tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60797255275217979572024-03-05T20:34:41.170-05:00Mosby's New BodyA Big Fat Cat tries to lose a few pounds and a few inches, and gain a little dignity, dammit.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-20249913652587027222010-02-15T18:11:00.003-05:002010-02-15T18:35:34.912-05:00How did I let this happen?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgz2fgLIxHJ35hARVLsi0V0-qBJMqRqjtesBIeHfeGNReZddXWEo3U_24OskiKqImWjlWYLx4uo3PhV8LfsvzD3W2SNIcoIFzHj5e3UpnrjLUFF3roLBZak_9-4xJQAnbbF86AqWsLB2Z3/s1600-h/scale.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgz2fgLIxHJ35hARVLsi0V0-qBJMqRqjtesBIeHfeGNReZddXWEo3U_24OskiKqImWjlWYLx4uo3PhV8LfsvzD3W2SNIcoIFzHj5e3UpnrjLUFF3roLBZak_9-4xJQAnbbF86AqWsLB2Z3/s320/scale.jpg" alt="Scale photo by Ben Earwicker Garrison Photography http://www.garrisonphoto.org" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438617445231084946" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">33.9.</span><br /><br />That number is staring at me. Mocking me. See the <span style="font-size:130%;">9</span>? It's sticking its tongue out at me.<br /><br />I now weigh a whopping 33.9 pounds. In just over a year I managed to gain 8 pounds. You know how it is: You get a little older, you move a little less. Your meals don't get any bigger, you think. But you're grabbing a snack here, sneaking a bite there. Before you know it, you're bigger than most toddlers. No cat should be bigger than a toddler (although it would help with the tail pulling).<br /><br />Dr. Katz says I've been inadvertently eating more than 500 kcal per day. I had no idea! Neither Marlene nor Jess did either. Just just kept giving me little handfuls of kibble thinking "it's just 10 crunchies!" Well, at 600 kcal per cup, those 10 little crunchies maybe ain't so little.<br /><br />So we have a new plan: I'm limited to 400 kcal per day. That's it. No more. Dr. Katz figured out that's 2/3 cup of the Evo turkey and chicken blend. Jess already measured it out and it's not unimpressive as servings go. Let's see how it goes throughout the day.<br /><br />But what about moist food? Jess found this great gourmet food that we all love. No word on caloric content yet. I do like me some chunked up tuna, but not at the expense of my beloved kibble. You hear me, girls?<br /><br />Here's hoping I can drop a couple of pounds by May. Spring will be in full swing, the air will be sweet. This white, cold stuff will be gone and we can try the Jess-carries-me-down-the-alley and I-run-like-hell-for-the-house thing again.<br /><br />::paws crossed::Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-56015865694575128722009-06-20T08:18:00.007-04:002009-06-22T09:03:03.135-04:00Good-bye, old friend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitowTug_NYrMVl6k-HrMCS8A4TYiK5BEsBv3RwVwsckfM6rw5eAEd_uT-WIwLDGexhS_rsa1BArJAAZmKXROveJcPANpUwGW_3fqo7oA2t_v7-UVDRk1dbOrX5byOWbwsw7VohWtfOs1I/s1600-h/doonsey-garden.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjitowTug_NYrMVl6k-HrMCS8A4TYiK5BEsBv3RwVwsckfM6rw5eAEd_uT-WIwLDGexhS_rsa1BArJAAZmKXROveJcPANpUwGW_3fqo7oA2t_v7-UVDRk1dbOrX5byOWbwsw7VohWtfOs1I/s320/doonsey-garden.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349384370713553154" border="0" /></a><br />You may not have met Doonesbury, the most senior resident of our house. When Stoney and I joined as "fosters" he greeted us warmly (trans: He didn't hiss and swat like <a href="http://walkingottoman.blogspot.com/2008/10/all-hail-queen.html">Gretchen</a> did.). Even in my shell-shocked state, I recognized what a great companion he would be.<br /><br />Marlene met Doonsey when he was a wee little thing, a puff-ball with blue eyes. He roamed the wilds of New Hampshire, chasing frogs and bringing home birds. He trekked across country with Marlene, to woody Northern California, sunny Santa Barbara, and back east to NH. He even got lost for a few months! By the time she found him, he was matted, dirty, and living on scraps. But one look and she knew it was him: those eyes, that perfect mask.<br /><br />Then they made the move to DC. He went from roaming the Wide World to exploring a 2nd floor apartment. Yawn. OK, so he put on a few pounds. OK, 18 pounds. Big and beautiful, until he wants to sit on your chest at night while you're trying to read (his nightly ritual with Jess) or you happen to have a full bladder (it's a talent to pick just the right moment to pounce). As big as he was, he still found a way to scurry under the futon, a mere 4" off the floor, when a thunderstorm hit!<br /><br />But a weight management diet, and access to the back yard, helped him drop to a Maine-Coon-healthy 12 pounds. Playing with Sam helped, too. He was 8 when she joined the house and insisted on chasing him up and down the hall! In frustration at her kitten antics, he sat on her once: Big, furry cat; little kitten legs squirming underneath!<br /><br />The Doons-man was just about the most amiable, agreeable cat you've ever met. He always greeted new guests, feline or human. He even put up with Beyonce! Whenever the girls fostered a new litter of kittens, they'd introduce them to Doonesbury first. He never hissed, never swatted, just said "Hi, howyadoin?" and went on exploring.<br /><br />Dr. Katz described Doonsey as a real gentleman. He never acted out when she was poking and prodding him. Even through dental surgery, he was a trooper. As he started to lose weight and energy a few years ago, she started him on thyroid medication. "He was always game, whatever we were trying," she said. As we added a new pill or liquid, he would rally. He'd put on weight, be more active, and get back to his old Doonsey self.