Fat isn't just a feminist issue, it is also a feline issue
Unfortunately for my waistline, I am still cleaning out the fridge of crap. I still have 12 rice crispie cakes to munch through, some sausage rolls, houmous, onion and garlic dip, and not to mention the crisps lying around.
My cunning plan is to eat it all tonight, and make myself feel so sick that I never want to eat crap again, leaving the way open for crisp clean salads, steamed fish, and grilled meats. Ha! I tried that last night, by eating the remains of my B&J chocolate brownie ice cream. I felt so sick that I can't even face eating food today.
I recovered briefly, and I did manage a pouisson with lots of veg, but I couldn't resist the skin (that is going to be my downfall), and I am back to feeling ill. Never mind. Dieting is about willpower. I will eat a fridge full of crap, I can do it!
What else has happened? Harvey's eye is nearly better, so after tonight, I won't need to do battle with a psychotic cat. I tried to sneak up on him this morning when he was asleep, but he woke up and legged it under the sofa, and then shot out through the cat flap. When he returned 5 minutes later (it was pissing down) he eyed me warily.
The silence was deafening. He blinked. I blinked. He swished his tail (no doubt something extremely rude in cat tongue). I produced the eye ointment from behind my back. He reversed at high speed through the cat flap. I started to laugh. Then made him some breakfast.
A typical male always comes home for food! Harvey heard the bowls go down and literally flew through the door and ran to his food (he insists on eating first so to beat the others to the bowls he needs to move at the spped of light). I sat in the kitchen, putting the boxes of cat food in the cupboard, cunningly leaving a large cat sized hole - I know my cats! Ellie got in and got out when I showed her her old lampshade collar. Frankie got in and got out when I showed him the flea spray.
And then came Harvey. Still wary, he manouevred around me so that we didn't touch but we maintained eye contact. And in he climbed. Quick as a flash, I built up a wall of cat food around him, leaving his head poking out. He miaowed. He knew what was coming. He hissed. He spat. He swore.
I grabbed that evil little head, pulled his eyes open and got bitten for my trouble. I swore, pulled his eye open again and dripped that ointment in. From the noise, you would be forgiven for thinking I had tried to murder him. He flung himself out of the cupboard with superfeline strength (I'm glad he didn't do that pre ointment) and sat himself on the bin, giving me the Evil Eye. The full effect was somewhat diluted, as the ointment had gummed up one eye and made him cycloptic, and frankly, quite comical.
There is nothing worse than being in your cats bad books. They deliberately track mud everywhere, moult on your favourite clothes, hack hairballs into your shoes, trample on you at night, hog the bed, hog the sofa.................hang on, cats do that anyway. No, the bad bit is that they won't come and sit on you and purr. That is what makes up for everything else.
So, back to food bribery. Harvey is all male, despite the lack of bollocks. Out comes the treats. Now treat time in this house is actually quite a laugh. Ever since Harvey arrived, he has been able to catch these tiny treats in his paws. As he got bigger we threw them into the air to give him a challenge, which as a truly demented beast he cheerfully accepted (everything to a cat is a personal mission that must be accomplished).
Result? One fat cat. Then Frankie arrived. We threw treats at him. They hit him between the eyes. And Harvey scarfed them down. Guess what? One even fatter cat, and one disappointed cat. And disappointed cats start cat fights.
Fast forward a few months after the cat diet. Frankie learnt pretty quickly that he had to catch treats if he ever wanted to eat one. But, being another male cat, and therefore in possession of The Ego, he had to go one better. Frankie has mastered the art of leaping into the air and catching the treat directly in his mouth (so now we have two fat cats). That ended the fights. Until now.
Miss Ellie can't catch at all. She sits and watches them sail towards her, and watches as the boys intercept them. Except the boys fight over who has interception rights. Harvey believes himself to be the Top Cat. Frankie disagrees and weighs a good 3 pounds more. So the fur flies. Why is it that a white tabby who only has any real amount black fur on the rings on his tails sheds only black fur? Frankie is a tail biter.
The Baron is working late. Peace and quiet again. Apart from the final scheduled eye drop, that is. Hopefully, his Dad won't call. He has been calling to update us on the latest in the family saga (the Baron's nan and her reluctance to go to Ireland). Now his mum won't speak to his nan, and the family is strangely siding with his mum. I personally think his mum is bang out of order on this one and should apologise, and mind her own damn business. She doesn't know yet that I am not going.
I told the Baron what I would do if he made me go, namely get drunk and tell the wedding party exactly why they got married (groom caught out shagging secretary). I wouldn't really (although I would fantasise about doing it), but he said I am not allowed to go now. Result!
Good Lord, I have been typing for quite some time. Probably time to end this feeble saga and go do something. Like medicate the cat. He is snoozing so peacefully now......................time for revenge!
posted by DMouse007 @ 12/30/2003 05:08:00 PM
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