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Left: Kitt looking down on Silas before the tables turned. Top
right: Silas trying to fit his rear in a space too kitties
too small. Bottom right: Kitt's fanny fitting nicely even though
she's supposedly overweight. Image copyright, Teece Aronin.
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Then again, there's the article I just read saying cats should have an "hourglass" shape when you look down at them. Silas has an armadillo shape, so that lands me back at square one, thinking he must be overweight.
My kids and I have another cat, too, a gray tabby named Kitt. The vet recently told us Kitt's overweight, but because she looks like a grape in comparison with Silas' watermelon, we weren't aware of it. We have since put both cats on a feeding schedule instead of letting them graze and bought them food puzzles so that they'll burn more calories than they do by whining, which is the only effort they had previously put out in order to eat.
There are some interesting differences between the two cats because of their size difference. When Kitt "knocks" at my bedroom door, it's a dainty little tap-tap. When Silas knocks, bolts rattle, knobs come loose, and door jambs splinter.
When Kitt jumps onto the cat tree, she's like an agile dancer doing a stag leap. When Silas jumps onto the cat tree, he's like an aging athlete trying to do what he used to do and can't quite do anymore. Or better yet, like King Kong taking a running leap at the Empire State Building.
When Kitt jumps to the floor, she makes a girlish little oop sound. And when Silas jumps to the floor, he makes a sound frighteningly similar to the human, "ugh!" When Kitt jumps to the floor, you hear a tiny thump, but when Silas jumps to the floor, it sounds like a drunk at a wedding falling on the dance floor.
Both cats enjoy lying on my bed. Kitt takes up a fraction of the space Silas does, and Silas always seems in danger of falling off both sides of the bed at once.
As long as they're healthy, I don't care how fat they are, because I love them just the way they are.
Come to think of it, that's what I'd want people to say about me - just not when I can hear them.
My kids and I have another cat, too, a gray tabby named Kitt. The vet recently told us Kitt's overweight, but because she looks like a grape in comparison with Silas' watermelon, we weren't aware of it. We have since put both cats on a feeding schedule instead of letting them graze and bought them food puzzles so that they'll burn more calories than they do by whining, which is the only effort they had previously put out in order to eat.
There are some interesting differences between the two cats because of their size difference. When Kitt "knocks" at my bedroom door, it's a dainty little tap-tap. When Silas knocks, bolts rattle, knobs come loose, and door jambs splinter.
When Kitt jumps onto the cat tree, she's like an agile dancer doing a stag leap. When Silas jumps onto the cat tree, he's like an aging athlete trying to do what he used to do and can't quite do anymore. Or better yet, like King Kong taking a running leap at the Empire State Building.
When Kitt jumps to the floor, she makes a girlish little oop sound. And when Silas jumps to the floor, he makes a sound frighteningly similar to the human, "ugh!" When Kitt jumps to the floor, you hear a tiny thump, but when Silas jumps to the floor, it sounds like a drunk at a wedding falling on the dance floor.
Both cats enjoy lying on my bed. Kitt takes up a fraction of the space Silas does, and Silas always seems in danger of falling off both sides of the bed at once.
As long as they're healthy, I don't care how fat they are, because I love them just the way they are.
Come to think of it, that's what I'd want people to say about me - just not when I can hear them.
