One Fat Cat With a Blog

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, 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?

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.

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?