<br /><br />These last two weeks, though, he wouldn't rally. He'd sleep, drink water, pee water, then go back to sleep. He showed less and less interest in food and no interest in grooming. Jess even gave him a bath (not nearly as funny as my "<a href="http://walkingottoman.blogspot.com/2007/07/red-door-my-feline-fanny.html">spa day</a>") so he'd smell a little better. Finally, on Tuesday, he wouldn't eat. Wednesday he ate a little. Thursday, not even real tuna. So on Friday afternoon, the girls brought him back to Dr. Katz. He was a gentleman then, too. As the first shot went in, he bowed his head and went to sleep. The girls stroked him and kissed him as the second shot went in. Quietly and quickly, he left. No fuss.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZiYELWBgwe6V3xMRuBFt-2i_SR6mTh_sO0EYreB2rPBwXolA1Ht1gv0tIcXTO5IPdRlENpa3b_O8LHvnSovwBvDLxm0dEqmDyBxAk4tp0bK1o1Rugs6d0KY52OYkhNhv2sBo_ThOLWZg/s1600-h/doonsey-sleeping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrZiYELWBgwe6V3xMRuBFt-2i_SR6mTh_sO0EYreB2rPBwXolA1Ht1gv0tIcXTO5IPdRlENpa3b_O8LHvnSovwBvDLxm0dEqmDyBxAk4tp0bK1o1Rugs6d0KY52OYkhNhv2sBo_ThOLWZg/s320/doonsey-sleeping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349391060435902818" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Doonesbury<br />May 1991-June 2009<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">If you would like to honor Doonesbury's memory, consider making a donation to <a href="http://www.advocats-inc.org/">AdvoCATs, Inc.</a> or the <a href="http://unionvetclinic.com/New_Standard.html">Julie Fund</a> at Union Vet Clinic. I would, but Jess won't give me the credit card anymore.<br /></div></div>Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-20825652092885998072009-03-04T09:01:00.006-05:002009-03-04T09:33:07.073-05:00Even the smallest among us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeakYE2P49pKOngWBLckrv8vC7DSaLE_cFWBgNU3f8pm1LO4a_-MoFttHXUl8lwX7gjXKPSQLvL0Q5fxwJIhLxjHCryOcBrPUtDWA9cuyP2hylMdnNUaHvahzMYKZJkEoRH1ccXdylpGmg/s1600-h/Jess+Beyonce+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeakYE2P49pKOngWBLckrv8vC7DSaLE_cFWBgNU3f8pm1LO4a_-MoFttHXUl8lwX7gjXKPSQLvL0Q5fxwJIhLxjHCryOcBrPUtDWA9cuyP2hylMdnNUaHvahzMYKZJkEoRH1ccXdylpGmg/s320/Jess+Beyonce+2.jpg" alt="Jess with the late, great Beyonce on her shoulder" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309332865308896610" border="0" /></a>The world is a little less adorable now that our dear Beyonce the Rat has left us. She was a survivor, to be sure: She was rescued from the very jaws of death (a cobra's cage) at National Geographic* and came to live in our house in the Summer of 07. We all learned very quickly that she was not to be stalked, pounced on, or chewed (friend-not-food was the mantra). She loved me and Stoney, sneaking her way under my chin when I was lounging on the couch.<br /><br />The girls gave her the best of everything! Smoked oysters, organic veggies, blankets to shred. Jess would save the frisee from her salad. I have to admit that it's downright cute to watch a rat munch on salad greens. Her little hands would turn the leaf this way and that, then start nibbling. Yogurt drops were her all-time fave. She'd throw out everything else in her bowl to get to them!<br /><br />Beyonce hung out on the couch most of the time. You can still find the spots she chewed in the fabric and pulled out the stuffing. Her favorite spot was sitting with Jess while she watched TV. Beyonce would sit quietly and let Jess stroke her fur. She watched all of Ratatouille that way!<br /><br />Beyonce lived to be about 2 years old (probably). She survived 3 days in a cage with a cobra, a bout with an upper respiratory infection, breast cancer, and life with 6 cats. It was either pneumonia or cancer that took her in the end. Whatever it was, she couldn't breathe. She let Jess feed her medicine in baby food right up until the morning she died.<br /><br />Now the cage is empty, all cleaned out and ready for storage. Jess kept looking at it, expecting that little nose to poke through the wires. I'm sure the girls will bring another rat or two into their lives soon, but not just yet.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NuOly142tmBmS7_N9eOC1IvfzN4rzxwt_Pwlk9FlhbkfsdeJ7EE5bng4sVveuLDFBkWdgS_fr8lHBLasXlNq9liTZZ4nIihw0cJVkr-C59t7uDqEvGUqdLeCuNv-fMel_SsiS65yQRsn/s1600-h/beyonce.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 193px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NuOly142tmBmS7_N9eOC1IvfzN4rzxwt_Pwlk9FlhbkfsdeJ7EE5bng4sVveuLDFBkWdgS_fr8lHBLasXlNq9liTZZ4nIihw0cJVkr-C59t7uDqEvGUqdLeCuNv-fMel_SsiS65yQRsn/s320/beyonce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309339970523438834" border="0" /></a>Beyonce the Rat<br />2007-2009<br /></div><br />*The NatGeo story is true, but may not be as dramatic as Jess and Marlene tell it. They don't care. They're sticking to it.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-90041159175893157812009-01-22T19:53:00.003-05:002009-01-22T20:01:15.379-05:00Missed me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganLeGAqf9HLtnEqr-XA92i1uefj3ZP_VirDdpnO-P8SbX3OOt8zUXmpDjGZA5gEJGu1Clpc8hwwgTGoC2-Jhq-EeCRp0Cfvw6KwK1VqvFKJdVrbLfpOjb5awI_vjazp2rhsFMMLS5AQk-/s1600-h/mosby+pensive.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganLeGAqf9HLtnEqr-XA92i1uefj3ZP_VirDdpnO-P8SbX3OOt8zUXmpDjGZA5gEJGu1Clpc8hwwgTGoC2-Jhq-EeCRp0Cfvw6KwK1VqvFKJdVrbLfpOjb5awI_vjazp2rhsFMMLS5AQk-/s320/mosby+pensive.