By Gordon Hopkins
People think fatties are weak. They don’t know how wrong they are.
It is the mistaken perception that fatties get that way because they are lazy. They think they are unmotivated. They think they are soft. Well, I can tell you, this impression is false, and I have the proof.
No, I am not talking about me. I really am lazy and unmotivated and soft. I am talking about Archie, my fat orange cat. A couple weeks ago, he had to go back to the vet. Sure enough, he had another urinary blockage.
Once again, he had to be given a catheter. At less than four years of age Archie is too young to be having bladder troubles.
The vet then prescribed him some “special” food. By “special,” what I really mean is more expensive. Even more annoying, Archie’s little brother Groucho, the black cat, will also be eating the “special” food, despite having a perfectly healthy bladder. Trying to feed them separately simply isn’t an option.
The vet also prescribed some medicine. This is where my troubles really start.
The pills are not a problem. Some pet owners have animals that miraculously find the pill no matter how deep into whatever treat you hide it in and spit it out. Not Archie. Because he is a fuzzy orange pig, he will eat pretty much anything I set in front of him.
The stuff in that little brown bottle, however, Archie will fight tooth and claw to keep out of his mouth.
I can’t say I blame him. I don’t know what sort of vile, villainous concoction that foul-smelling liquid is. I only know Archie is so offended by it that I have to hold him down, pry open his jaws and shove a syringe down his throat.
I am supposed to give Archie one milliliter a day. Every day.
And Archie fights it harder every day.
After day three, I looked like Uncle Frank, the skinless guy from the “Hellraiser” movie. I soon resorted to using a towel to wrap him up, like a kitty straight jacket, and a thick glove on my left hand. That’s the hand I use to hold his jaw open. Despite these precautions, I’m still getting shredded daily.
Archie looks fat, lazy and, above all, soft, but if you get on his bad side, he will tear you to pieces.
The most extraordinary thing is that Archie has now figured out what the towel and the glove means. Yet, when he sees them coming, he doesn’t run. I don’t have to chase him down, like you might expect. Instead, he just stares me down, as if to say, “Haven’t you learned your lesson, yet?”
Yes, that fat cat is one tough cookie. You would be wise to remember that.