Fat Cat

Hi, guys. Connie here for my weekly post. Since we stayed in town this weekend and didn't discover anything exceptionally blogable, I thought I would talk about our cat, Ringo.

When we adopted Ringo at the tender age of two months, we had no idea he would morph into such a hairy behemoth. As a kitten, he was this adorable little ball of fur. By the time we discovered just exactly how enormous he would be, it was too late. We were in love. He may not be the brightest bulb on the chandelier, but he is very sweet and playful. The last time we took him to the vet, he weighed in at a whopping 20.2 pounds. While the vet says that it's ok for a Maine Coon to weigh this much, I have my doubts.

The problem is, his huge stomach prevents him from properly cleaning his nether regions. After visiting his sandbox, he scoots merrily around on the beige carpet, leaving gigantic skid marks in his wake. This is usually the sign that it is time for a bath. Which is no small feat. It is a two-person operation, with one person holding the cat down while the other person cleans the offending area. He howls miserably during the whole procedure. I'm sure I can hear him saying, "Ow! Ow!" When we are done, he walks around in a huff for about an hour, switching his tail indignantly, before finally drying himself off.

Enough is enough. It's time for a diet. Easier said than done. He is used to eating a large amount of food. Since he never learned how to hunt, when he is denied his usual portion of food, he begs. Constantly. He turns into this gigantic purring machine that follows you around everywhere, rubbing and beseeching with huge golden eyes. When this fails to work, he goes into what we call the "dying cat" position - he flops onto his back with all four paws in the air. His expression says, "Starving... Must... Have... Food..." Now my motherly instincts are on overload. How can I be so cruel? Maybe if I just give him a little food, he'll be alright. No so. If I do cave in and give him a little extra, he just asks for more. I know, it's my fault he is in this predicament in the first place. If I hadn't spoiled him so much as a kitten, he wouldn't be so fat. Guess I'll just have to bite the bullet and watch him suffer. What's a mom to do? Hopefully, it won't take too long for him to lose enough weight for him to clean himself. Then we can all walk around the house barefoot again.


Posted by Connie    Blog Tag: Chatter