With pets you basically have your dog lovers, your cat lovers, your bi-petuals (a rather suspect group who claims to love both dogs and cats) and your freaks rugged individualists who choose the more exotic pets.

Well, I've been a cat person from the get-go. Forget the unquestioning love of a dog--where's the challenge in that? Give me a pet that will daintily sniff your latest food offering, shoot you a look of pure horror, and then mime burying it as if it was a turd freshly deposited in the kitty litter box.

Now that's a pet, eh.

Today has been the day I realized just how firmly Zoe has been putting me in my place for the last 18 or so of her 20 plus years.

It began when I woke up. Forget rolling over to a more comfortable position and doing a vigourous stretch--my first instinct when I open my eyes is to locate the cat and to identify which 30 per cent of the bed she's claimed for all five pounds of her person that morning. Only then could I shift to a more comfortable position, doing everything possible not to disturb Her Royal Highness from that badly need 22 1/2 hours of daily sleep.

This morning it was just the spousal unit and I. I am not used to having this much sleeping real estate. It is disconcerting, to say the least.

I am used to setting the breakfast table under the watchful glare of Zoe and Zubby, the two of them willing the spousal unit and I to get our meal over so they can be fed. This morning there was one slightly lost looking cat trying to figure out what had changed in his life. It felt odd to be eating breakfast without massive feline guilt waves being sent in my direction.

Oh, and then we come to the bathroom. Oh dear. It didn't matter where she was in the house, whenever she felt the vibrations of our pump refilling the toilet, Zoe would pad downstairs to do a toilet inspection. It Was Her Job to perch on the edge of the seat and watch the water swirl. I will freely admit that's pretty eccentric.

Ah, but here's where it shifts from pretty eccentric to, as the British say, barking mad. See, every time I flush the toilet I wash my hands very, very quickly because I know there's a very cranky black cat on the other side of the door impatiently waiting to get in to Do Her Job.

Oh yes, the cat was eccentric for having to peer into the toilet every time it flushed, but I am barking mad because I would do everything I could to keep her happy, which included being her Personal Bathroom Door Person.

You have no idea how stupid I felt this morning the first time I raced through washing my hands and jerked open the bathroom door only to remember that The Grand Toilet Poobah has, as they say, left the building.

Yep, today is the first day where it's really hit me just how much Zoe was the boss of me. Frankly, I am lost. I'm not the sort of person who does well without cat supervision.

It's not that Zubby isn't a great cat, but his job as Czar of Homeland Security here--carefully policing the perimeters so possible cat terrorists from the neighbour's homes don't breach our borders--keeps him outside most of the time.

When he does come in, Zub tends to gravitate to the spousal unit because, well, he loves him better. I know. I'm as stunned by this as you are. The spousal unit and I have owned cats for more than 30 years and each and every one of them, until Zubby, had the great good sense to love me better.

Well, as much as a cat can love anyone better, anyhow.

I'm thinking it's time to start tracking down rescue shelters and looking for another stray cat to adopt. Oh, I know, I'll never find another Zoe, but I'm sure there's got to be another homeless cat out there willing to be the boss of me.

Like I said, I need the feline supervision.

--Marn

P.S.--To all of you who sent your condolences, a big thank you. This has been a very sad 24 hours and your good wishes meant a lot.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 364.15 miles (584.4 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers