What cats know

Does my cat know that I need a bit of TLC tonight? Or is it just that its chilly and she's taking advantage of my undivided attention? (no kids, no dog)
I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume her climbing onto my lap at every opportunity and nudging my chin for a pat is her knowing that I'm a bit sick and pathetic. Only a cold, but maybe it's a man-cold and therefore much worse (can women get man-colds? I think so).
We've all heard the stories about cats knowing when someone is about to die (I'm not about to die, let's not overthink this), you know, when they go to the bed of the dying patient in the nursing home.
And they certainly can detect mood swings. (not that they don't have enough of their own)
But my cats have always known when I need them close.
My mother used to shriek at me to get that cat out from under the doona, and I still prefer sleeping with a cat than anyone else! And in the dead of winter, I most certainly encourage Hermione to get under the doona. Otherwise she camps at my feet (or sometimes on the floor by my bed).
She went through a stage when she was younger of sleeping on my pillow, wrapping herself around my head, and subjecting me to grooming at any time of her choosing. Having a cat lick your hair may fill some of you with horror, but I took it as a great compliment.
Often there would be biting, but only if I moved mid-groom.
My other long-term feline companion, the dearly departed Bo, used to sleep on my pillow too, but only when I wasn't there. If I was off at uni, or wherever I roamed in those days, she would sleep on my pillow next to Stefan to keep it warm and him company.
She, and every other cat I have ever known, would most certainly get in a suitcase if anyone was packing to go anywhere. Many moons ago, when I was preparing for a solo trip overseas, Bo camped for a fortnight on my backpack. We all had furballs by the end of it.
The day before I left, she caught one of our carp from the sunken bathtub pond in the backyard and brought it in and left it on the backpack for me. It was still flapping when I discovered it, shrieked like a big girl and phoned Stefan. I didn't have the sense to put it back on the pond! I just chased her with the broom. Anyway, I appreciated her gesture, even if the fish did not.
When she died, or rather had to be put down because of cancer, we had her cremated.
Lydi, who was probably in kindy at the time, felt it important to tell visitors that our cat had just died and she was on mum's dressing table. Her ashes, I was quick to point out.
And they're still there.