I need you to pray for Mr. Tiddles. I worry for its rotten soul because of its over-indulgence in the deadly sin of gluttony. If something fits in its mouth, it will swallow it. If it does not fit in its mouth, it will fit it in its mouth and swallow it. Obstacles preventing a full stomach be damned as I’ve even witnessed this heathen stride across a burning gas stove-top like a firewalker to snatch a chicken breast from a hot skillet.
This most likely originated from being abandoned in an empty apartment for days by its previous owner, not knowing if it will receive its next meal. I once suggested therapy for Mr. Tiddles (even though I wasn’t sure if my insurance covered heathens), but Partner rolled his eyes and disagreed. Whatever. The heathen would probably blame me for all of its issues, anyway.
At first, its appetite was amusing, but eventually it swelled up like full tick, its stomach dragging the floor. Okay, so maybe feeding it potato chips and candy bars didn’t help. I was amazed by what the cat would eat. Partner, on the other hand, grew frustrated with me contravening his strict cat diet, claiming that I forced treats down the cat’s throat; I say I was surprised it didn’t inhale my arm up to the elbow when I offered them to it.
When I noticed it could no longer effortlessly hike its back leg in the air to lick its asshole (it literally struggled to pull back its hind leg with both front paws while awkwardly stretching its neck and holding out its tongue) and that we had to grease it up before it could dart under the bed to hide, I promised Partner that I would undo the harm I caused. Since Mr. Tiddles didn’t respond well to Richard Simmons or Jenny Craig, I created Mr. Tiddles’ very own, personal exercise program.
Mondays (endurance): Startle cat awake with loud noise (air horn, scream, etc.) to generate a sudden burst of energy to get the body warmed up and the heart rate going. Strap startled cat into harness tethered to vacuum cleaner and turn on (the vacuum, not the cat). Eight to nine hours of weighted vacuum towing is not only an effective calorie burner, it cleans your floors while you are at work.
Tuesdays (weight and core): Startle cat awake with loud noise (vuvuzela, starting pistol, etc.) to generate a sudden burst of energy to get the body warmed up and the heart rate going. Strap overturned coffee table to startled cat’s back. Encourage movement by dangling tasty treat from pole taped to cat’s head.
Wednesdays (cardio): Try to find cat’s new hiding place so you can startle it awake with loud noise (fire alarm, fart, etc.) to generate a sudden burst of energy to get the body warmed up and the heart rate going. Place startled, shaking cat into dryer (turn the temp down, though; you’re not a monster), shut door, and turn on (the dryer, not the cat). As the barrel rolls, cat will either get with the program and jog in place or bounce around for 60 minutes.
Thursdays (????): Get startled awake by Partner with air horn asking how it feels to be startled awake by an air horn. Tell Partner to mind his own business as you are trying to keep a promise. Find cat shaking behind guest bedroom door because it hasn’t slept in 24 hours. Somehow tightly strap joy buzzer to cat’s rear end (button pointing out). When cat sits down, a quick vibration launches the cat off its feet before it runs to the other side of the house. Cat will spend all day while you are at work running from end to end, burning the calories and shedding the pounds.
Fridays (?????): Answer knock at front door while you try to find cat’s new hiding place so you can startle it awake with a loud noise (your partner’s nagging, your partner’s screaming disapproval of exercise program, etc.) to find police and animal control. Go to jail. Call and beg for bail money from friends and family. Get raped awaiting bail money. Question yourself about how much you may or may not have enjoyed rape. Go home. Chase cat around home for calling police on you.
Saturdays, Sundays: rest.
Ever the most level-headed person, Partner instituted a diet of moderation instead. Go figure; it worked eventually.
Even though we serve Mr. Tiddles smaller portions against its will, it has developed an interesting (almost supernatural) trick to placate its appetite. It will pretend to watch one of its siblings eat, sitting 6 inches away from their food bowl. Suddenly, with an unnaturally quick stretch of its neck, it will cram in a mouthful of their food like a chipmunk. I swear to God you can’t see it with the naked eye. I only realize it stole from them because of its guilty posture when walking away to a secluded spot where it’ll open its mouth, unload its booty, and consume at its leisure.