Not that it bothers me in the least, but the humans are on the warpath. They’ve taken extreme measures, so that I don’t get to eat as much as I want anymore. This is as good a definition of “crisis” as I can imagine.
First, I apologize for the lack of a blog post last week. Since the comic was out on Sunday, I decided to take a break and be lazy. Now, though, I have a topic of the utmost importance: my mistreatment at the hands of my staff.
It’s their fault that I gained weight in the first place. I was actually losing weight, but since my blood work showed I was slightly anemic, they decided to force-feed me. I didn’t object. For weeks, there were always kibbles available for me to scarf down, and they would give me wet food two or three times a day. I could even eat from Butterscotch’s bowl downstairs. It was a fantastic period in time, a shining beacon on which I will look back fondly and miserably for the rest of my life.
Why is that? Because, on my most recent visit to the vet, the balance said I weighed over 15 pounds. At first, I thought getting man-handled for a blood draw was the most awful thing to happen that day, but I was oh so wrong. Thanks to that additional pound, I now have to starve most of the day. We’re back to the old schedule, which means I no longer have unlimited access to food. I am being punished for the humans’ mistake. Not to mention the fat-shaming.
And to make things worse, I am already super hungry (one might say hangry) in the morning since the time change last month. It’s one cruelty piled on top of another. I’m like a mouse that a cat let escape only to catch it again seconds later. I feel your pain, little furry friend. Before long, I’ll be a scrawny, tiny critter, just like you.