I've Been a Little Out of the Loop

Well, all, this hound dog has totally disrupted my world. He has to be the most human-hogging, time consuming creature ever created. Have I mentioned that I hate him? Yes? Thought so--but, it's been so long since the human has logged me into my blog that I've forgotten where I left off!

As if the pain in the tail pooch hasn't been enough, the Fluffy D'Tail stray that the one we call Mom insisted on adopting, managed to hurt his leg somehow and she moved him INSIDE too! Can you believe this? She didn't even let the cats vote on it--she just moved him right in! Sharing my litter box, sharing my FOOD BOWL, sharing MY BLANKET that lives on the middle little kid's bed.

Then, Sir Whiney Butt Fluffy Tail had to go to the vet more times than you could imagine, he had to have surgery to fix whatever it was that his outdoor roaming had done to him and now the rest of us cats get into big trouble if we even look at him! He gets to eat first, he gets to pick the spot where he sleeps (and it is generally the one spot that I was looking to use for a nap), he gets to be the lap cat whenever he feels like it--and those humans just stop everything to sit and hold him. I could keel over from starvation and they can't even open a treat can!

So--I've had enough. Starting today--the fat cat is back. No more laid back, Soul Cat. I'm going to crank up some of Gina's music and take over my blog! I've been silent long enough!

(But, remember, I am limited by the lack of thumbs--and it may be a few days before I figure out how to will open the door to the computer room.)

Fitness Trainer in Hound Dog Suit

I had originally thought that the beast with which the humans are forcing my cohabitation was a piranha disguised as a hound. I mean the teeth are his only feature aside from those ridiculous ears. Those ears are in his water bowl, the doofus tries to eat them when he sucks up his food like a vacuum cleaner...they are just silly...why does a 10 pound Puppy need ears sized for a Great Dane? After a few days of detaching the pooch from my tail fluff, I thought that he couldn't possibly be a dog because he was trying to eat me! Obviously Beagle bred with Piranha...a Beagranha, I guess.
Then I realized it's true breeding! It's a Fitness Trainer! The worst species of the worst in the world of a Big Boned City Kitty! The humans have disguised a fitness trainer in a hound dog suit to run me around the house. (Bear in mind, I do the chasing--but, nonetheless, I spend a great deal of my napping time RUNNING!) It's like a built in Treadmill that I can't resist. I see Puppy, I chase Puppy. I hear Puppy, I have to run to find Puppy so that I can CHASE Puppy. It's a horrible fate! I may actually lose weight at this rate!

Surprise...it's a PUPPY!

Things had just started to get back to normal around here. The kids were home for summer, the girls and I had gotten used to life without Stink Doggy Dog, I had the vet appointment under my belt and we had a new diet plan in place. Things were settling in. I felt pretty good about things.

The humans had to go to a graduation party-two day event out of town. I had even decided that this wasn't going to upset my delicate urinary system. I could handle the separation anxiety--even when they locked Fluff INSIDE the house with us for the weekend. I could do it. As a matter of fact, the weekend went well.
Until Sunday night...then THIS happend.

There is absolutely no way I'm letting this beast move into my house. The humans didn't even get a dog--they got a puppy. They call him Max. The girls and I call him a piranha disguised as a hound dog.

Oh, it's been a blast. He "trees" Gina on to the fireplace mantle, he makes Lea so stressed out, she won't eat...well...she won't eat much, Fluffy seems to like him which only furthers the conclusion that Fluffy has nothing between his ears...Me you ask? I don't like him. The only time I see any value in him is when he's sleeping...on a different floor of the house. I'm trying to get used to it. I won't let him go downstairs...he's not allowed in the Little Human's room...he's not allowed in my cat food bowl...and he's not going to take my whole chair.

You don't think he's staying do you? Even humans can't be this crazy...can they?????

Spring Cleaning Trauma Zone

The humans have been on a Spring Cleaning, “rid the house of grey fur” mission for over a week now. If you’ve seen pictures of my kitty family then you know that grey fur is where it’s at around here. The little white psycho cat even has grey and black splotches of fur! I will admit that there was a lot of grey fur hanging around after the winter.

