Dear Readers I have some news to report. I was forced into a PTU (Prisoner Transport Unit, I think it's called) and sent off to the V.E.T. on Saturday morning. Why you might ask? My parents (Mommy in particular) are worry warts.
About a month or so ago, I started to shun the dry food I'd always been given to eat. My nose became upturned to the Friskies I had once enjoyed (oh my, do you think this will ruin my chances at a future endorsement deal?), a fine product to be sure (whew, I think I saved it) but no longer to my taste. I had a taste for the Feast. I was craving the goodness that's stinky.
I would dance and cry for the feast. At first it was just given as a treat, but slowly it became all I wanted (okay, pretty quickly actually). Dry food was completely refused. I even lost some weight in the war being waged with my parents. Daddy thought I was being difficult (really!) and would eventually return to the dry stuff. Nope! They bought well over five different varieties and still nothing.
Finally Mommy said I was losing weight, and buckled into giving me the feast on demand, and demand I did (I'll be sharing my methods later this week). I also started to really down the water (this was just because I got a new water dispenser and the water was delicious). Mommy began to worry I had an issue. I heard things like "Maybe we should get her checked out? She's a granny cat after all."
Well Mommy stressed for about a week about traumatizing me (which I appreciate and love her for) and purchased feline hormone spray to soothe me in the carrier (boy that stuff is nice) and drug laced treats to calm me (of course I refused to eat those). As you know I like to keep the parents guessing so instead of freaking out, I was like a perfect little angel going to the VET, no biting, no bunny kicks, hardly even a harsh meow.
The Vet was the best ever (well as good as his kind can be), he thought my gums looked a bit red and gave me an antibiotic (yuck) to try for a week. No rude tests, unless I don't improve. I was a bit put off though when he mentioned I was a "sizable" kitty. Well I never! He didn't mention the "D" word though.
Oh and it turns out, that in Mommy's middle-aged blindness, she misjudged the amount of Feast I should be getting. No wonder I was so hungry. So I will be a mostly good cat and take my medicine with minimal biting, get lots of lap naps on Mommy, guilt treats, and finally I will have my fill of the Feast. Should be a pretty good week.