I’m a cat person. Need I say more?
I suppose you could call the following piece a revenge on behalf of those cats who are considered morbidly obese. Just like in humans, obesity can lead to a variety of health problems in cats: diabetes, arthritis, and a shortened lifespan. I can only imagine what carrying that weight feels like, but it must hurt.
So what would cats do if they got fed up with their fat?
Maybe something like this.
It was well known all the cats on Faircourt Circle were fat, a reality the cats themselves only snatched glimpses of in puddles and window reflections. Neighborhood children pointed, laughed, dropped treats before those twitching whiskers. Veterinarians suggested to the owners over and over again for maintained diets, exercise, playtime, but obesity remained, stagnant, little hearts beating faster to compensate for human neglect.
The Faircourt Circle cats would convene daily and discuss life. The brown tabby Mr. Squiggles had a penchant for going off on tangents about baseball, his owner’s favorite pastime. His littermate Pretty Kitty would listen with one ear, and with the other absorb blue-eyed Alabaster’s stories of the birds in his jungle garden. Silver-coated Tigger liked to discuss the importance of maintaining their claws. Mothball, as always, attempted to groom his ass but, as always, his belly got in the way.
On a clear summer afternoon, they gazed into Alabaster’s koi pond, largely somber. Oppressive heat made them sleepy, nostalgic. They reminisced about their days as kittens when they could leap and crawl without feeling so inevitably bound to the earth, the days when gravity was their friend and not their prison.
When was the last time their behinds weren’t covered in dried shit? When was the last time they could lick all their limbs clean? When was the last time they weren’t so hungry?
Mr. Squiggles thought about the baseball players his human admired, how they ran and jumped and whirled.
Pretty Kitty thought about the kittens she wanted with Alabaster.
Alabaster thought about the birds in his garden, how they dipped and chirped and flew.
Tigger thought about the feeling of prey in his paws.
Mothball thought about licking his ass.
All the food and treats their owners lavished on them wasn’t true love. This is love diluted, they thought, and we don’t want that.
So the next night they congregated again in Alabaster’s garden, forming a loose circle under the Japanese maple tree, far from the koi pond’s distractions. Alabaster suggested a spell. Tigger flexed his claws and said nothing. Mothball once again tried to lick his ass. Mr. Squiggles thought about whacking baseballs at his owner’s head until sense erupted in his bald head.
Pretty Kitty’s suggestion snared their attention. Make them fat. Make them feel what we feel every day.
They all looked at each other, their sagging bellies and disappearing necks.
Yes, we will make them fat.
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