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!