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294287556021711378" /></a><br />It's been a crazy couple of months, hasn't it? The girls hosted Thanksgiving with the whole family coming in. They roasted a locally raised turkey and we highly approved! Christmas was full of lovely cat toys. Marlene and Jess went a little crazy on us and there are feathered and furred mice all over the house!<br /><br />In December, they had to take me to the vet because I keep licking my legs and arms. It's really pathetic, I know, but I just can't stop! They put this ridiculous blow-up collar on me. Hey, if it ever floods in here, I'm all set.<br /><br />But the good news is that I'm down to 26.5 lbs! And I don't have diabetes! High fives, thank you. I've got something going on "down there" which will need some expensive sonogram (there goes Jess' bonus), but there is definitely no sugar in my pee! I've never been so happy about pee!<br /><br />So now the Capitol has calmed down from its weekend of "CHANGE". Everyone's settled back into their routines. I await a sonogram to find out if I have kidney stones (with Jess' luck, I won't which means $300 down the drain. I'll be hearing about that for a while). And I continue to get lean and trim. Somewhere I have pics of them shaving my belly. It's embarrassing as hell. I'm sure you can't wait!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-17013738712440815292008-10-07T21:07:00.002-04:002008-10-07T21:50:45.640-04:00All hail the QueenJess and Marlene came home tonight all sad and weird. They kept petting us and hugging us. Jess gave Gretchen a pile of chicken from Sunday night's dinner ($28 organic, local chicken) and a bowl of organic broth. Then a new doctor came over. Dr. Flo is her name. She comes to your house, which is pretty cool because it means we don't have to get in the plastic carrier, into the car, and into a scary room. So I wondered why Dr. Flo was there. I mean, I'm fine. Stoney's fine. Beyonce's going to the vet on the 24th. Why was she here?<br /><br />Then I thought about Gretchen. She has gotten so skinny! She was always a little thing, but in the last three months she probably lost at least a pound. All she cared about was food. Her food, my food, everyone's food was her food. Dr. Katz put her on more steroids and that just made her want more food. She didn't want to play, she didn't care about laps or toys. She just ate, drank, peed, and pooped. She was definitely not well. That's why Dr. Flo was there. She was there to make sure that Gretchen was finally OK.<br /><br />While I curled up under the table, Dr. Flo gave Gretchen a shot. Man, she was not happy with it! She growled and bit Jess! Then she dove into that bowl of broth and lapped, and lapped, and lapped. Then she got woozy. She wobbled and fell over. Marlene and Jess laid her on her favorite bed. The stroked her and pet her. Her breathing slowed down. Her eyes got huge. The girls started crying. When Dr. Flo was sure Gretchen was fast asleep, she gave her the second shot. Before I knew it, Gretchen was gone. We all said good bye, even though she was no longer there. Dr. Flo left with Gretchen's body. <br /><br />So tonight, I'm remembering the Gretchen who growled her heart out at me when Stoney and I moved in. She was always the Queen of the House. She was feisty, fierce, and loud! She was first to the bowl, first in the box, and first out the door to the back yard. She was petite, cute, and pretty. Everyone noticed her, even before Doonesbury, the Maine Coon with the big belly. They saw her big eyes and lithe body and proclaimed her most beautiful!<br /><br />Her passing was quiet. She will be missed. Even if it looks like I'm just napping, I'll be missing her every moment.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-31698840398683950332008-08-31T22:25:00.002-04:002008-08-31T22:27:04.541-04:00Don't askShe had to do it. She had to get me on the scale. <br /><br />I'm back up over 28 pounds. <br /><br />Maybe it's muscle? Muscle weighs more than fat, right?<br /><br />See, nothing good comes from going to the vet.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-40314483806823862262008-08-26T23:47:00.002-04:002008-08-26T23:52:55.560-04:00Ignorance is bliss, rightMarlene wants to take me to the vet and weigh me. I don't think it will do either of us any good. She'll be disappointed in me. I'll be freaked out about getting in the plastic box and being hauled around. She'll sigh and wonder where she went wrong. I'll squawk and hide under the bed.<br /><br />I really have no idea if I've gained or lost any weight. I can't get up and down the stairs as quickly as I used to. I'm getting better at jumping up onto the couch. I still love my sweet, salty crunchies!<br /><br />Seriously, do I have to? Couldn't we just stay home on the couch and watch Family Guy?Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-21009790123810772812008-04-24T20:06:00.002-04:002008-04-24T20:13:06.199-04:00Just how big is an inch?Jess came at me with a tape measure the other day. I didn't know what she was up to, she just threw it around my belly. Naturally, I moved away, stepping over the tape like it was the finish line and I was the last runner. <br /><br />"No, Mosby, come here, I need to measure your waist!"<br /><br />What for? New pants? Come on, who needs to know.<br /><br />"Mosby, sit still! I'm sure you're thinner! Let me prove it!"<br /><br />I stepped over the tape, once again, refusing to look, refusing to acknowledge my girth.<br /><br />"Mosby, so help me... Good boy!"<br /><br />She tightened the tape. She did it again. She measured a third time. Lord, woman, don't keep a cat in suspense like this!