Monday, Sept. 26, 2005
Dear Diary:

I called the woman who runs the shelter where we got Satan's Loyal Little Minion, a.k.a. Binky, to get some advice on how to deal with him.

I hate you.She said Satan's Loyal Little Minion's aggressive behaviour and death glares might be a pre-emptive thing. She speculated that he was so afraid of being the one constantly smacked down (as he had been at the shelter) that he was over-compensating with aggression.

She suggested we bring all four cats together�Enid and Zubby, my older cats, and the new arrivals, Savannah and Binky�and let them sort things out under our watchful eye. She felt that with a little supervision the older cats would get the message that beating on the new cats wouldn't be tolerated and Binky would realize he was protected.

This woman has been dealing with mass quantities of cats for many years. I figured that if she thought it would work, it was well worth a try.

The Holy Land for cats in our house is my bed. There are 2,421 perfectly comfortable sleeping surfaces in my home such as sofas, armchairs, bits of carpet and even my computer chair, but all the cats love to sleep on the bed. So when Zubby came in Saturday, the first thing he did was sprawl on our bed. Immediately Binky and Savannah had to get some of their 22 � badly needed daily sleep on the same bed even though there were 2,420 other completely comfortable surfaces.

As far apart as humanly possible.As they lined up on the floor in front of the bed, in preparation for hopping up on the bed, Zubby growled. It was low, deep, and prolonged. Oh man. I had images of two small mounds of gray fur and tabby fur, which is just about all that would be left if he decided to defend his turf.

I stretched out on the bed beside him and reassured him through petting and elaborate declarations of my devotion that I loved him best and the stupid newcomers meant nothing to me. Mollified, he allowed them to hop up on the bed and share it with him. You will note, however, that the cats are as far apart on the bed as geographically possible.

Last night Enid spent a lot of the night sprawled between the spousal unit and I. At one point in the night Savannah leapt up on the bed and directly on top of Enid, not realizing Enid was there. Enid's hiss woke me up and I really thought WWIII was about to break out because Savannah was a bit tangled up in Enid and the covers.

Enid gave her enough time to bail and didn't try to rip her into little shreds. This is a very good thing because my head was about a foot from where the bloodbath would have taken place. When you get one of those swirling balls o' cat death match, the odds that said swirling ball o' cat death match are going to scratch anything in their way into tiny little shreds is high, indeed.

Shred is not a good look for me.

I don't leave the four cats alone together if I'm not around, but so far all that's happened is growling and the odd hiss. They seem to be respecting each other's space. It's only been two days so I'm not particularly relaxed about this, but I'm taking the fact that no one looks as if they've been through a leaf shredder to be a good sign.

I live in hope.

Tomorrow Calvin is supposed to finally show up to do our landscaping project. Yes, the project that he was supposed to do several months ago. The project that he kept promising and promising that he would get to "next week, for sure".

I know I probably should have hired someone else, but I used to work in landscaping and I know how few backhoe operators can work with his finesse. We're about fifteen minutes away from winter, so my dream of finishing a new stone wall this fall is probably not possible. If he does show up tomorrow, I have a crack at getting the wall half done.

I'm going to take a glass half full view of that.

The flu I had a few weeks ago really did a number on my cardio. Although I feel perfectly fine for day-to-day stuff, when I get on the treadmill I quickly find that the illness has stripped away all my hard won speed gains. Yep, right back to square one. It took me two weeks after the flu to get back to the point where I could run 5K at a piddling 10 minute mile pace.

There are times when I want to quit trying so hard. There are times when I feel as if I'm in this big game of Snakes and Ladders, that I'll make enormous progress only to find myself sliding backwards through no fault of my own. That part just kills me.

But then I think hard about the things I still want to do. If I don't keep myself fit I can't work in my beloved gardens. I can't weave stone walls. I can't help the spousal unit with his projects around here. I know that age will gradually rob me of my strength, but I don't want to go down without a fight.

Since I can't find speed, I've been working on distance. Today I ran four miles for the first time in eons and didn't feel too bad at the end of the 40 minutes. Maybe next week I can find the heart to start working on speed again.

If the high school me could see the 50-something me, she would faint. Seriously. In high school I was the bookish girl who thought that all things sports-related were stupid and pointless. And here I am 35 years later trying to make myself into an athlete.

Life sure can take you down some wacky paths, eh?

--Marn

P.S.�If you have a few bucks to spare, please consider donating to the Jog for the Jugs. Remember, all your donations are going to help in the fight against breast cancer and they're in Canadian dollars, which are only marginally more valuable than monopoly money. The most recent Bazonga Boosters (or Bustiers) to their friends are:

Sally
Emily

I want to thank you all very, very much for your kind support. My three loyal readers have donated $596 to date! You guys are insanely cool.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 1001.67 miles. 10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duckhalf way smooch10 per cent rubber duck Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over

Goal for 2005: 1,250 miles - 2000 kilometers


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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