She's Mighty, Mighty

No, this isn't a photo of my cat pole dancing. Or is it? This is actually a photo of her using the cold, hard, metal table leg as a pillow, which is her recent favorite thing to do all day -- it would seem that when one is warm and furry and softy and squishy, a hard, cold piece of metal makes the best pillow.

Ask Princess if she gives a crap. (She doesn't). The vet took one look at her and said, "No, no, no! Bathing suit season is coming! This will never do!" And yet, of the three cats (all of them 10 years or older and thus "elderly") she's the one who was determined to be healthy as a horse, and so, I was told, go ahead and have her put under for a teeth cleaning; why not? For that matter, she's the only one who never has weird gunk in her ears that makes me worry that maybe she has ear mites. In fact, there's never anything wrong with her. Big is beautiful! she says, strutting her stuff such that the boys run away when her tiny but extremely round body is approaching: boom, boom, boom.

And yet the vet suggested I feed her less. Hardly possible, really, when one of her cat siblings looks like he'd starve to death if he missed a meal. How does one really separate these cats from one another when they're eating (without making oneself an even crazier crazy cat lady)?

How about you put the food inside a box with an entrance she can't fit through, the vet suggested. I have since seen whole memes dedicated to such a thing.

So I compromised and started putting the food bowl up on top of a dresser, meaning that a kitty must first climb and then athletically leap -- both before and after a meal. Maybe it's even good for ol' Scrawny Pants! Build him some muscle tone! Turn him into Mr. Universe.

Okay, fine. I am the worst cat parent ever. Next thing you know, I'll be further enabling her by buying her a cute little cat fatkini to wear to the beach.