<br /><br />"Mosby! Oh, Mosby! You lost an whole inch off your waist! You're waist is only 26 inches!"<br /><br />Then she gave me crunchies. Which I ate as though they were the last ones on the planet.<br /><br />So, congratulate me, kids! I'm down an inch!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-87880654495271587292008-04-18T22:51:00.002-04:002008-04-18T22:56:46.078-04:00My workout videoI think I mentioned that Jess wants to get me on a treadmill. Now she has an exercise video for me to watch. Here's Buddy "out for a walk." At least he gets to stay inside, with a soundtrack! I get dragged outside on a harness passed Happy, the neighbor dog who doesn't get to go inside. <br /><br />But I'm proud of Buddy. He's workin' it! He's moving his fluffy orange butt!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/f2RGFr2A5sg&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/f2RGFr2A5sg&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-16168559169910121162008-04-05T12:24:00.002-04:002008-04-05T12:34:48.853-04:00Massage me, babyI loooooove being massaged. Seriously, I demand it. I look straight at Jess and squawk at her until she caves! Then she gets down on the floor, puts me between her thighs, and rubs. She starts on my back, rubbing little circles along my spine, loosening up the tight muscles. Then she hits the spot between my shoulder blades. aaaahhhhh. Next, it's my neck and head, here she really digs in.<br /><br />Then something happens and I end up on my back, legs in the air. She scratches my chest and armpits until I freak out and start chewing my arms. Then (and this is my favorite part), she runs her hands <span style="font-style:italic;">under</span> my head and massages my neck and head again. ooooooohhhh. No, no, don't stop. Wait, get my cheeks, yesyesyes. <br /><br />sssssssssnnnnnnnzzzzzzz<br /><br />Wait! Where are you going? You're not done!<br /><br />SQUAWK!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-4445922303698475802008-02-18T12:16:00.004-05:002008-02-18T12:23:51.642-05:00Sweet Mother, not again!I'm finally getting to the point that I can clean more than my arms and chest. I haven't quite gotten to my crotch yet, but I'm getting closer. It's not comfortable or easy, but I can sit up, lean forward, and clean my back legs almost to my hips! I must look like a furry gumdrop left in the sun or something.<br /><br />But this morning, I, erm, well, I got a little wet in the litterbox. OK, a lot wet. Jess was not happy when I climbed into her lap like that! Suddenly, I found myself <a href="http://walkingottoman.blogspot.com/2007/07/red-door-my-feline-fanny.html">back in the big, wet box</a>, covered in baby shampoo! Jess was mercifully quick this time, but thorough. She laid me back across her chest and dried off my big Buddha belly. It wasn't comfortable, but she's so cute when she does things like that. I let her towel me off for a minute before wriggling free.<br /><br />Thankfully, it's 60 degrees and sunny here in DC so I can just lounge in the sun and dry off. Lordy, I can't wait until I can actually clean all these spots on my own!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-17249364245434341022008-01-19T14:02:00.001-05:002008-03-03T10:24:45.424-05:00About my toes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhD0OIIzU17T5Uejn28KE0qzPL_7aTXx7QJWto3wrYK30GN6DjCeA6NyujRpe2HleG69PmCm4eERS9vGAuDfsz2Vd6aYRZxTxMmPiR8rJHNa8MTKIcar-Yq89PMmdrG06xRQXBdKoYGaV/s1600-h/stoneyandbeyonce.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhD0OIIzU17T5Uejn28KE0qzPL_7aTXx7QJWto3wrYK30GN6DjCeA6NyujRpe2HleG69PmCm4eERS9vGAuDfsz2Vd6aYRZxTxMmPiR8rJHNa8MTKIcar-Yq89PMmdrG06xRQXBdKoYGaV/s320/stoneyandbeyonce.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157268798874598338" /></a><br />Hello readers, this is Stoney, Mosby's brother. I'm not nearly as Rubensesque as he is, but I'm still a big guy.<br /><br />I'm not here to talk about me, per se, but to talk about a certain change in municipal policy I heard about. As you know, Mosby and I are declawed. This means that, early in our feline careers, a veterinarian put us under, sliced open our pads, removed the nailbed and first knuckle bone (they're attached), and sewed us back up. We had no say in the matter. None.<br /><br />Most rescue groups (including the one we were adopted from) abhor this procedure and make you sign a contract saying you won't do it to any cat you adopt from them. Many municipal shelters have the same policy. Well, it seems that Frederick County, MD, may be changing their policy to allow potential adopters to declaw the cats and kittens they adopt from the shelter operated by Frederick County Animal Control.<br /><br />There are plenty of articles out there that describe the horrors of declawing. I know Mosby's talked about them. I won't dwell on them here. Instead I'll ask you to take a moment and vote "Pro Paw." Save the next generation of cats and kittens from the pain and humiliation of declawing. Visit this petition: <a href="http://www.petitiononline.com/mc6984/petition.html">http://www.petitiononline.com/mc6984/petition.html</a>. Add your voice. If you live in Frederick County, call your county supervisor. Better yet, call the shelter and tell them you are opposed to declawing and ask that they keep the current wording of their contract.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjYyd-TunrGwLnl27ly03-aeT2UjVvI-8AJs5WbsfOEfD9V9tWBvR5aAn5QIhrQGo6LoPkVBs6uPdqt7uoBj44KWUso1U6VR-w_bw4PIDaBfT6WyWWwe5ftKOa_Y9aRS8FYEoi-cWNhw7/s1600-h/stonyspads.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjYyd-TunrGwLnl27ly03-aeT2UjVvI-8AJs5WbsfOEfD9V9tWBvR5aAn5QIhrQGo6LoPkVBs6uPdqt7uoBj44KWUso1U6VR-w_bw4PIDaBfT6WyWWwe5ftKOa_Y9aRS8FYEoi-cWNhw7/s200/stonyspads.