A conversation about the cat that has nothing to do with her weight

Henry: The cat hates me. She's always biting and swatting.
Me: It's not personal. She's a cat. Cats are nuts. They hate it when you show too much affection.

Henry: I wasn't even touching her. I was looking at her.
Me: Yes, but with love, I bet. That's your first mistake.
Henry: I was lying there, and she reached over and swatted my face.
Me: You were gazing right at her, right? With love? WITH LOVE? Confess.
Henry: You're weird.
Me: Listen to me. With this cat, the more you like her, the less she likes you.
Henry: She loves Dad.
Me: Because he deeply, deeply dislikes her. And she can't get enough of it. She's all over him the minute he walks in the door. Do you need more proof that she is utterly bananas?

Henry: She's nice to you, too.
Me: Not as much as Dad, though. Because I don't hate her. But I do express my displeasure with her, frequently. That keeps her interested. I'm telling you, if you're more aloof she'll come around.
Henry: Fine. I don't think I like her anymore, anyway.
Me: Keep talking like that and she's going to fall in love, son.

On to more important matters

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And now, my cat.

If you've been here before, you remember the obese cat who's been on a diet for forever. Say hello, Izzy.

Grrrhrrrrrrr.

That picture was taken after many, many months of feeding her one (1) 5.5 ounce can of wet food a day. No treats, no anything else. Just that one can. She wasn't losing any weight. According to the instructions on the can, we were feeding her only a tiny fraction of what she should be fed, and we were killing her, BUY MORE CANS. (Public Service Announcement: never follow the portion advice offered by the pet food manufacturer. If I followed the instructions, I would be feeding her three or four cans of food a day, and she would be larger than me.) I was perplexed.

Then I caught her eating the dog's food. And it all became clear. Gnaw loudly at the dog's kibble when I'm not there, shame on you. Gnaw loudly when I'm in the next room, I'm going to do something about it. You should have thought that through, kitty cat.

Since that day, I put the dog's food out of reach when we leave the house. (I would say this punishes Charlie, only he never eats when we're not there, because when we're not around there's no reason for him to eat or drink or endure wakefulness, so he hibernates until we return and he can live again.) And now… we're seeing progress, people. Significant progress.

She weighed around 19 pounds six months ago, and today she is a svelte 16 pounds. (We're using our home scale, which is probably not the most accurate, but what can you do? Go to the vet every month? I am not composed of money! I am made of person!) When you hold her on her back (the only way she will endure being held, because she's insane) she doesn't wheeze from the fat compressing her lungs. Her fur is considerably less oily and horrifying, and I suspect she is able to clean more of herself.

Here is Izzy today:

I'm a fashion model!

Uh. Is it me, or does she look bigger than before in this picture?

Before:

Blorp.

After:

Whee!

I'm going to say it's the angle. Anyway, there's not much more we could be doing. We could not possibly feed her less. She already spends most of her day demanding food and imagining consuming our entrails. (I think.)

You are smarter than you look, human.

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.