There are women who are stud magnets, who snap their fingers and voil� some juicy hunka hunka burning love does their bidding.

Me?

Well it appears that I am doomed to spend my life as a cranky cat magnet. They tap their paws and I do their bidding.

It is so hard not to be bitter sometimes.

As I write this our tabby cat Norma is perched on the arm of my computer chair affectionately rubbing her face on my shoulder. This will last another few seconds as long as I don't have the effrontery to actually try to pet her or anything. Should I try to touch her she'd shoot me one of those "Bug OFF, Freak" looks she's famous for before jumping off the chair and stalking off haughtily.

I did not choose this cat at the shelter but it appears she has chosen me. At night when I first sprawl on the sofa to watch tee vee she hops up and frantically kneads my all too flabby tummy for a few minutes. You can almost see the little kitty thought balloon over her head: "Hey, tubby, they're called sit-ups. You might want to try a few."

Once she's done having her way with me, she hops up on the back of the sofa and spends the rest of the evening staring fixedly at my stomach with an unnerving, vulture like intensity. At night when I go to sleep she stretches out on the bed beside me, purring softly, but I'm not allowed to touch her then, either. To make that perfectly clear, she lies on her side with her feet pressing into me, literally holding me at paw's length.

The saddest part of all this? I've become insanely attached to this cat.

So very, very hard not to be bitter sometimes.

Meanwhile Enid, Little Miss Sunshine, the cat I chose at the shelter, has zero interest me. She is insanely cute, affectionate and playful but every day she becomes more and more the spousal unit's cat.

When he comes home she runs up to greet him. He talks baby talk to her, calls her Eeny Meanie or Eeny Beanie. She trills back at him, all the time purring so loudly the house practically vibrates with it.

When I come home the cats will either yell at me because their food bowls or empty or ask to be let outside.

Have I mentioned that it's very, very hard not to be bitter sometimes?

Yep, all the way from my first cat Tink through to Zoe and now Norma I have either chosen or been chosen by incredibly cranky cats. It appears that I am forever doomed to this. I am trying to become resigned to my fate.

Have I bandied the word "bitter" around too many times already?

Oh, and speaking of my fate, my trainer just got a new book about some method of training called periodic training or something such as that. It's high intensity workouts where you don't take breaks between any of the parts of your routine in an attempt to keep your heart rate elevated thoughout the workout.

I was doing my usual incredibly tasteful Sweating Like A Pig routine on the treadmill while she talked about the new fitness plan, enthusiastically waving the book around, showing me before and after pictures.

"It sounds totally awesome," she said.

"It sounds totally death march to me," I replied.

Despite the tornado-sized clouds of foreboding swirling about in my head, somehow she convinced me that I really, really want to be her guinea pig for this. Once she finishes the book we're going to try some of it out together.

She is in her late 20's and a fitness professional. I am in my early 50's and the sort of woman who prays every night for the return to fashionability of the Rubenesque figure.

One of us is going to really, really benefit from this and one of us is probably going to die a slow and painful death moaning something unintelligible involving chocolate.

I leave it up to you to guess who is who.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 514.33 miles (827.8 kilometers)
met goal Nov. 7

Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers