Which is better?

The first paragraph of a book either invites you in to read more or kills it dead.  Furthermore, if the writer doesn't hook you in by the fifth page of the novel, then the entire book is dead on arrival.  Here's where you come in.  Here are two different openings to my current manuscript.  Which is better?  Which one makes you want to continue reading?

Option One:

        Seventy-eight cats.  That’s how many cats Alexandra Merriweather was going to die with.  Maybe a dog or two just because.  

She was certain of this despite the clichéd image of an old lady dying surrounded by too many cats.   

She wondered, too, whether or not she would ever marry.  Remarry, that is.  

A part of her knew that even thinking about the idea of remarriage was ridiculous, especially since her first marriage had ended in divorce.

Option Two: 

       Alexandra Merriweather wondered if she would ever marry.  

Remarry, that is.  

A part of her knew that it was futile to borrow trouble from the future by considering such an idea as remarriage.  Especially when her first marriage ended in divorce.  

And yet, here she was hiking up a steep trail in the state park where she and her now ex-husband had exchanged vows, overlooking a waterfall with their families and closest friends as witnesses.  Today, she had taken a personal day from her newspaper job to hike this very path she tread as a new bride three years ago.

Which one do you prefer, avid readers that I know you are.  Which one makes you say, yes, I want to read this novel?  Of course, you may not like either option and that's okay too.  Tell me so.  You won't hurt my feelings.  

Let the voting begin. 

This is how we play the game Candy Land at our house

Yesterday afternoon, Elias suggested that we play Candy Land.  Good idea.

Both boys clear the kitchen table of their toys while I grab the Candy Land box.

In a few moments, the board is spread out on the kitchen table.  Elias wants to be the red gingerbread boy.  Ethan chooses blue.  I want yellow.

At Elias's suggestion, we don't use the cards that come with the game that tells you how far to advance.  Oh no.  Instead, he dumps all of his piggy bank money onto the table and meticulously places all the pennies, dimes, nickels and quarters along the colorful Candy Land path.  We will use the money to advance in the game.  I'm not sure how the money will indicate how far or how little each player will advance during his turn, but suddenly, we are in a free for all grab of piggy bank money with strict instructions to avoid Lord Licorice.

Then Lord Licorice captures two gingerbread boys, casting an evil Zombie spell on them so the gingerbread boys are now Lord Licorice's minions.  In their Zombie state, they capture Lolly, Princess Frostine, and Mr. Mint.

Wait for it!  Army men to the rescue!  But some of the Army men are bad and side with Lord Licorice while others side with the remaining two good gingerbread boys.  Now, we have a civil war on our hands.  A terrible, terrible thing.

Here's the plan:  the two remaining good gingerbread boys are to lure the bad Army men into Mr. Gloppy's fudge swamp where they will get all sticky and stuck while two good Army men sneak over to Lord Licorice's hideout and disable the power source for the electrical fences imprisoning Mr. Mint and Lolly.  With the aide of Princess Frostine, we froze some of the bad Army men too.

Wait for it!  You must double jump over the electric fences to avoid getting shocked.  (Just one jump means you will get shocked, by the way).  Remember, double jump.

After a horrendous battle (don't forget to double jump) with many casualties on both sides, Lord Licorice is finally defeated, which causes Candy Land to implode and collapse.

Mama, can we do it again?

Well, sure.

If you live in a house full of girls, I bet you never played a game of Candy Land quite like this.

The tooth fairy came to call

Elias's top front tooth fell out yesterday afternoon. He's such a big kid now. Can you believe it?

Last night, he asked "How does the tooth fairy get into the house?"

Um? "Magic," I say.

"How does she know when to come?"

"I'll call her to her let her know your tooth fell out," I  lied.

"How does the tooth fairy lift me up to put the money underneath my head without waking me up?"

Um? "Magic," I respond.

"If the tooth fairy is so small, how can she be big enough to lift me up?"

Um? "Okay, Elias.  Enough questions.  It's time for sleep." 

The tooth fairy left $1.25.  Inflation.