means a lot of surplus energy, my dear, and please try to understand that you don't treat cats the same way you do dogs, i.e. you can't use sparring as a means of getting rid of that energy. A dog needs a leader and will submit to you, whereas a cat doesn't. If you "spar" with a cat, all you do is reinforce behavioural patterns you'd rather not have her display. It's not *fun*, for fuck's sake, when a cat pounces on your ankles. It's a bloody nuisance, and something you must try to stop by a combination of positive and negative conditioning.
Now, much though it might surprise you, saying "baaad Lola" in dulcet tones is *not* a means of negative conditioning. As I've found out and repeatedly told you, Lola hates the sound of clapping, so one sharp clap immediately following the attack teaches her that attacks have negative consequences. Cuddling and goodies for good behaviour, OTOH, show her that a certain type of behaviour is rewarded. Rocket science? Not really, I'd rather say common sense.
As it is common sense that a young, energetic cat wants to play. And no, it's not enough to sit on the couch waving a rod with a toy attached to it, and yes, it's bloody time-consuming to observe her, understand what she wants to do and then do it. But it's also very rewarding, and fun to boot. Well, most of the time, because there are times when I'd just want to stay at my place and do whatever it is I want to do, without factoring in an extra hour for playing with Lola.
Oh, and just to mention that too, she's a very clever cat. Clever cats, like clever kids, get bored very easily, which means that today's super game is tomorrow's can't-be-arsed-find-me-something-else. So that's what I do, and she doesn't ambush my ankles, and by now I know how to read the signs, so I don't touch her when she clearly doesn't want to be touched, which cuts down considerably on the conditioning.
I know it's horribly bad ton to even think of such things, let alone mention them, but -- as opposed to your dog-breeding friend -- you don't pay me to do this. On my abroad salary, one working hour is worth about € 30. You do the maths. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be paid, but what I want and expect is not having to pay, neither for dustbin bags, nor for water or cat litter or any of Lola's basic needs.

Exhibit C: the hitherto unnamed stray. I unreservedly applaud your decision to take her to the vet when you saw she was close to giving birth, and of footing the bill. This is, however, where the applause ends. You told the vet's assistant to keep her until 2 May, when you'd return from Austria. Unfortunately you'll return on 9 May, due to one of those unforeseen business trips. And why should they keep her? Because "you don't have the heart" to put her out again on the street and would like to take her in as a companion for Lola.
Have you thought this decision through rationally even for one short moment? (Because, you know, the heart is one thing, but sometimes the brain is quite useful, too)
So, on the one hand you have Lola, who clearly wanted a home.
On the other, you have the stray who, according to your own words, hisses whenever someone approaches her. Who doesn't like to be touched. Who hasn't manifested any intention of becoming a domesticated cat. And you want to put her in a 50 m² flat together with Lola? How are you planning to introduce them? You can't keep them separated, because the place is too small -- you tell me where you're going to put the second litter box (which you need), or the second set of water and food bowls. You tell me what happens if the two aren't compatible. Why not let the stray be a stray, whom you feed anyway, and lead a life she's used to and can cope with, especially now that she's been castrated?

Call me the world's worst egoist and a bossy bitch, but wouldn't it be better for all concerned parties if I tried to introduce Lola to ze boyz? Not only do I know how to do it, I also have the necessary space in case it works out. Besides, having Lola over at my flat while you're not in Skopje would mean much less trouble for me, which doesn't seem like an immodest wish, considering that you don't have any trouble at all but may come and go as you (and your employer) please.

As I see it, the problem lies with both of us: I feel too responsible, because I refuse to accept that Lola should pay the price, and therefore give her as much care as I can, which in turn sometimes becomes a burden. You, on the other hand, don't show much concern or sense of responsibility, because you do your thing without considering what the consequences might be for both Lola and myself.
All I can do is talk to you and try to make you see why some ideas don't seem like especially good ideas. Neither can I forbid anything, nor can I make you do anything. But, whatever you decide to do, I am the one who has to face the consequences -- Lola must be cared for, and even if taking in the stray works out, that still means that I have to plan my weekends according to your wants and their needs. Even if they keep each other company, they still ned to be fed, the toilets cleaned, the heating or a/c switched on and off. Maybe just once a day, but even if there's two of them, they need a modicum of human company, since they're no longer living in the Great Outdoors.

Yo're neither stupid, nor callous or jaded, so try to get that into your head.
Anyway, since your absence has been extended till 9 May, I'm going to take this Friday off and introduce Lola to ze boyz. If it works out, I'm going to present you with a fait accompli, and you'll have to swallow it, just as I've had to swallow the various extensions of absence or household managing mistakes. You're a big girl, you can take it.

Yours in frustration and hope
Lola's Deputy Mother Goddess