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On advice, I decided to walk out of the neighborhood this morning to meet my mom for breakfast, instead of riding my bike. A little load-bearing exercise, a change of movement, shaking things up a bit, I thought, might jog me off this weight plateau.

So I got some music together, stuck my walking shoes on and my earphones in, and headed up the street.

I've just crossed 15th, which is kind of a minor neighborhood arterial feeding the Whole Foods market and therefore rather busy on a Sunday noon, when, above Commentary! The Musical, I hear a loud meow.

I turn around and there's Graydie, following me, and about to attempt a crossing of 15th Avenue. I freak the fuck out (having once witnessed the death of a cat of mine that way and never having entirely recovered from the experience). I shout at her. "Go home! Go home!" She draws back from the brink and hides under a tree.

I begin walking again. She repeats the performance. I cross back to her side of 15th and scold her. I start out again. She follows.

Shit. The little furball.

So I walked all the way back home, Graydie trotting in my wake like a damn dog. I got my bike--which Graydie has never attempted to follow--and hastened out of the 'hood to my rendezvous with protein.

I have some serious concerns about ever leaving the house again on foot. And Graydie doesn't even live here. She just visits sometimes.

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