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.
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:
- You are getting very sleepy. Now take off the lid, biatch.
- Please, please, take off the lid.
- Why do you hate me?
- Damn you, opposable thumbs.
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