Last Monday the crazy human lady discovered that the motor was ka-put on yet another vacuum cleaner. She goes through a couple a year—and this one’s number was past being up, so we weren’t sure why she was surprised or irritated by this. Sometimes humans just get ticked by the small stuff. Example: Empty food bowl for 8 hours=big stuff. Noisy sweeper not making noise=not so big.

She got a new sweeper. Of course, it’s louder, scarier and far more traumatic for us than the old one. I personally despise vacuum cleaners. When I was younger—and smaller—I had a favorite nap spot under the oldest human kid’s bed. There were often stuffed animals under there…the occasional dust bunny…even a few milk bottle rings that had gone astray. It was a cool place. Very rarely does the Dad-Human take on sweeper duty—but, when he does, anything that he deems insignificant (i.e. Barbie shoes, checkers, game pieces, etc.) that gets in range gets sucked up—and if it’s too big for the attachment hose, he says it’s easier to pick up from the end of the hose than from the floor. Dads. Who understands them? He was sweeping away and I was sleeping away in the kid’s room one Saturday. Next thing I knew, Dad mistook MY tail for a stuffed animal tail and tried to pick me up from under the edge of the bed with his handy dandy attachment. Woke me up, I’ll tell you! The Dad-human thought it was hilarious. Frito find it funny? Not so much. (Gave Gina first time permission to launch Covert Operation P in Dad’s laundry basket)

Needless to say, I hate sweepers—and when Dad’s at the controls, I head for higher ground every time. We cats think they wouldn’t need to sweep things constantly if those crazy humans would just buy something besides WHITE, Off White, Beige and tan. Carpet, every piece of furniture, rugs, blah! They wouldn’t even know the fur was there if they would just go grey!

Furniture should be required to match the cats—then everyone would be at peace. I’ve been told that cat fur brings good luck, you know. This is one lucky house, let me tell you! I just heard that Dad’s home today. Hopefully he’ll go mow something down in the yard and not in the living room! Just in case, I think I’ll sleep up on the back of the sofa today….need to start the graying process on the furniture again anyway!

Lea's Ode to Butterflies

Those of you who know me, know that Lea the cat is the love of my life. She is sweet and peaceloving and so wonderful. Well, these butterflies that the humans are growing are turning my little peace loving flower kitty into a Gina style violent protester. She has been so out of character that we hardly recognize her.

In an effort to rediscover her peaceful, artsy side, she wrote some poetry...but, again, we find it a little out of character for her. It's not even in proper sonnet form! Lea is a stickler for proper grammar and poetic rhythm in her work, you know? Even Gina is ready to get the old Lea back! We have reached a group cat decision: It's time for those darned butterflies to move out!

Lea's Sonnet #1 Ode to Butterflies

Shall I compare thee to an olive black?

Thou art more crunchy and more brown:

Olive round doth roll down a hallway and back,

But would not be so tickly on the way down:

Sometime too fast away the olive rolls,

And oft' is disappeareth from my sight;

And the olive fair is oft’ but merely holes,

By chance it seems it too dries out by night:

But thy eternal goodness shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that flutter thou owest;

For shall Death thou meet after we have played,

Where in my tummy for a time thou un-growest:

So long as cats can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, I shall still taste thee.

See? She's gone off the deep end! Butterflies, be gone! We need Lea back!

