Sound on. Off my triumph a half hour earlier, Eleven was spoiling for a rematch with war-like tunneling under the bed covers. But when I gave it to her, 11:05, she was so skittish, owing to my new strategy of not giving her advance warning with ominous knocks and finger drumming, that she folded like a paper suitcase and gave me a pitiful white flag meow. In the second at 11:08 she holds her position till I jump out and then she skedaddles. She'll get on to me. She's the most fun I've had in years and years.