It IS all about me.

The San Antonio Rock-n-Roll half marathon was Sunday, and to my joy a friend announced that she was pregnant and dropped from the full to the half marathon. I'm absolutely happy for her and her husband and that lucky baby, but I'm pretty sure the whole thing is about me and my need for a running partner. A week before the race I realized that I didn't know anyone running anything like my pace and imagined myself jogging alone amongst the crowd, lonely tears pouring down my face as I passed the Fat Elvises rocking-and-rolling at the mile markers. I'm pretty sure there's a French silent film about that.

So I got me a buddy and what a buddy she was - when my optimistic estimated pace ended up being a big fat lie she didn't complain, and when I accidentally body checked a girl at the finish line she didn't judge me. That girl STOPPED JUST BEFORE THE FINISH LINE and totally deserved to be slammed by my shoulder - I couldn't get around her in time.

I'm still East Coast enough to laugh a little and know that she deserved it - I'll bet she cost me the :48 in my 2:10:47 time! Who stops before the finish line? Why does that random girl hate me so much? In fact, she should just be thankful I didn't get even and shove her again like a good East Coast girl - I guess Texas has been good for me. And luckily for her I'm not Texan enough to shoot her.

Like gum on my shoe

Last week I saw a bunch of friends I hadn't talked to in a while, and they asked about my cats. And I had to admit that I only have one cat, and the reason I haven't told the end of the Tragic Tale of Oops is that I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that I have a biting, scratching, pain in the butt cat living in my house, and he started attacking people when he saw Oops outside. Like, all four sets of claws and a full white set of teeth, sunk into the leg of the person nearest the door when he saw Oops making friends outside. Gigolo had a bad case of alpha cat jealousy, and I started to realize that maybe when we first brought him inside, all injured and meow-y, it wasn't because he was being bullied. It was because he was being a bully and getting scratched up when other cats defended themselves.

Damn cat.

And Oops was all sweet and cuddly and never scratched or bit a single person, oh, and it gets better, OOPS WAS HURT. She had a bite mark on her tail that wasn't healing. But I couldn't bring her inside because Gigolo would eat her up. About this time my dad, with his engineering and MBA wisdom, pointed out that though I feel invested in Gigolo with all his vet visits and treats and toys, he's a sunk cost. I won't get my money back, and it may be time to cut my losses and get a Good Cat. And oh, I was tempted. At Ed's birthday party Gigolo pulled that teeth and claws move on a guest, who was fortunately wearing jeans, and Gigolo will never know how close he came to being chucked out the back door.

And the reason he wasn't? Because I CAN'T GET RID OF HIM. I'm positive that he'd just walk right back in the house, or sit on the porch and meow and meow, and fight other cats, until we let him back inside. Like he did in January. Like he does if I lock him in the other room after he does something terrible. I realized that I'm completely stuck with this black-and-white menace, and it would be cruel to Oops to bring her into Gigolo's territory.

But don't feel too bad for Oops yet, she's met the kitty equivalent of Santa Claus. I hope this is a smug look on her face: