Another imaginary conversation with the still-overweight and increasingly resentful cat

Me: IZZY.

Izzy: What?

Izzy: Muscle weighs more than fat.
 

Me: Oh no you don't.

Izzy: That is science. SCIENCE!

Me: And is not applicable in your case.

Izzy: Appliwhat? I don't get your fancy words MS FANCY WORDS

Me: We need to talk about your attacks on the dog.

Izzy: Those are not your business.

Me: Au contraire, my oversized fluff ball.

Izzy: NOW WITH THE FRENCH TALK SHE SPEAKS

Me: Have you noticed that Charlie doesn't feed you? He cannot. No thumbs. So don't take it out on him when you want to fill your giant cat-maw.

Charlie [scurrying in]: Hey! I noticed! I mean I heard! Hi guys! About the killing me thing! Please! I mean never mind okay what I'm going now-- [scurries out]

Izzy:Yeah, that's right, dog. You go. Run. I'll get you later.

Me: No you will NOT.

Izzy: Look, Bradley. I know I'm just a humorous joke character to you. Because I happen to be a little large!

Me: Did you know your breathing sometimes wakes us up at night?

Izzy: Everyone has to be SUPERMODEL SKINNY IN YOUR WORLD.

Me: I know I've mentioned this before but you still can't clean your own butt.

Izzy: Here's the deal, human. You and the Beard love Charlie more. I get it. I get it.

Me: It's apples and oranges, really. Loving faithful floppy-eared apples and mouth-breathing smelly vengeful oranges.

Izzy: And if you're going to take away what I love--say, a neverending pile of wet delicious--then I'm going to go for what you love. Get it, toots?

Me: Izzy, I hate to say this, but: bad girl.  BAD GIRL, Izzy.

Izzy: Whatevs. Hey, I'll settle down on your chest and you'll love it.

Me: Ow?

Izzy: HACK WHEEZE purrrrrrr. By the way, I could go for a few of those Pounce treats. The moist kind. None of that dusty diet garbage.

Charlie [scurrying in]: I can help! I can do something look how useful! Please don't look at me yellow devil eyes! Nevermind thing in other room have to do--[scurries out]

Izzy: purrrrrrrrrr.

A dog and his first cone: sadder than you could possibly imagine

Charlie: Hey? Hey. Heeey?

Me: Oh, dear. How shall I put this? You have a…

Charlie: [quiver quiver]

Me: …a butt situation. It's not fatal! It is, however, incredibly disgusting.

Charlie: I don't know what means 'fatal'! Sounds bad, hey. But why is this on me?

Me: The cone is there to protect you from yourself. You're not supposed to lick the… unspeakable area. It's infected. It's got to… to drain. [Heave.]

Charlie: I see. I can't tend to my belowthere. Tail droop.

Me: I know. We have to wait a few days and then we might need to…

Me: Never mind. You'll get used to this cone before you know it. Promise!

DAY 2

Charlie: HEY. I was okey-dokey with the cone but what is this giant-cone bullcrap? I'm sorry for the bad language.

Me: You were still…getting to there. You're quite flexible, turns out. We needed a larger cone to keep you out of the region.

Charlie: But look. Hey. HEY. No. I can't see and I keep getting stuck.

like this…

and then…

I think I'm…

what…

…

???

Me: I know. I'm sorry, honey. You're already deaf and mostly blind and the cat is out to get you.

Izzy: HA HA HA HA. I can murder him now, right? Come on, he's no good to you. Plus I see the towels all over the place. He's leaking awful on your stuff. Let me swipe him. Let me SWIPE HIM TO SLEEP.

Me: Back off, cat.

Charlie: [quiver]

Izzy: HAHAHAHAAAA.

A few things

I'm awake at 5:30 am on Thanksgiving. I have no idea why. HERE'S WHAT YOU GET AS A RESULT.

1. The other day Charlie leaped on the coffee table, and this was as weird and anomalous an act as he's ever performed. He's sedate, if not unconscious, most of the time (unless a fire truck sounds its alarm, and then he's gotta HELP OUT!) and his favorite activities are a) sleeping and b) relaxing. He has never jumped on anything that was not cushioned and/or made for napping on.

Here you see Charlie in his natural habitat. It might seem as if he's peacefully dozing, but in fact he's waiting for me to place that blanket on top of him. He will soon look up and hrmph at me and if I don't do it he'll hrmph again. Come on, human with opposable thumbs--make with the blanket-application skills.

He will occasionally nab a person-food but only if it's on the very edge of the coffee table, at which point we're really just asking him to take it. But this, this jumping on the coffee table? It was as if he stood on his hind legs and offered us homemade crumpets. It made no sense. But there he was, just like that, on top of the coffee table, looking as confused about how he got there as we were. Scott and I were like whaaaaa? and he looked at us like I KNOW and then we had to help him off because he was all scrabble-legged and freaked about how to get down. And then afterward, oh, how we laughed. How we laughed!

We laughed like this: Ha, ha! Ha! Hoooo! Heh.

2. Ever since Camp Mighty, I have been having stress dreams about Oprah. Oprah is terribly disappointed with me. Every time she looks at me she makes her unhappy face, which I do not like. I complimented her on her dress, and it turned out that she called me into her office specifically to show me the problems with her dress and to ask me to return it for her! Goddammit! And then I woke up soaked in sweat.

3. Scott and I went out to dinner with friends last night and I spotted a character actor also at the restaurant, the kind of actor whose face you instantly recognize but you can't say from where. But his face, his lovable kindly hangdog face! Scott can usually identify these people at a glance, but the name was also escaping him. (Our friends just looked at us blankly while we referred to various obscure actors it could be but probably was not. Thank God we're married to each other.) On the way home I said, I know he's got a really WASPy name, like Buckram Gainsbridge or Percy Crampton. Scott scoffed at this and insisted that this actor was nothing if not Jewish and his name was probably Schlomo Herzfeld. (I'm paraphrasing.)

It turned out it was Austin Pendleton. Austin Pendleton! WHO WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE KIND OF NAME HE HAS OH THAT WOULD BE ME. Scott was not impressed enough that I at least could pull the characteristics of his name from deep within my subconscious. So now I'm asking you to be impressed. Go on.

4. I feel like this is some kind of metaphor for my life, but I'm not sure how:

5. In another dream Oprah wanted me to find someone's missing baby while she talked with her contractors about renovating her new offices. I couldn't find the baby. Once again: all sweaty upon awakening. I NEED TO MAKE OPRAH LIKE ME.

Operation Slim Cat, Month 2

Yesterday, a reader emailed to ask if my blog was becoming a blog about medications and health problems.

Of course not! It's becoming a blog about medications, health problems, and my overweight cat.

Hiya.

Two months ago (exactly! What do you know! I didn't even plan that) I wrote about our cat Izzy, who is large. Henry calls her "plush," which I think makes her sound … cleaner than she is. More luxurious. It's not easy for a cat to be clean when she can't reach all of her areas to clean them. And let me tell you, she does not want me cleaning her. Oh, I do it anyway, under severe protest. Both of us have been injured, either physically or emotionally, by my frequent attempts at brushing/wiping/rinsing. Our relationship has suffered.

I put her on a diet, as I mentioned. I read a bunch, and I guess you're supposed to not feed your cat unlimited amount of dry food all the time? Huh! Hargh! Oops! I switched her from dry carb-loaded crap to high-quality wet food. Half a can in the morning, half a can in the evening, with a tiny smidge of dry food available as a mid-day snack.

This is a LOT LESS FOOD than I was giving her before. And it's paid off! Wait until you see the dramatic results!

Here was Izzy before:

And here she is now. BEHOLD!

In other words, she looks exactly the same. But IN FACT she is now a svelte NINETEEN pounds instead of the TWENTY she was two months ago, and according to the veterinary health professionals, she is supposed to lose no more than a half pound a month, so we are RIGHT ON SCHEDULE. And I am using many CAPITAL LETTERS to express my ENTHUSIASM.

It might take a while, but someday she'll be able to clean her own butt! Which means that I'll be wiping exactly zero butts in my household! And that's on my Life List!

Izzy is an enthusiastic fan of the wet cat food, but she gobbles it right up and then spends the rest of the day demanding more. She is unappeased by the mid-day kibble snack. She has tasted the wonders of damp lamb-chunks, and she no longer wants any part of dry food. So for most of the day, here is where she can be found, sitting just like this, glaring at me:

Oh, we had to put her food up high, because Charlie will inhale it the minute we turn our backs. And, of course, because the food is wet, we can't hear him munching away. One slurp and it's done. (Until he throws it back up. So charming! Pets are so charming!)

And yes, she sits with her front legs splayed out, like this. I have no idea why. She has always done so. She continues to sit like this while I snap pictures of her, like she's not embarrassed at all.

Cats have no shame. They could use a little shame. Shame might give her the nudge she needs to, I don't know, cover her poop in the litter box. Or not glare at me while I clean her terrible haunches.

I truly hope that once she gets into a more reasonable cat-form, I'll like her a little more. I mean, I don't HATE her, but I'm having a hard time remembering what was so lovable about her. In addition to being kind of filthy and grumpy, she harasses Charlie on a daily basis. And Charlie is a senior citizen. He deserves some peace and quiet in his dotage. Come ON:

How could you bat your Evil Paws of Doom at this face, Izzy? HOW?