One Fat Cat With a Blog

Whoo hoo. There seems to be a small patch of sun today coming into the human's cave today. I am convinced that I live with vampires. For some reason, they have actually opened the blinds and the doors today and there's SUN! Yes, finally, there is SUN! The girls that I coexist with have been fighting over the front door sun all morning. I generally wait until they have chased each other away before making my move. Some days I let the dog snooze with me. If he's had a bath, of course. Stink Doggy Dog has some grooming issues that they humans claim are relative to age. The girls and I think he just needs a good, strong deoderant. One strong enough for a skunk, made for a dog. Anyway, it looks like they may be making their move from my window sun, so time to move into position.

It took me nearly two days to regain composure after hearing that it’s time for me to head to the vet again. Thank goodness it did not affect my appetite. Anyway, I am almost over the feeling of dread about that finally. THEN, yesterday morning, the one they call Mom thought she spotted a flea-on ME no less. Thank you, smelly old dog who has to go outside 30 times a day. You go outside and I somehow get the blame for the flea. I’m sure it wasn’t really a flea, but do they ever listen me? Yeah, right. Spring is here in Ohio-and out comes the first dose of flea medicine since November. Who gets it first? Better yet, who do they catch first? Yep. The fat cat. Everybody always picks on the fat cat. If there is anything that I dislike as much as going outside—it’s this flea stuff. First they have to hold me down. Degrading. Then, there is always some “I can’t find his shoulder blades, can you?” line of hardy har hars. Oh, yeah, the humans are a riot. At least, when I’m finished (passively, of course), I get to watch them try to put it on Lea. She is a complete psychotic. All of those forgotten, wild, outside cat characteristics come out. She becomes the little fireball of claws and teeth that we met and originally voted to throw back outside. I wished for popcorn. Now, this scene is a riot. Lea is about 8 pounds and they can’t do a thing with her. Later today, they’ll spot Gina and I’ll hang out to watch another show. Gina has agression issues. But, I’ll talk about that later. Fleas. On ME? Please.

Okay. I'll admit it. I hate going to the vet. Actually, I hate going outside. Newsflash, humans, if I hate going outside, the trip outside to get to the vet just may make me a little more than temperamental. To top off the fact that I hate getting to the vet, I have some other more embarrassing issues with the place. See, a couple of years ago, one of them (and she isn't so petite herself) suggested that I lose a few pounds and I haven't really followed my diet plan for a while now and I know there are going to be all the fat cat jokes and snickers and stares. It's just humiliating. Yes, I weigh 23 pounds, give or take a hairball, but I am mostly a MAINE COON. I'm not supposed to be a little lap cat. It's just not in my genes. And then there is also the fact that they have me "labeled" as a freak-out risk on my chart. That's like my permanent record in this world and they go and make little red sticky notes everywhere because of one teensy weensy little loss of composure a couple of years ago. I sort of flipped out a little bit once in the waiting room while we were in line waiting to pay bill. A dog walked in, barked something in Great Dane and I climbed up onto my Dad's head. It was a one time thing. Dad's a big guy, he handled it. It should not have been the defining point in my veterinary office behavior background. Out there for everyone to see. Horribly embarrassing. Now, I hear I have to go next week. I'll let you know how it goes.