Over the holidays, so many guests exclaimed that Miss Crankypants’ cats are overweight. One relative advised a weight-loss diet. Like that would work. Said relative doesn’t realize that the Cranky Cats dine at what is lovingly called “the bottomless bowl.” Another irritated the daylights out of Miss CP by intimating that perhaps SHE could join them on a reducing diet. “Some chubbies do better on the Buddy System,” this wise acre opined. Chubbies? The nerve!
The best idea came from ex-Marine Mr. Crankypants, whose toned muscular frame is kept in check by eating at least two gigantic pastries per day. (It’s SO NOT FAIR.) He suggested we enroll our three fat cats in KITTY BOOT CAMP.
Perfect.
Ordering our three felines to do anything except sleep seems beyond futile. But we’re desperate to keep Melchior the Very Large from parking his butt on top of you when you try to nap on the couch. It’s like having an elephant sitting on your chest. So off to Kitty Boot Camp we go.
Now every military man knows you must provide incentives to get your recruits to perform. In this case, cat treats are probably what got us to this sorry state in the first place, so we’re going with a feather tied to fishing line. On a real fishing pole.
Miss Cranky isn’t much of a fisherman, so Mr. Cranky casts to the middle of the living room, taking care not to snag the droopy Christmas tree (Miss CP swears it’ll be down by Easter!) or get caught up on Miss Crankypants’ new ugly Christmas sweater.
The 3 cat-terrors crouch in the I-might-chase-this-if-I-feel-like-it pose. Mamma Mia! wiggles her behind in anticipation. Mel the Very Large isn’t the brightest kitteh, so he’s not sure why there’s a bird feather on the end of a fishing pole. Come to think of it, this does send a mixed message, but we’re trying to help these chubbies get the lead out, remember? Cranky Cat just sits in the corner, complaining loudly that he should be the only pet and why can’t we get rid of these other two interlopers? That’s a Siamese/Manx for you.
The feather twitches. Mamma Mia! lunges. Mel is dumb so he just sits there. So much for CAT FISHING.
We move on to regulation marching. Do you think any of these porkers will so much as set one paw in front of the other? Negative. The Crankypantses resort to shaking cans full of dried beans to get them to move. These are kind of like MREs (military speak for Meals Ready to Eat), only worse.
You’d think all the racket would scare the three kitties under the bed. But no–they exit stage right and beat a path to our bed and take up their respective cat treat spots.
This is the only time you’ll ever see these fat cats stay in formation.
Treats dispensed, the kitties commence licking their paws. They want to know when catfish season starts up again. And until then, the fattest cats on the block insist on curling up for a little cat nap. That leaves Miss Crankypants to do all the marching herself. See you guys in Antarctica. Oh and Happy New Year!