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157269945630866386" /></a> Thank you!<br /><br />ps: The little vermin next to me is Beyonce the rat. We've come to an understanding: I won't eat her if she'll just leave me alone. We're working on it.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-38974198626581471352007-12-31T23:09:00.000-05:002008-01-24T15:33:19.312-05:00What the heck can I eat?!So, Ketut asked what I eat. I started to reply to her very kind words to the last post. It seemed more appropriate here, because I'll have more room to, well, spread out.<br /><br />Way back in 2005, I fell head over tail for a weight management food, which is high carb, as we know now. Maybe it's because I was depressed (my brother and I had just been abandoned). Maybe it's because we had to live with new cats (four of them!!!). Maybe it's because it was so darned tasty. Whatever the reason, I was hooked. It's sad, now that I think about it. I got up in the morning, ready at the bowl. The girls filled it, never knowing they were feeding the monkey that climbed on my back. <br /><br />Fast forward to 2007. In two years, I gained more than 10 pounds! They tried moving the bowl up higher, I just learned to climb up onto the table.<br /><br />But you know all of this (or you'll scroll back to the beginning of this blog and catch up).<br /><br />Now I'm on "kitty atkins." I eat roughly three ounces of high-fat, high-protein moist food originally developed for diabetic cats. We all eat moist food three times a day. In the morning, Jess mixes in about a 1/4 tsp of fiber with my food because I'm a little, erm, bound up. Everyone else gets all-day access to a high-protein kibble called <a href="http://www.evopet.com/products/default.asp?id=1500" target="_blank">Innova Evo.</a> At night, Marlene will give me a 1/4 cup of the kibble in my own little bowl. The monkey isn't happy. The monkey wants a bigger bowl.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJzmomYCe_ZxjzIGu2e1RxghrVIKvbH1Salz2S-lcov018fdIINkra478VwauMaMrLU9rDzh_Sx0ZNQi2nraba1gcpYtOm9Yi6GQgpnwubS0lhsw-LmKYdPkI8jMXWyi4D4Qjqb_LsLTZ/s1600-h/mosbysbowl.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJzmomYCe_ZxjzIGu2e1RxghrVIKvbH1Salz2S-lcov018fdIINkra478VwauMaMrLU9rDzh_Sx0ZNQi2nraba1gcpYtOm9Yi6GQgpnwubS0lhsw-LmKYdPkI8jMXWyi4D4Qjqb_LsLTZ/s320/mosbysbowl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157270688660208610" /></a>Sometimes I'll stand next to my small bowl and stare up to the counter where I know, <span style="font-style:italic;">I just know</span>, the big bowl of kibble is sitting. I look at Jess, then at the empty bowl, then back at the counter. If that doesn't work, I'll put my paw in the empty bowl. "Please, sir, can I have some more?" I'm not proud of it, but it works. One of them will cave and give me a little handful. (Jess says it's a "happy handful." I'm not sure what she means, but it makes me happy.)<br /><br />That's what I eat. Or what they give me to eat. If I had thumbs...Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-29724467292517043352007-12-15T15:24:00.000-05:002007-12-15T15:45:35.849-05:00Someone call Kirstie Alley!!!Faithful fans, friends, family, just call me Fatboy Slim!<br /><br />Jess and Marlene hauled me down to the vet and got me on the scale. Jess thought I'd be happier if she carried me rather than put me in the carrier. I think she was mistaken, but that's neither here nor there. I think she just wanted to show off her yoga muscles. She put me in that damned harness which kept me from bolting up the stairs (yes, even one of my girth can bolt when properly motivated. See the dog incident from a few months ago).<br /><br />Sorry, I know you're waiting for the magic number but I have to lead up to these things.<br /><br />So she carries me out the car, while Marlene carries Doonesbury in a carrier. He's also due for a weigh-in, but he's trying to put weight on. He's 16, hyperthyroid, and has a dodgy tummy or something. They've been squirting steroids down his throat for a month. Jess carries me down the block, trailing "yes it's a cat, a big fat cat" comments in her wake, and into the vet's waiting room. Thank Bast there were no dogs waiting there! They brought me back to the scale and plunked me down and...<br /><br />...it's killing you, isn't it!<br /><br />29.7 pounds!!!<br /><br />::the crowd goes wild::<br /><br />Thank you! Thank you!<br /><br />I have so far to go, but I'm really proud of my progress. My belly measured 28 inches this morning. I can't remember what it was before, but I hope it's smaller. They tested my pee again and I'm still healthy. The vet says I can only have 1/8 cup of kibble from now on and she wants me to get on a treadmill. I kid you not. Marlene says she'll walk with me. Jess says "good luck with that!"<br /><br />Thank you, again, for your love and support!<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />slim.<br />ps: Doonesbury gained almost 2 pounds in a month!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-86347211253625080352007-10-28T15:48:00.000-04:002008-01-01T09:55:55.458-05:00Ch-Ch-Changes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZAB__9YBNDk3hRyyQg2NOyyXoEkUOjSTBJek6T8PPazZnH8E8e8WFV2PYf3FAzoTMqsTLikf5pH4i2JZgAR37gXkBT08vMdYI4HPVfM2fqfRMdecH0WYzA9lFPO4wJb9AtvRi8JcUaSD/s1600-h/mosby+helps2.