The Outdoors Are Highly Overrated

Of course, this is just the opinion of one, petrified-of-the-outdoors fat cat, you know? The humans have been so wrapped up with yard work and running around with time-sponging little human creature critters that the cat-folk have been practically abandoned for nearly a week!
I have no clue what's great about the outside. When I get dragged out the door (and I mean DRAGGED), I put up a fight with every ounce of my being. Ask my vet, that's a lot of fight. I am an inside cat, and proud of it.
I see no redeeming qualities to the so-called Great Outdoors. It's been wet and muddy here for days. Wet paws are not an option for this big man. The dog smells horrible after he comes inside....of course, he doesn't smell April Fresh anyway, I guess, so the outside may not be entirely to blame for that.
The Great Fluff seems to like it out there...but, the girls and I are pretty sure he's missing more in the upstairs than an attic....dumb dumb Fluff we call him not so affectionately...I like to watch the birds from my window--they are so pretty. Couldn't imagine trying to eat one. (Although if the diet police don't lighten up, I may just give one a try...I think I'm a leg man..)
I guess the abundance of bugs and spiders could (and I said could) make going outside worthwhile....if I could get them without getting my paws dirty or burrs in my furs...nope, I really think I'll just let them bring the outside in to me. I can average a spider or bug every three to four days on the inside...that's good enough--I have a sensitive tummy anyway.
But--the humans seem to like it out there, so, of course, the cats get punished. Can't get on the computer, have to be subjected to Gina's unsupervised rants on the wrongs of the world for HOURS now since she isn't in hiding from the little humans, and I have to worry about when my food bowl is going to get its daily crumbs...the stress.
I have grumbled about the rain a lot for the past week or so...Heck, we are in Ohio, I've grumbled about the rain and snow my whole life! But, I have been enlightened. I am seeing some value in the rain: the humans have more time for the cats. I'm torn...wet dog smell on a rainy day or humans to indulge me...Bring on the rain.

Frito's Potty Talk

Mom has been on a mission to help me with my urinary tract issues. As I’ve mentioned, every so often, I get irritated, freak out a little, and my bladder goes crazy. I end up at the vet for some poking and prodding (and the occasional shave), get some medication to drug me for 5-7 days, then I get over the stress of whatever caused the initial upset and all is good for a few months. Well, she has been following all sorts of advice—and this is what I think of it all.

· The Vet says I need more water. The lady bought me a fountain. It’s pretty cool. We can keep the fountain.

· The Vet thought maybe I was having some territorial issues with the Great Fluffsy—so, now we have litter boxes everywhere. It’s like a beach, there’s so much cat litter in this house. This works for me though. No waiting in line, no rushing, and no gawkers (except for the crazy lady that feels the need to examine my "deposit" after every visit). We can keep the extra boxes—I’d just appreciate it if the lady could back off a bit.

· The Vet says I seem to have separation anxiety. Now there’s an example of a human with an overinflated sense of self-worth. The humans were home last week before my latest episode, but they were outside a lot. See, I don’t really like any of the humans. If they’d just top off my food bowl before disappearing for hours, I wouldn’t get so stressed! Of course, the Chief of the Diet Police has a strict feeding plan and empty food bowls are about all I see. The humans can go for weeks—hey, they could move, take Fluffy Tail, and give me and the girls the house, but the food bowl needs to be filled or I’m going to freak out. Separation anxiety? Try Fear of Starvation, Dr. MindControl.

· The Vet says I need to lose another 8 pounds. 8 POUNDS??? That’s like losing Gina! If I lose 8 pounds, they’ll be able to pull my loose fur/skin into a 5 inch Mohawk down the length of my backside! Remember when I said Dad’s eye doctor was getting kickbacks from the vet by making Dad see me as overweight? Well, this crazy vet must be on contract with a plastic surgeon because if I lose 8 pounds they’ll be able to cover some balding cat in need!

· The Vet says I need to eat only wet cat food. I’ve made my position on canned, stinky squirrel innards quite clear. I won’t eat it. I refuse. It makes me gag. Fluffy Tail loves the stuff! He must have had his nasal cavity ripped out in a catfight—because any cat with a sense of stink could not be in the same room as that yuck.

· The Vet says I need exercise. Bring on the milk rings, but don’t expect miracles! I’d have to fetch milk rings 18 hours a day for 10 years to lose 8 pounds—and I do not believe my life expectancy is 18, so I don’t see the need to waste my life!

· The Vet says I need a “dietary supplement” sprinkled on my food. Hey, I’m cool with that. I’d be willing to eat dietary supplement sprinkled on the crunchy cat food 8- 10 times a day. All in the name of urinary health.

Since it’s not likely, she’ll follow my feeding plans—and I have yet to see one that I’m going to follow, we’ll see what new ideas the vet has here in about 3 months!

