The following poem has nothing to do with our topic of the day, except it involves our oldest cat. I just thought you’d be interested in her current digestive woes. #yourewelcome 😉
“Roses are red,
violets are blue,
the oldest just puked
into mommy’s dress shoe”…………..
Happy Tuesday, y’all! Ok, not sure if there was a part 3 to this series, but I’m sticking with the title.
So let’s do a recap of the last month: We took in our oldest cat to get checked out by the vet. We were sure she had lost weight, but she had actually gained. After feeling like the worst parents on the planet we hunkered down and followed the vets advice. We fed smaller portions into smaller bowls (I hoped this would trick our cats into thinking they were getting more than they were getting).
One month in, things are going pretty well. We were told that we could bring her in to the vet to be weighed at no charge anytime, but we haven’t done that yet. Night shift scheduling is really kickin’ our booty and it’s stressful for her to go in the car back and forth.
But we had a brainstorm. We thought, “Oh, we’ll just weigh her at home because we have a bathroom scale! That should TOTALLY work, right?”
This is how well that actually worked out:
Yeah, she didn’t understand that she actually needed to stand on the scale in order for it to get an accurate reading.
So we have no idea how much she has lost, but we are beginning to see some definition in her hind quarters instead of just a big uni-bum, so that’s something.
Another weird thing that has happened is that she’s not eating as much. Like her metabolism has adjusted to the new portion and she’s no longer frantically demanding more food when she’s out.
In fact as of a week or so ago, she’s no longer eating all her food during meals.
Guys, apparently she has gone on a hunger strike.
Well, she just found out that her presidential candidate of choice, Limberbutt, will not be on the ballot come November. Even after I explained that because Limberbutt was a cat and therefore didn’t have a social security number, he was ineligible to run. Which led into a discussion of what a social security number was and how you have to have one to even vote for president.
That further bummed her out because she was looking forward to participating in this thing we call democracy. So she decided to take drastic action and go on a hunger strike. Until cats everywhere are able to vote for the candidate of their choice….no matter how many legs they have or how furry they may be.
Or until she’s really hungry again.
God Bless America!