Nero goes on a diet

Nero Kitty, all of a beefy two-year old tuxedo cat, following in his namesake’s steps, weighed in at almost 16 pounds at his recent vet visit. The vet compounded the indignity of  the rectal thermometer by simultaneously declaring “Nero is fat!” The vet looked at my own girth and did little to conceal his mental note “Oh, wow, how could that possibly happen when Nero has such a toned and svelte mommy person?” He then pointed to a display of “prescription” cat food — “this is what you should feed Nero until he loses 2 pounds.” It was a small bag — I figured it would last about three weeks. “How much for a bag,” I asked. “$17.50″

I am very good at quick math as long as it does not involve more than one digit so I did a comparison check with Nero’s current food regime: three weeks = 21 days x 1 large can of cat food a day at $.59 = $12.39 plus one bag of dry cat food at $3.99 = $16.38. Content that the new diet food is not a complete rip off I pick up a bag with every intention that I will be a responsible pet owner and help my hulking he cat slim down. Nero watched me with suspicion while the good doctor checked out the places where kitty’s testicles used to be. The doc left to go get the distemper and rabies shots. Nero bee-lined for the farthest corner under the chair where I was sitting and bit my ankle. Such a playful boy!

The doctor came back with his assistant, Olga, who looked like she was a member of the Russian weight-lifting team. “Neeroh, jist wat art to doink under theyer? Kome out and be a man. Sich as kowartly pussykat.” She lowered herself onto the floor eye to eye with the now hissing patient and gave him the stare. Nero sidled a bit then came out pretending he had every intention of coming out just then and was in no way intimidated into doing so. The doctor explained to Nero, “I am going to give you two shots, one here  (no reaction) and one there (Nero sheds vast amounts of hair while levitating for a good three seconds).

At home I set out a controlled portion of the new food. The next morning it is still there, except for one chunk which is on my chair in the living room. Nero wildly strops my legs and hovers at the feeding station. I explain to him that he has to eat his new food. I leave the kitchen to take my coffee back to bed. I am tackled on the stairs. Nero has a death grip around my ankle and clonks up the steps. It is not until we reach the landing that he lets go and screams into the bedroom to my pillow. He then proceeds to hack — the hack that precedes the delivery of a hair ball. I dive onto the bed, scooping him up in my arms, both of us collapsing on my husband’s side of the bed just as the delivery is made. Phew, that was close. As I wipe the remaining traces of hair wretch off hubby’s pillow Nero settles grumpily into his favorite spot.

By lunch time the food is still untouched and Nero is beginning to look wan. I break and set out a half a can of Friskies Cajun Chicken Fried Steak. Nero, still sleeping in the bedroom obviously had his cat food-detector on full volume since I heard the unmistakable noise of fifty stampeding buffalo – and there he was up to his whiskers in marvelous, yummy, sinfully delicious wet cat food. We will try the battle of wills again today although I already know the outcome.