Ruh roh! It’s diet time again.
The meowing protests have begun.
Buddy has noticed his dry food tastes a little bit different, and he’s not happy. And while he may not be good with numbers, he strongly suspects his snack allocations are a little light.
He’s right.
Good boy has become fat boy, and that’s my fault and my responsibility.
When you love your cat, it’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that giving in all the time is an expression of love.
Cats are pros at insistence, especially when it comes to food. When Buddy stands in front of the treat cabinet and meows mournfully, or when he gives me his sad-eyed stare as if he’s Julius Caesar — “Et tu, Big Bud?” — I’m weak and I fold. Snacks are dispensed.
Yet there’s no denying Bud is plump.
He’s got a belly, and it’s not just his pronounced primordial pouch. His cheeks are starting to fill out. When he loafs, he looks like a gray blob.
He’s also incapable of doing his old door-opening trick, which requires him to jump and momentarily hang from the handle while his feet find purchase on the frame. Shoving off on his hind legs, he would push the handle down while leaning into the door, easing it open.
He’s just too chunky, unable to balance his weight properly to pull it off nowadays.
Most importantly, a chubby Buddy is not a healthy Buddy. That’s my fault.
So it’s back to the diet, and hopefully the little guy can be motivated to move more during play time. If not, well, we’ll have to resort to drastic measures to get him moving. An angry vacuum ought to do it.
via Pain In The Bud