Thursday, December 29, 2011

Of "Big Boned" Cats, "Happy Endings," and Vogon Poetry

Seymour, indicating how big his butt USED to be...
For the past few months, our cats, Francis and Seymour, have been on a diet. They are not pleased about this development, to say the least. And, believe me— it’s been even less pleasant for their owners. According to the vet, at 20++ pounds, both cats have “an acute weight problem.” I think they’re just “big-boned,” but apparently Fat Acceptance is not so much a thing in the veterinary community, as I've discussed previously
Back in September, the vet put the cats on a serious weight reduction (a.k.a. “money reduction”) diet. Unless we’re bad people who want our cats to die a horrible death in the near future, she suggests, we have to give them a reduced-calorie cat food that, for some reason, is mostly made of rabbit meat. We get this at a local "vintage shop/pet grocery" called Happy Endings. (Despite the misleading name, they do NOT offer organic cat food “with release.”)

If you’ve never put a fat housecat on a diet, it’s exactly as much fun as you would think. The cats meow in long, sinewy wails that seem to channel all the pathos in the world. It’s like listening to Vogon poetry. In the morning, they get all gangsta on me. Around 7 AM, they start batting my head with their paws, as if to say, "Wake up, Bee-atch!" If this doesn’t work, they start knocking things over until I wake up and feed them. A cat on a diet is a lot like a junkie who’s been forced to go cold turkey. Even without the diet, owning cats is a lot like living with furry little drug addicts. They lie around on the couch all day. They throw up all over the place. They flip out over laser lights, and they never manage to make rent.
Francis (the one on the left), Dec. 2011. Alas, this is the "AFTER" photo.
On the upside, I’m pleased to note that, since September, Francis and Seymour have each lost nearly FIVE POUNDS! Considering most women in America want to lose five pounds, and they are generally much larger than housecats, this is quite an accomplishment. On the downside, they’re now svelte enough that they can actually jump up on the kitchen counters, which they were too “big-boned” to do before. They use this as a weapon, knocking stuff off the counters until I relent, and feed them.

Sometimes I wake up to find Seymour standing, ominously, just over my head. He lightly rests his paw on my forehead. “I will cut you,” he seems to be saying. “Just give me the stuff. If you love me, you know you will.” So I get up, and reward his bad behavior with some ridiculously expensive cat food that is undoubtedly sold under a different label at Dean & Deluca, where they call it pâté.

My problem is that I have a hard time saying “no.” This is one reason I think I would be an extraordinarily bad parent. While an inability to say no can be very helpful when it comes to conceiving children, it’s not such a good thing when it comes to raising them. Heck, if I had kids, I’d probably just let them eat all the cat food they wanted. Their veterinarian undoubtedly would not approve. Not one bit.

4 comments:

  1. Quite humorous...way to go big boned cats! love, Aunt Lorraine

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  2. Replies
    1. Thanks, FSTPH! Are you in the Toilet Paper Holder union (Local 8675309), or are you a freelancer?

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