Frito Studies Leonardo DaVinci

I think I am a well cultured cat. I enjoy fine food, (canned mouse ears do not qualiby as fine food), I love music, and in an effort to be a more well rounded cat (don't tell my vet--she says I'm round enough), I have started to dabble in the arts.
I read a quote this morning by Leonardo DaVinci that said, "The smallest feline is a masterpiece". Well, this lead me ponder the thoughts of a genius. Some of you have met my housemate, Gina, who I hear is starting her own blog soon to prove that she is the cat in the house with attitude and worthwhile thoughts. Anyway, Gina is the smallest feline I know, but she is more of a drug induced, abstract work in progress than a masterpiece, I think. Surely, DaVinci intended this thought to be applied to the greatness of wonderful cats, such as myself, in general and not to be applied to specifics. So, if the smallest feline (except for Gina) is a masterpiece, this leads me to conclude that a larger feline, perhaps a big boned one such as myself, would be a master's collection of pieces, right?

Frito the Spider Hunter Captures his Prey

---only 1 unsuspecting bystander injured in the attack.

I was sleeping with the one we call Mom last night. Since she has everyone on her Frito Feeders Watchlist, there isn’t a soul in this house willing to slip a starving cat so much as a piece of cat food! I’ve developed a new plan of attack. I sleep with her, wait for her to get up to head to the bathroom, and then hope that in some sleep induced coma, she mistakes me for Lea in the dark and sits down Gina’s cat food bowl from the countertop where only the batcat can attempt to reach it! It hasn’t necessarily worked out for me yet, but, I am holding out hope!

Anyway, as I was saying, I was sleeping with Mom. (I’ve also discovered that if I sleep on her feet long enough, it raises her body temperature to about 120 and she wakes more often during the night—just a little tidbit I thought I’d share) So, I’m lying there, waiting for signs of movement from the human and I spotted movement on the wall above her head instead. It was spider! A big one! A CRUNCHY MEATY plaything! My prayers were answered! I gave two Frito style chatters, a couple of butt wiggles, and CHARGED. The last thing I saw was Mom’s eyes open as I vaulted off her chest, up the wall after the spider. (She heard my chatters, saw my gaze fixed on the wall over her head, and after initially thinking I’d lost my mind, she seemed to understand what was up.) She was not so understanding, however, when my jump up the wall led me to nothing to hang onto—I have told the humans that they need a headboard on that bed--and I bounced backwards onto her side as she made a very, valiant effort to roll out of my landing strip. Darned laws of physics.

As Mom grumbled off to the bathroom with her standard, “psychotic, nutcase of a cat” rant, I made a second attempt at the spider. I caught it! We both fell to the floor. I won! I had him under my paw! Victory was mine!

Then Lea came and ate him. So close.

Mom threw me out of the bedroom, of course, but, I’ll try again tonight. She'll forget...hey, if not, I'll tell her I was simply protecting her from the big, scary spider.

Frito, Guard Cat. Yeah, I like the sound of that.

The Easter Baskets are Here!

Now I would never say that one can judge a cat's worth by the size of his Easter basket, but I got a Frito sized basket this year! I love Easter baskets! They always have salmon treats in them (Mom orders them like that just for me!)and lots and lots of catnip laced playthings! It's wonderful! I usually even climb in the box. This year, I discovered Cattoids. Mmmmmm. I think I love Cattoids. Thanks to the folks at Purrfectly Rebarkable Pets for getting my basket here on time again this year! Aaaagh...Easter. Who needs chocolate bunnies and eggs when you've got catnip and honeysuckle!?

A Birthday Tribute to Big Sal

We wanted to take a minute to shout out some birthday wishes to Big Sal E. Cat up on Rainbow Bridge. We all miss you, Big Sal--Even Gina. You were one cool cat and our lives just haven't been the same without you.
We love you, man. Keep those chipmunks in line up there, okay? We'll see you when we get done down here. Mom still needs us right now, but we'll be along when the chores are through. Love, Frito, Gina and Lea.

Spring Break and the Kids are WHAT?

I think I am a pretty tolerant cat. I realize I have had issues with things in the past, but I’ve worked on them…I attend my Plastic Eaters Anonymous meetings, I am active in my CAT Institute therapy, I am even working on a support group for cats who love dogs! I swear I am giving this awful diet thing a shot—I may even start exercising as soon as soon as Dad becomes more willing to fetch my milk rings when they go too far. (i.e. more than 12 inches from my right front paw). So, why is it that I always get the grief in this house?