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZAB__9YBNDk3hRyyQg2NOyyXoEkUOjSTBJek6T8PPazZnH8E8e8WFV2PYf3FAzoTMqsTLikf5pH4i2JZgAR37gXkBT08vMdYI4HPVfM2fqfRMdecH0WYzA9lFPO4wJb9AtvRi8JcUaSD/s200/mosby+helps2.JPG" border="0" alt="Mosby, a grey and white cat, sitting on the floor tiles."id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126477558038653426" /></a><br />Oh, so much to tell you people. The girls keep adding new things to my world. I sleep through most of it. So long as they don't change my food, I'll survive.<br /><br />They changed the kitchen. They put down a new floor (something called Marmoleum). I helped out where I could, of course, holding the tools and telling where the white tiles should go. It really came out quite lovely. Jess says their friend Tim did all the work, but I get credit for providing the screwdriver.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3B8W6y6YiPLgVVUNCCqoF0ZopAyqIjidBlfu7vf0aq_pLne0RlPrcc5mPqXhG-8YTgzMBB-MeorquAZn5-VGabWDH9jrBKGVUzbVFLeFFxdxGHXPyKgJuTJMaQxQ9eoBCKEGfzdmU0XrU/s1600-h/mosby+helps.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3B8W6y6YiPLgVVUNCCqoF0ZopAyqIjidBlfu7vf0aq_pLne0RlPrcc5mPqXhG-8YTgzMBB-MeorquAZn5-VGabWDH9jrBKGVUzbVFLeFFxdxGHXPyKgJuTJMaQxQ9eoBCKEGfzdmU0XrU/s200/mosby+helps.JPG" border="0" alt="Mosby holds the screwdriver"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126477768492050946" /></a> He also suggested the paint color and helped paint the walls. Truth to tell: If Tim hadn't helped, those boxes would still be sitting in the corner of the kitchen, blocking my view of the food.<br /><br />The girls also brought home a new housemate. Meet Beyonce, the Rat. Beyonce was purchased by National Geographic for a documentary about cobras. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3-jTbIJq7OoFnzgVjDZkF2Qc2-fe44fUobyPMAe8YIHJqCflQGxiGNHEelpFJGyIFuBlYZO9iMxbBRLh7G6qtkyuuKETVz5jxp58gBnjYz97192nltRITMywACuSWB52gZVZFHFyiXPm/s1600-h/beyonce.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3-jTbIJq7OoFnzgVjDZkF2Qc2-fe44fUobyPMAe8YIHJqCflQGxiGNHEelpFJGyIFuBlYZO9iMxbBRLh7G6qtkyuuKETVz5jxp58gBnjYz97192nltRITMywACuSWB52gZVZFHFyiXPm/s200/beyonce.jpg" border="0" alt="Black and white rat"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5126480920998046226" /></a>She was supposed to be a cobra's dinner, but he never took her up on it (not even after 2 days in the cage!). Maybe he's kosher. Whatever the reason, I have suppressed my instinctive desire to squash the little thing. It's not easy. She's pushy! She insists on climbing on me and grooming my tail. What is the world coming to, people? What's that line from Thornton Wilder? "The whole world is a sixes and sevens!"<br /><br />Just about everything else is changing but me. I don't think I've lost any weight, but then I'm afraid to look. Now that it's cooled off, Jess says we're going for walks again. yipee freakin' skipee.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-4737739143074448362007-07-29T19:16:00.000-04:002007-07-29T19:29:08.749-04:00I want to talk about declawingI'm declawed. My brother and I were declawed at a pretty early age. I really can't remember what it was like to have claws. I'm sure they were handy, though (if you'll forgive the pun).<br /><br />I'm grateful that I don't remember it. I don't mind if people touch my paws. I don't really have any residual pain from them. But they look awful! Do you know what they do when they declaw a cat? A lot of people think it's like removing a fingernail or something, but it's much more involved. It's really an amputation. <br /><br />Gruesome details follow, scroll past if you're squeamish.<br /><br />First they knocked my ass out. Damned good thing, too. Then they sliced open the pad of each digit and removed the first knuckle on each one. See, our nails are actually attached to the last bone in our paws. In order to remove the claws, you have to remove the whole bone! Gruesome, no? Thank Bast for short memories.<br /><br />Then they sew us back up, wrap our paws, and let us sleep off the drugs. Here's where I'm really grateful for the short memory, because the recovery is really, really painful. For weeks it hurt just to put my paws down. Litterbox? Oh, forget it! We had to pee in shredded newspaper. I still refuse to bury my deposits. Is it because I remember how much it hurt back then? Who knows.<br /><br />We learned to walk again, but it hasn't been the same. I don't walk the way I used to. Cats walk on their claws. Didn't know that, did you? I can't stretch the way I used to, either. You know, that full-body stretch? Man, I miss those (I think).<br /><br />Anyway, I'm ok, for now. There's a chance I could develop arthritis and back problems. There's always a chance my litterbox habits could be more deeply affected (Jess and Marlene have promised that nothing will happen to me if I pee outside the box).<br /><br />If you have cats and are thinking about having their toes removed, I beg you to consider otherwise. They'll regret it a lot more than you.<br /><br />ps: There's another procedure called a tendonectomy. It's even worse. I shudder to think about it!Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-91536462190274244182007-07-17T22:40:00.000-04:002007-07-17T23:01:35.876-04:00Red Door My Feline Fanny!Today my family thought it would be fun to take me to the spa. I can tell you, I was more than ready for a massage after all of the working out I had been doing. A nice, gentle rub down, maybe work out the kinks in my quads and delts. Perhaps a light meal and a Tuna Smoothie in the café. Jess and Marlene’s idea of “spa” seems to be more torture than “happy ending”.<br /><br />It all started with us not even leaving the house (while I am not fond of traveling in the box, I rather thought we would be going to the masseuse). So I figured they must have hired someone that does house calls - how simply lovely that I would not have to go anywhere!