You don’t need to rub your eyes for a reality check. That is Greg feeding Max a piece of leftover Christmas ham. We adopted Maximus Rube Wahlberg as a waif-like, but tenacious, stray 2 year old cat. 2-ish…I’ve always stated that we haven’t asked him his actual age. It would be RUDE. In a short 18 months, we have turned him (fed him) into the size of a small child. Standing upright, he might rival Kelly in height. He started out as a great pair of socks as I cuddled with him on the couch, and has turned into a full-on parka.
Wishing for him a bright future, and knowing that he is now a child…in size…I enrolled him in school. What can I say? LAZY. L-A-Z-Y. He will not study. He will not apply himself. This is one unscholarly cat. How is he ever going to make the history books if he never learns to READ a book?
I think we know from WHOM he gets his bad example: the original drop-out, Sydney Bristow Taurel, aka dead-beat cat, as you can see here. If you think that’s harsh, just look at her! She looks dead! Or beat! Kaya’s feet remain freezing cold, according to Kelly. This poor Indian has been wearing the same pair of hot pink socks for 8 months. I figure with them on Kaya, there is at least one pair of socks my mystical house sock-sucking machine can’t touch. I wouldn’t pick a fight with a doll who has her own wolf and dog-sled. Come and get ’em SOCK SUCKA.
I shouldn’t complain. Max has the best “Guard Cat” skill set I’ve ever seen. If the girls are asleep, he’s guaranteed to be parked at their door. As I sing lullabyes every night, he comes to bid a gentle goodnight, and when I turn in, he settles into their doorway, where I am certain to find him at the 6:30 am bell. He has tried sleeping with the girls, but I think he’s grown tired of being kicked to death. I tried to warn him.
We had a bit of drama Sunday morning when Fatty McFat-Cat-erson got stuck under the entertainment center. He was very, “What the?…” about the entire ordeal. I’ve got some bad news for the cat I found eating a bowl of spaghetti last week (if it’s out, and you turn your back, he’s ON IT): NO…MORE…HAM. Sorry bubs. You are back to a strictly sausage and cheese diet. JOKING. Joking.
3 responses to “Our Love Has Made Him Real…ly Fat”
Love this Post.. as we have a Flame Point Siamese (Harley) who THINKS he runs the house..
Oh my gosh, what does it say about me that the cat posts are my favorites? Whenever I see a furball in the opening picture, I get excited like a little kid!
The way you make the cats talk, think, and assign them (hilarious) human qualities makes me laugh outloud. I guess it is because I am a cat lover, and they were human (and fat) at my house, too.
Thank you, Lori. Your blog has turned into my favorite nighty nighty ritual that puts me to sleep with a smile!
P.S. If I am reincarnated, I pray that I will come back as one of YOUR cats. They are living the SWEET life…The Cat Lottery, right there at your house.
Rachel
Rachel, I have to agree…my cat posts crack me up. I never wanted cats, and now? I write about them and giggle until my sides hurt. They are just so cuddly and aloof at the same time…it’s funny!