One Fat Cat With a Blog

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!

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?

---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.

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!?

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.

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!

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.

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?