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRyuBMBXGSrx7EzLo1YhBV3oS0CkDbIpyFf0z87Jg8pVme84iDDyLfiuUJa6q6I4A6YKJKDuzjTpW3DLAGHptsAn3pC_zT-mHxJq-OvsQdndJDQagitjV_c828wvz9D69zAcys-eh9CAoN/s1600-h/mosby+spa+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRyuBMBXGSrx7EzLo1YhBV3oS0CkDbIpyFf0z87Jg8pVme84iDDyLfiuUJa6q6I4A6YKJKDuzjTpW3DLAGHptsAn3pC_zT-mHxJq-OvsQdndJDQagitjV_c828wvz9D69zAcys-eh9CAoN/s200/mosby+spa+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088362289359049346" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But then Jess picked me up and brought me into the bathroom. Then she put me into the gigantic white box with glass doors and got in with me. I had no idea what she was up to.<br /><br />Imagine my horror when she turned on the shower and aimed the horrible wet stuff at me! I’ve checked the tags, people: Cats are Dry Clean Only! I tried to get as far away from it as I could, but I was trapped in the space.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQChR-I_BRGle2CFEoX2vB2fNzuYOY82ZKKm9EJNp0NaySEZpysAzR8zzsa6nbI-DDlMoq0sRdUyrE19qI5KXXzzWqLu-85zFWgmYQHnEJ20txJQfjWd9aR4pFUUkUwUWz-3TIXZuDsZEi/s1600-h/mosby+spa+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQChR-I_BRGle2CFEoX2vB2fNzuYOY82ZKKm9EJNp0NaySEZpysAzR8zzsa6nbI-DDlMoq0sRdUyrE19qI5KXXzzWqLu-85zFWgmYQHnEJ20txJQfjWd9aR4pFUUkUwUWz-3TIXZuDsZEi/s200/mosby+spa+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088362070315717234" border="0" /></a>Before I knew it she was using the long, windy tube to douse me with the foul stuff, then she poured baby shampoo (I kid you not) and really rubbed it in (one should always ask permission before one starts rubbing a guy all over like that!). She even scrubbed my, ahem, you know.<br /> <br />It seemed to go on forever. I can tell you I had a lot to say about this shabby treatment - she is no Sven!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiurMlXOlWmNhYRIExu8X1nvPaqc4B9GxNzKQy2bRV_wbF8L6BFeF3zGdgAFMd9pukJh2TKX7te07tV3dUUpKuaPcaGfhur03GsQnc3qJPOVmHkWg2VNqZF7O-YpbH3GdvHMtkhXR01Jy36/s1600-h/mosby+spa+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiurMlXOlWmNhYRIExu8X1nvPaqc4B9GxNzKQy2bRV_wbF8L6BFeF3zGdgAFMd9pukJh2TKX7te07tV3dUUpKuaPcaGfhur03GsQnc3qJPOVmHkWg2VNqZF7O-YpbH3GdvHMtkhXR01Jy36/s200/mosby+spa+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088362525582250642" border="0" /></a>Finally I was released from this torture chamber and allowed to run away. My brother tried to help me get the foul stuff off me (very kind of him as I cannot reach everywhere) but it took hours before I felt myself once more. Luckily this shame was only shared by family!<br /><br />In the end, I do admit it was nice to feel so clean (though I will never admit that to my people). I just hope I don’t have to do it again any time soon!<br><center><br /><object width="425" height="350"> <param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0rOn_wR_Su8"> </param> <embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0rOn_wR_Su8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"> </embed> </object></center>Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-81339032535438133072007-06-14T19:50:00.000-04:002007-06-14T20:07:54.592-04:00I did promise, didn't I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAc8Gj-cMgCx3SWgX7k4Uhyn9KW7w9Rka8VkVyHnBDnEZ3qEe8-dGxKQLGgyXfROtzN7iBlh1pBEFLhUEoKnnJc0KUOkQkCVHZhkVNpifFeIt49-jrsVFv8jFp148RjtxlxL7Zkbfq7wi7/s1600-h/mosbylooking.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAc8Gj-cMgCx3SWgX7k4Uhyn9KW7w9Rka8VkVyHnBDnEZ3qEe8-dGxKQLGgyXfROtzN7iBlh1pBEFLhUEoKnnJc0KUOkQkCVHZhkVNpifFeIt49-jrsVFv8jFp148RjtxlxL7Zkbfq7wi7/s320/mosbylooking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076072034272351730" border="0" /></a>Jess held me to my promise. On a cool June evening, she trussed me up and took my picture. I am not happy about this, people. Look at me. And the lead is pink, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fercryinoutloud</span>!<br /><br />I'm a cat, and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">declawed</span> one at that. What makes her think I want to "explore" the alley. That's what she keeps saying: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">C'mon</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mosby</span>, don't you want to explore?" No, I want to sit on my fat ass and watch Oprah.<br /><br />So she picked me up and carried me out into the alley. As soon as she put me down, I bolted back in. As far in as that hell-pink tether would let me.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dfE8Rf6rdPwj4pH8ucT4qCGQrFVSH1TJ3CJMO40Ze3gB9oG1dJyImtiozdAUz9MNnw2ge0SsoV3_969oIwcRqwcR5rcAsm3d3xmVFzIYSf6pK4x94Ika6Ta-5pD0syIAptBIQdWu2AjJ/s1600-h/mosbysbutt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8dfE8Rf6rdPwj4pH8ucT4qCGQrFVSH1TJ3CJMO40Ze3gB9oG1dJyImtiozdAUz9MNnw2ge0SsoV3_969oIwcRqwcR5rcAsm3d3xmVFzIYSf6pK4x94Ika6Ta-5pD0syIAptBIQdWu2AjJ/s320/mosbysbutt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076072644157707778" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Jess seems to think that if she can get my brother <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Stoney</span> to go, I'll be more confident or something. You know what,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsrpbE2OdaX94OqdbOQ5kqLycXmUPGgEmC6hk99l5f9isqnn9vCICx8j9A_LY5ssL5uyVZzR-7MASaoPBbl95fzpDXylbjjWIovRFg7ZthCjZBefV7aY6q1uYYU44vuRHtx8FoEnG6tju/s1600-h/stoneyinharness.