I’d like to start off by saying that today’s story is brought to you by hormones. I’m not sure exactly which ones, but I’m thirty years old and I have a pimple, so something has gone haywire this week.
But I’m getting a little bit ahead of myself.
I recently noticed that our cat, Max, has been looking a little plump. He’s seven years old, so I thought maybe he was experiencing a middle age decline in metabolism. I suggested to my husband that we switch him over to wet food, which is pretty much the only thing you can do to get a cat to lose a couple of pounds. To quote our vet, “it’s not like you can take him out for a walk.” So my husband purchased a bunch of wet food and Sunday night we started trying to figure out how much to give him. After crunching some numbers, we figured he should probably get four cans a day. My hubby decided that since Max was fat, we should give him one a day. I protested, but was over-ruled. My FIL used to make Hubby run wind sprints in the back yard when he was like eight, so I guess he gets the heartless bastard thing from him. I once let him train me at the gym and I swear I didn’t walk straight for a week.
The first day of the diet was brutal and I finally broke down under Max’s campaign of kitty harassment and gave him another can. Hubby was displeased.
The next day I was tough and didn’t give him another can. Sometime in the afternoon Max threw up a big pile of water. Later, he did it again.
The next day he continued with the water puking. At this point I was annoyed–I figured Max was filling his empty belly with water and it wasn’t going so well. I also went ahead and made an appointment with the vet just to be safe.
I met with the vet and he agreed that Max was probably just drinking too much water. He also told me to go up to two cans a day. He cautioned me that starving cats was a bad idea since it can cause cats to go into LIVER FAILURE. At this point I freaked out a bit. Ok, a lot. I mean, this is my first baby. We used to joke that Max came from my uterus–that’s how much I love this cat. He’s chill and friendly and playful and just a really cool animal–people just love Max. A friend of ours calls Max a gateway drug–people meet him and want a cat of their own.
So I go home and tell my hubby about the potential liver failure. I may have been upset. I may have gesticulated several octaves above the norm. I may have then had a drink to calm my nerves. Maybe.
The next day Max is on the two can regimen and I notice that he’s still acting funny. First, he poops right in front of his litter box. I assume this is some sort of retaliation for the diet and brush it off. Later, he begins walking around the house mewing and scratching at things. Again I’m thinking he wants us to know that he doesn’t appreciate the changes to his culinary fare.
That night I’m in the bathroom when Max stalks in and begins mewing. There was food in his dish so I pretty much started freaking out. He walked into the corner and began clawing the bath mat like he had to go to the bathroom. I check his litter box. It’s still there. I put him in front of it and he refuses to go in. Again, he’s mewing; he’s pawing the ground. Me? Well, at this point there isn’t enough alcohol in New Orleans to keep me calm. I am CONVINCED that Max has developed a rare case of can’tpeeitis as a result of the diet and NOW HE IS GOING TO DIE. I run into our bedroom where Hubby is trying to convince Charlie to sleep–a nightly ritual that I’m pretty sure Hubby likes more than Charlie. I’m shouting “I don’t care if Charlie sleeps–you’ve got to help Max pee!”
Just re-reading that sentence makes me realize just how hella crazy I was at this point. What exactly did I think my husband was going to do? Pee for him?
Hubby comes in. He examines Max’s funny behavior. He tries to jam Max into the litter box, but it’s a no go. We stare at each other. We scratch our heads. Max is still pawing the ground and mewing. At this point the two genius in the room decide to actually look in the litter box.
Apparently Max was doing more than just throwing up water. He was also creating a small lake in his litter box.
It was bad. Hubby and I are over-litterers. We put a LOT of litter in the box–several inches worth. For us, more is more when it comes to litter. I kid you not, the litter had turned into one frightening, mushy block of cat pee. It was pretty freakin’ disgusting.
While we were getting that taken care of, Max gave up on his idiot parents and pissed on the floor of the bathroom.
Moral of the Story: Diets Suck