They said I was supposed to be the king here! The king of my castle. Or so I thought. Somehow, I've been turned into a Princess Bride instead. Now, the kids are home from school for spring break—and the humans have no trips planned for them or anything. What are the kids doing for entertainment this week, you may ask? Enter Frito, babysitter extraordinaire. See, I’m the cat that refuses to bite or scratch a child—no matter how ridiculous they make me look.

And this was pretty darned ridiculous. If memory serves, this was my "day at the nursery" outfit. I believe my name was Baby Freda during this particular photoshoot.

There are six females, including Gina and Lea, in this house and I get to be Miss America?

Well, this break should be a doozy….the girls got new dress up clothes for Christmas. This cat doesn’t beg often, but, here goes: Please, please, please, please, please, please, please send the kids to Grandma’s! You can even send them to the Grandma who sets me up with plastic spiders! Send them to the Aunt’s—send them to the moon—hey, you can send ME to Grandma's--even to the Grandma with the yippy, snippy dog, but, just please don’t leave me here with them for a week!

Frito & the Diet Breaking Gang Apprehended...Again

Well, I have been successful in my refusal of canned mouse ears. Mom returned me to my diet crunchy plan...the premeasured one. Now, we've been busted again! This time, the one I affectionately call Dad is in big trouble! This is his second offense. It looks bad. What crime? Feeding a dieting (starving!) cat! Can you imagine? One or two extra feeding and he's in hot water with the Chief.

The first time we ran into issues with Mom, AKA, the Chief of the Diet Police, was right before Thanksgiving. Mom had worked out a portion control plan with the vet on some healthy schmelthy cat food. No more free feeding. Two meals a day—MEASURED meals. Well, I don’t know what five-pound-cat-kind-of-feeding-plan this was designed for, but I am a manly man kind of kind. You’ve seen Hungry Man dinners? I need the Hungry Cat dinner plan. Of course, there is no reasoning with the humans!

Miraculously, around Christmas, some unknown benefactors (umm, Dad, the oldest human kid, and the middle little person) began to supply an extra portion or three throughout the day. Under the radar of Chief Mom, of course. It was wonderful. Things were virtually back to normal. I was again a well fed, happy Frito. It began to unravel when Mom picked me up one Friday and realized that perhaps I wasn’t losing weight. She brought out the scale. 23 ¼ pounds. Down ¾ of a pound?? How could that be possible? Maybe I had a thyroid problem? Should we go to the vet? Uh-oh. That went so well for me last time.

She began a little undercover investigation of sorts and we were busted! We had a great little system going. Mom would feed me my dinner when she put the little people to bed…then Dad would feed me in the middle of the night when I raised a “ruckus”—but, I would make sure to have it all gone before Mom came downstairs to feed me breakfast…then before the middle little one went to school, I would hit her up for a little midmorning snack. Handful (or two—her hands are small) of treats. Then I’d hold out all day, a good six hours, until the oldest came home from school…then I’d beg and plead and even let her pet me. Degrading, yes, but well worth that handful of cat food. Then it came crashing down. Mom got up extra early one day to iron and found a full food bowl!! Not possible since she had watched me eat ½ the bowl the night before. The interrogations started. Dad broke first. Mom’s a tough one. Then the oldest admitted to the mid afternoon feeding. She hasn’t broken the middle kid yet, but I don’t see any treats in my future.

Now Dad's been nabbed again for coming to my aid. This time, I may really be on a diet for good. It's bad, very bad.

Mirror Mirror.......

For years, I have heard about all of the groups studying the fact that older couples, after years of life together, begin to physically look alike. After seeing this picture of Lea and myself in the human’s top secret photo files, I think these scientists may really be onto something! I read this article this morning about some research that was done in Michigan by a Dr. Zajonc about 20 years ago…wow…it’s some pretty amazing science! It makes sense that the facial muscles, after years of sharing similar emotions and life events, would mimic each other. May be a little scary for some to accept, but I think this phenomenon is real!
Lea and I have only been together for about 5 years—and as you can see, we share a lot of similar mannerisms and characteristics. (Aside from the grey stripes…since that’s just a genetic quirk of nature and all). You know, all of the articles and research I’ve found have been about facial similarities. But, this picture makes the scientist in me hypothesize that belly muscles must also be affected by this empathetic mimicry. There’s no other possible acceptable explanation!
I’m going to call the vet! I was right—I don’t need a squishy mouse ear and giblet diet. Put Lea on the diet and we’ll both be transformed! Everyone wins. Lea likes fresh, slimy canned dinners—she’ll eat it, regain her girlish figure—and my belly muscles will mimic over time! Everyone’s happy. This is an experiment that I’m willing to try. I think we’ll start this morning!

