My Cat is Fat

I know it’s kind of a cliche for a girl in my situation (mostly single, unemployed, living in LA) to talk about her cat, but my cat has gotten so fat lately, I feel it’s worth mentioning. Sometimes talking about it helps, you know? Anyway, I first became aware of the problem when a guy came over to take me on a date, and he was so impressed with her heftiness he felt the need to mention it, twice before we even left the house (for Chipotle, seriously), and then again later when he brought me home (from Chipotle, seriously). It was a rare opportunity for me to see kitty through fresh, burrito-loving eyes, and I realized my previously svelte furball had become, well, obese. To tell the truth, I was a little embarrassed, and not just because I went out with someone who took me to Chipotle.

Picture shown is one millionth of actual size of cat

Now, normally I’m down with the whole “more to love” excuse for the flabby result of our modern society’s wanton excess, but as her legal guardian, I feel the need to take action to prevent her flabbiness from become a serious health issue. So I decided to reduce her food intake by feeding her small bits throughout the day instead of filling her bowl in the morning. This plan backfired– now she seems to be so afraid that the small servings are all she’s going to get that she wolfs them down immediately and then begs for more. I know I’m bigger than her (not by much) and stronger than her, but she has the cute factor going for her and I have the latent Catholic guilt factor working against me, so I find the begging hard to resist. I start to doubt the validity of my weightloss goals for my feline ward, and I begin to imagine what everyone might be saying about me, on the internet and what not, calling me “cruel” and “cold-hearted” towards an innocent creature who really just wants to gorge herself, and then take a nice nap.

I know exercise is a factor, so I make an effort to chase her around the house so she can get a workout, but mostly she just finds somewhere to sit that I can’t reach and glares at me with “what did I ever do to you and you’re not so thin yourself eyes” I call her names like “tubby cat” in an attempt to make her feel self-conscious about her weight, starve her to death in small increments, all to no avail… Now she not only hates/fears me, but she appears to have gained a few pounds. She jumps on my lap and the air goes out of my chest as  I struggle to lift her bulk off of me. I took her to the vet last week, and $400 later I had a nice x-ray of her fat ass and the advice to feed her a little less. Grr. I know it’s not right to project LA’s ridiculous standards of beauty onto our pets but I look at other people’s normal sized cats, lithely jumping from counter to chair without making the room shake, and I have to sigh.

But I guess if she’s happy (she seems to be) and doesn’t feel bad about herself, then who am I to mess with her self esteem?

I wish my parents had shown me the same lassitude when I went through my chubby stage (age 5-21).