Monday, March 16, 2009

Devil Diet

I have a fat cat Seurat, and a skinny cat Picasso. Recently at a routine vet visit I asked about Picasso’s slender build and about how I can help him gain a healthier weight. The vet suggested a higher fat food that is good for cats with sensitive stomachs. The problem with this is that the food is expensive and since I let my cats free feed whenever they want I have to somehow keep Seurat away from the fattening oh so yummy food. I have been working through various plans the past couple days and I am finding something that kind-of works. I keep Picasso’s food in the bathroom, every time I have to use the restroom I let Picasso in with me. Now because I have a gerbil sized bladder, and because I am now home all day every day he gets to eat very often during the day. Unfortunately for me he wants in and out of the bathroom ALL DAY LONG and does not have any issues meowing constantly until he gets his way. On the flip side I have Seurat who is getting fed only twice a day in the morning and at night. He is pissed because he is on a diet and he has no problems about letting me know very loudly that there are cells in his body that are dying off, he has to use his fat reserves for gods sake, and he happens to like his well endowed full figure. In fact he works very hard to use as little energy as possible to see how much weight he can gain, a personal experiment that I am now totally screwing with because I have taken away his food.

The meowing begins at sunrise every day and continues well into the night. I have almost given in 70 times within the last 10 minutes because I just don’t know how much I can take. These cats are RUTHLESS in their tenacity to get what they want and I am just a helpless pawn in their evil plans. So this morning as the crying began at 6:20AM I start throwing balled up socks, which I had stacked on the nightstand the night before, and screeching every time the cats wake me up. The balled up socks are a new plan that I have created in attempts to not go down in this war without fighting and although my aim is a little off because I am barely awake, I think the angry animal sounds coming from my throat coupled with fabric missiles sailing through the air were making my point to SHUT THE HELL UP!

I am sitting here typing and for the MILLIONTH time today the cats again pick up their chorus of complaining, begging to be fed. The vein in the middle of my forehead bulges out from my skull, it is pulsing the size of a finger width, arching out from my head and I am just waiting for it to pop and spray bloody gore across the monitor. I have a feeling that this is what parenting is like, a constant battle of wills and fevered praying that I have the strength to last just ten more minutes because if I can last just ten more minutes then the little monsters will give up and I may win.

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