Feed Me, Seymour!

This new diet threat is getting serious! The crazy human lady is literally refusing to give me real food! Well, I’m not stupid. I may not always be able to figure out how to get a milk bottle ring off my paw, but I know where they keep the good fat, uh, I mean CAT food!

The lady was not going to give me anything but Sludge-in-a-Can last night. I hadn’t eaten anything in at least three HOURS! We’ve played this game before, a few months ago, when they tried to “mend my ways”. Then, I simply waited until she got the little humans to sleep and I headed to the closet where the “good stuff” is kept. Just so happens to be about 5 feet from their bedroom door. I yowled and howled and pawed at that door until the middle little kid woke up! I got into a bit of trouble for that and Mom and I would have a 20 minute staredown over a plate of ground mouse ears. I would wait until she got distracted and I’d head back to the door and proceed to repeat my performance. You have heard nothing until the 24 pound cat stands up at midnight and pounds on a door. It was priceless.

I tried this last night, and she sat out the smelly gruel again, sprinkled some crunchies on it and really expected that to make a difference. My beloved crunchies were contaminated by buzzard innards or whatever “fillers’ make it into the vat of yuck that gets canned and dumped onto my plate!

Well, I refuse. I am a cat with principles on a mission. Anybody got an extra bag of Friskies lying around? I’ll even eat the crunchy Science Diet healthy stuff! Anybody?

Surprise Diagnosis at the Vet: Frito is Overweight.

Please control your shock and amazement. It seems that the vet, with all of her incredible knowledge and wisdom determined that I was, indeed, fat. Even after I lost almost a 1/4 pound since my last visit four months ago! (I am just thanking my lucky stars that we put in that one extra brushing before we left! Dodged the bullet on that one!)

Well, the vet is again pushing the portioned controlled wet food diet plan. All in the name of urinary health or some other vet mind control nonsense--and once again, the human lady is buying into it. They’ve given me diet food before. First it was crunchy diet food. It’s not my favorite, but I’ve always eaten it. Then, a few months ago, they tried the wet food diet plan. CANNED, wet, stinky food! Does anyone know what’s in that stuff??? Why would anyone EAT that? It’s dumbfounding. I can only imagine what parts of unsavory critters get put into that stuff! Yuck. I’d rather eat plastic spiders (but don’t tell the middle kid!)

We had some ups and downs with that first trial. For a few days I gave in and ate it—but, we had some issues. I don’t care for fish, I insisted on turkey and only turkey. Of course, I prefer a plate rather than a bowl....I have some whisker clearance issues. And I hate to eat alone so my human Mom had to adjust her schedule to sit with me. I ate it for almost a week--I even lost a little weight.

Then it happened. I got a whiff of the roomate cat, Lea’s, breath and realized that the girls have crunchy cat food stashed somewhere! The betrayal! Well, that did it. I was going to get some real food! Mom put out the so-called turkey and giblets...I’m sorry, I know what giblets are—and even big psycho Sal E. Cat left behind the “giblets”…So, I, ever so casually, moseyed over to the plate and proceeded to pretend to bury it. I thought it was a good one. One of my best. Mom wasn’t amused. Then I summoned my best hairball gag sound and walked away. Mom didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did.

Oh, joy. We'll get to try it all again. Well, I refuse. If that bundle of ground up mouse ears and innards packaged into a cutesy little can is cat food, I must be a dog!

Oh, Joy! It's Going to the Vet Day!

