As you know because you are a good and faithful reader, Izzy has been on a diet for a few months now. She is…she's a big girl. But we've been whittling down her food supply and giving her higher-quality meals, and the results are paying off! Here she is today.
As you can see, this is dramatically different from the Izzy from a few months ago.
Or, hell, even last month.
I am never going to stop making this joke.
Anyway, as the photos indicate, she's gone from being a big girl to a big angry girl, who thinks about nothing but murder.
We had to take her to the vet a couple of weeks ago due to a horrifying case of diarrhea. As she is so very large, we had to clean her after each bout. She hissed and clawed as we wet-wiped her butt. I don't think our relationship will ever recover. I think I'm okay with that. Maybe we need to establish some emotional distance, Izzy. Also physical distance. You go sit on the fire escape, now. There you go. Anyway, the vet observed that she has a "thick frame" (have you ever!) and said the best we could hope for is to get her down to 15 pounds (well!). She's now holding steady, since September, at 19. This, despite the strict regimen AND her weird virus, which also caused her to sneeze constantly and shun all foods. And breathe through her mouth and loathe us with every fiber of her being. (That last part is possibly not new.)
I'm supposed to get her to exercise, which I am here to tell you I cannot do. She is too fat to move. I have tried. I dangle a toy above her head and she lies on her back and paws at the air, wheezing. I dose her with catnip and THEN dangle a toy and she lies on her back, marveling at the rainbow trails her paw is leaving. She'll gallop across the room maybe once for something, and then she is done and retreats into a corner to rest up and collect more fortifying fat deposits. If I prod her to move any more than that, she'll hide under our bed and plot my untimely end. The only entertainment that really gets her racing around is a mouse, and I am not about to populate my home with vermin so my cat can get fit and trim. I have my limits!
Meanwhile as I'm writing this she's splayed across the top of the couch behind me, breathing like how Darth Vader would breathe if Darth Vader were a cat. Huuuuh-hoooorgh. Huuuuh-hooorgh.
She could jump on my head right now and snap my neck. Good thing she can't read, right? Stupid cat! HahahaaaaURK