Thursday, January 17, 2013
A girl’s lament
12:05 PM | 
Posted by
Bruny Hudson |
By Pogo
Psst. It’s me, Pogo, one of Hobo’s kitty sisters. Hobo went outside and forgot to turn his computer off, so I’m taking the opportunity to meow with you about some things going on in our household that I’m not too happy about.
After Hobo sold his business, I didn’t have any work to do and began to occupy myself with snacking. Every chance I had, I grabbed a bite to eat and even licked up the spilled crackers my other sisters left behind. Eating more and more and more and more often, I soon gained a few ounces. Mom noticed it and began to call me “hippy,” but I knew it was all in fun because my weight gain was barely noticeable.
About a year and a half ago, Hobo hired Thomas, a cute young male cat, to be his assistant, and I heard him ask Rocky, one of my sisters, who the cute chick was while looking at me. He said he could really go for me if I were about 5 pounds lighter.
His remark sure got my attention because I secretly thought he was a good looking guy. I immediately resolved to drop some weight, but dieting didn’t do the job because I didn’t have the willpower to stay away from the food bowl and the yummy treats Mom and Dad usually doled out once or twice a day.
Every time, Hobo was in the backyard, I sneaked into his office and began to search the Internet for a solution. I soon found and ordered an appetite suppressing diet drug, but it made me woozy, and I buried the rest of the pills in the potted plants on the windowsill and began my search again.
My next discovery was something called “bulimia” in which human girls pig out and then throw up in order to enjoy eating but not gain weight. I knew this would be the perfect solution for me because, after all, I like to eat and also like to throw up hairballs.
Indeed, it worked wonderfully. The ounces began to slip away, and the number on the scale rapidly fell from 14 pounds down to 9 pounds, which was the ideal weight for me. Thomas took notice and was soon curling up with me and giving me baths, and all was perfect until Hobo noticed my weight loss. I explained what I was doing, but he was concerned there might be something else wrong with me, and after he barked at Mom, I was soon in the little traveling room and sitting in the vet’s office.
The vet poked me all over and then stuck something cold in a place I didn’t really like. He remarked that I didn’t have a fever, and he wanted to take a picture of my insides and also take a blood sample to make sure nothing was wrong.
He hauled me off into a backroom and put me on the examining table. Then, he placed a big metal clip on the loose skin at the top of my neck. It made me feel safe and secure as though I were a kitten again being carried by my mother, and as I relaxed, I allowed him to do anything he wanted.
First, he made me lie down, but he rushed away from my side, and I heard a click and felt a tingle, and seconds later, I saw him looking at a picture of my innards on a computer monitor. Next, he proceeded to take about half my blood for something called a “blood test.” Then, he took the clip off my neck and carried me back to Mom and Dad and told them he couldn’t find anything wrong except for a small hairball, which I had been planning to hack up as soon as I was back in my room at home.
Before we all left the office, the vet handed Hobo a bill for over 300 kibbles, causing Hobo to snarl and bristle, and said he would call the next day when the blood test results came in. Needless to say, he called back and said everything was perfect and to keep a watch on me.
I think this serves Hobo right. It’s nice to know that Hobo loves me, but he should have taken my word and not have made me take all the tests and interfere with my and Thomas’s romance.
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