Oh, good news today, folks! I am due for my Rabies vaccines at the vet. In case you haven't noticed, I hate going to the vet. It’s embarrassing. First of all, like always, the receptionist who witnessed my one little meltdown in the lobby will make a point to tell the new receptionist all about me. One time. I had one little lapse of character in the waiting room...a dog came in and barked something in Great Dane and I climbed up on Dad’s hat. One little freak out and I’m labeled a nutcase! As usual, I'll get rushed into the examining room to avoid an anticipated loss of composure and they'll send in the 98 pound vet tech to get my measurements. Okay. The 98 pound vet tech can never get a handle on all of me at once. We look ridiculous, she always nearly drops me and it’s humiliating. Why they subject me to these things I will never understand.

Then, the vet will come in. Oh, yes, and if I'm lucky, it will be my favorite one in the practice! Last time I was there, not only did she poke and grope and prod me, but she immediately started the “fat cat” rant. Oh, and then, I had to spend a full day with this lady! She had the nerve to put me on a diet! Hmmpf. Well, I sat in the hospital through her lunch and snacks…and apparently, her NutriSystem meals were delayed or something because that McDonald’s lunch and the Nutty Bars were surely not part of her diet plan. Somebody else needs to give old Jennie a call besides Frito, let me tell you.

Of course, since I'm not exactly a featherweight kind of kitty cat, they'll bring in not one, but two, extra vet techs to control me during my shot. Oooohh. I'm a mean one. They'll all grab me like I'm going to go Cujo on them or something--I won't move a muscle--and they'll feel like idiots...been there done that. It's really not as funny as it used to be, you know?

Wonder what the practicing moneymaker, a.k.a., the Vet, will find wrong with me today. Think my weight is too obvious? Gee, I wonder if they'll change my diet plan? That's been working so well for them. Well, I've decided that I'm not going without a fight today. I think I'll grab onto the front door with all four paws, then I'll refuse to get into the van, then I'll insist on sitting on the human's lap with my paws around her neck, and, ah, what the heck, I may just climb up onto her head for fun in the lobby...even if there isn't a dog...you know for old time's sake.

Vets. Phooey. Frito the cat is no lab rat....my new motto, like it?

Veterinarian: A Definition by Frito

Let me ask you something, do you know the function and purpose of the vet? Webster's Dictionary has defined the word Veterinarian as a person qualifed to practice veterinary medicine. This lead me to wonder the definition of veterinary medicine, as according to good old Daniel Webster....veterinary defines a term which means: of, relating to, practicing or being the science and art of prevention, cure or alleviation of disease and injury in animals and especially domestic animals.

Uh, let me get this straight....a veterinarian practices preventing, curing and alleviating disease and injury in us domesticated critters as a career....so, then the financial livlihood of a veterinarian depends on them finding issues in us to prevent, cure and alleviate, right? I am putting my health, happiness and wellbeing into someone's hands who gets paid to practice their art on me? Who signed me up to be a lab rat? I may be stupid, which I doubt, but, if I only get paid to fix and prevent illnesses and such, then I would imagine that if I looked hard enough in any critter, I could find something to prevent and alleviate in order to make that next house payment.

Frito is a cat--not a rat. I will no longer be someone's practice dummy.

And Now for Frito's Version of the Rest of the Story

After a temporary hiatus, the fat cat is back! As many of you know, I had some embarrassing bladder issues which, as usual, the crazy lady I call Mom, announced to the world. Well, it’s time to tell my side of the story, from the soul cat point of view. As I’ve said, I’m a pretty sensitive, laid back kind of cat. Leave out a bowl of cat food, a water fountain or two, my blanket (that the middle kid still hides on her bed), and let me peacefully coexist with the world….the “inside my house” world.

The real problem started when tSee, out of the blue, the parents insisted on adopting the great (scary, chipmunk eating, whiny) Sir Fluff—this upset the harmony in my world….and it upset my tummy. Then, the parents went away for the weekend leaving me and Lea alone with Gina, the punk rocking psycho cat….Oh, the hairballs! Well, naturally, I was upset, I got a little stressed out and I couldn’t pee. That was it. A little tension induced peeing issue. No need to panic. But, oh, no, Mom panicked and it was off to the vet for Frito. Vet visits always go SSSOOOOOOOO well for me. Gee, guess who has a little weight problem? Now, I'm a stressed out cat on a diet. That will really help my anxiety issues, eh?