Murray is getting fat—like really fat. It’s hard to believe that just a year ago he looked like this:
And now he looks like this:
Tobyjoe has accused me for years of making everyone I live with fat. Which is just absurd since he’s always been the one to cook. (I do bake, but Tobyjoe doesn’t really eat sweets; it ain’t me!) I’ve always brushed it off. But lately, as I look at Murray, I’ve been asking myself: did I make Murray fat?
Murray loves to eat. He loves to eat more than any other cat I’ve ever known. Murray even puts Schmitty’s eating habits to shame. Pancakes? Yup. Chips? Yes. Bread? Muffins? Cupcakes? Yes, yup and you betcha. But Murray eats vegetables, grains and eggs as well. The only item I’ve seen him turn his head away from and bury with his paw has been fish.
I feed our cats one can of wet cat food twice a day. They split one can twice a day. They also have some low cal hard stuff that I put out all the time, which they simply refuse to eat now that they know there’s good stuff on the way. Even Pookum, our eldest, eats the wet stuff now.
Two days ago, I woke up to my same morning ritual. I filled the kettle for the french press. I opened my computer on the way to the bathroom. I peed. I brushed my teeth, tied my hair back, and washed my face. I returned to the kitchen, made Em’s morning bottle and prepared his solid meal. I got a can of food out for the cats and fed the fatties in three different bowls. I moved one out of the circle a bit for Pookum (who gets harassed otherwise). I sat down to read email.
A few minutes later, Murray jumped up onto the sofa next to me. He was soaking wet. I checked to see where it was coming from, and to get a better idea of what this mysterious liquid was. I discovered that his entire underbelly is sopping wet.
“What have you done, Murray?” I asked. “Did you fall in the toilet again? Is this pee? Were you in the sink? What have you done?”
I followed the trail of water from the sofa to the food bowl in the kitchen. A giant puddle of water surrounded the now empty water bowl. You see, Murray had decided that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. So, instead of moving his body and positioning it around the water bowl in order to eat, he plopped his belly down right overtop of it. Because God forbid Murray have to walk a little out of his way in order to start eating. God forbid Murray should potentially arrive late for the morning buffet. God forbid someone else get to his bowl before he does. God forbid he get some exercise on his way to eat. God forbid all of that.
And so it brings me great pain to write what I’m about to write but Murray has to go on a diet. The problem is, I am not sure how to put a cat on a successful diet. The last time I tried this, I created the grumpiest cat in the world.
Is he going to stop loving me? And with that comment, perhaps Tobyjoe is right.