She Is Her Mother’s Cat

The vet told me my cat was fat. At 11 pounds, he said she should be 9. So I put her on a diet, and she’s not happy about it.

I wish I could be more like Esme. She’s completely happy in her slightly chunky skin and wants nothing to do with the dieting.

Recently, she’s taken to doing the following:

  • Drinking the leftover milk from my cereal.
  • Picking the ham out of my scrambled eggs while it’s cooking on the stove.
  • Pawing at me until I give her my chips. (Ok, ok, she’s always done this.)

The chip thing is really helping me with my portion control. I can only eat about 3 chips before Esme hears the bag comes running.

But last week, she did something that brought a tear to my eye.

At first, I thought she was raiding my vodka stash.

At first, I thought she was raiding my vodka stash.

To celebrate our new house, I made The Domestic Rebel’s Birthday Cake 7-Layer Bars. And Esme tried to eat my dessert! It broke my little heart to scream “No!” at her and cover it.


I’ll let you caption this picture:

  1. You are getting very sleepy. Now take off the lid, biatch.
  2. Please, please, take off the lid.
  3. Why do you hate me?
  4. Damn you, opposable thumbs.
  5. Other:

Favorite Comment from Last Post: “The poster creeps me out. Her eyes are like the sea. And I can’t swim. So yeah… Makes perfect sense to me. Just thought… Was I meant to type something nice about the play rather than my own idiosyncracies? Ahh well. What’s done is done.”—AndTodayFolks

About thoughtsappear

I eat lots of sugar. It's the only way to keep up with my new baby and to outrun zombies. View all posts by thoughtsappear

43 responses to “She Is Her Mother’s Cat

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