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsrpbE2OdaX94OqdbOQ5kqLycXmUPGgEmC6hk99l5f9isqnn9vCICx8j9A_LY5ssL5uyVZzR-7MASaoPBbl95fzpDXylbjjWIovRFg7ZthCjZBefV7aY6q1uYYU44vuRHtx8FoEnG6tju/s200/stoneyinharness.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076073855338485266" border="0" /></a> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Stoney's</span> a great guy, but he's the active, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">outdoorsey</span> type. You know, the guy who's always inviting you to go kayaking or rock climbing or antiquing (if he could a) drive, b) talk, and c) go out without human supervision). He's all about this "going for a walk" thing. He even likes the alley cats.<br /><br />Well, once Jess carried me out for the second time, I took the opportunity to eat some grass, walk about 15 feet, and pee in a wildly inappropriate place. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Stoney</span> chatted up the black cat for a while, rolled in the gravel, then took in the sun. I was more than ready to go in after about 15 minutes, so I headed back to the gate.<br /><br />I will give Jess credit for trying. Each trip out like this lasts a little longer. I did check out more of the grassy area by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Reverend's</span> car, so I guess I accomplished something.<br /><br />I'll also give Jess that she takes the harness off before she lets me back in the house. I just don't think I could take the other cats seeing me like this.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGEhSEUS_e-w12ERSz1R7zoMVJzWs1XT2afxYPNCSnP12cPhEVrLmUSFBjjhVk0r31h4a01nD_MWV78Yw-dwX3jR9MZzUyr0btykWGh56VPxIoR5Z3qoFkDGob1b36yFUygn5TRIf4qfz/s1600-h/mosbywaiting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGEhSEUS_e-w12ERSz1R7zoMVJzWs1XT2afxYPNCSnP12cPhEVrLmUSFBjjhVk0r31h4a01nD_MWV78Yw-dwX3jR9MZzUyr0btykWGh56VPxIoR5Z3qoFkDGob1b36yFUygn5TRIf4qfz/s320/mosbywaiting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076074907605472802" border="0" /></a>Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-52161266469120961752007-06-10T23:40:00.001-04:002007-06-10T23:53:33.298-04:00Is it really walking if you have to carry me?Jess got me a harness. She delights in pointing out that it's a medium sized <span style="font-style: italic;">dog</span> harness. I really don't like it. It goes around my neck, across my chest and back, and under my arms. It's mildly humiliating. I feel slightly better when my brother Stoney wears his. Somehow, he manages to walk out of one side and get his front legs tangled. Jess has to stop him and redirect his paws, each time saying "I just don't get how you manage to do this!" Cracks me up.<br /><br />Jess took us out yesterday. She straps us in, then opens the back gate. The Alley Cats take this as an invitation to walk it, eat my catnip, and mark everything they can get their faces on. I was determined to defend my turf, so I plunked my fat butt down and refused to move. Jess is much bigger than me, though. She picked me up and carried me out into the alley. All 30 pounds of me. So demoralizing. At least it's the alley. Only the Alley Cats and Stoney can see me.<br /><br />Then there was the dog. I was fine with the cats and the grass and the interesting smells, but I draw the line at canines! The neighbor dog started barking and running and I literally ran out of my harness! I have never been so frightened! I've also never moved so fast. Exercise is all well and good, but a guy could have a heart attack!<br /><br />I really should put some pictures of me up here. You probably want to see me in the harness. I'll see what I can do.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-40179107335195992062007-06-03T20:16:00.000-04:002007-06-03T20:22:41.668-04:00A little play goes a long wayI've rediscovered playing.<br /><br />It sounds simple, silly even. I'm an inactive guy. I love lying around, snuggling, sleeping, etc.<br />That's part of why I've gotten so big. You only burn so many calories while sleeping. Yes, cats sleep up to 18 hours a day. But when you spend the next 6 hours eating, there's not a whole lot of opportunity for exercise.<br /><br />That's changing. I like play. I have to remind the girls that I want to play. Usually it's late at night and I know they're getting ready for bed, but that's when I get my second wind! Jess gets the laser pointer out and I chase it for about 10 or 15 seconds. That gets my heart rate up. Then we play with ribbons, strings, feathers, her hair, whatever dangles, for a good 5 to 10 minutes. I'm usually on my back, feet up, belly spread. It's not pretty, but no one look attractive when they're really working out. (Jess has threatened to take pictures of this. I've hidden the camera in the hopes she'll forget.)<br /><br />Every little bit helps.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-52938644949292724212007-05-28T18:35:00.000-04:002007-05-28T18:50:56.647-04:00mmmmm carbs, oooohhhhhhhhWhen I first moved into my new house, I was introduced to something called "weight management" food. I gathered that one of my new roommates had packed on the pounds in his earlier years, so now everyone was eating this stuff.<br /><br />This is quality food, don't worry. They use good ingredients, for the most part. But they also use corn, wheat, soy, and rice. Have you ever seen a cat eat corn? Ever wondered if he should make the switch to whole grain? Would you offer a cat tofu?<br /><br />Let's be honest, here. I have sharp little teeth designed to rend flesh from bone. Open a cow's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXWgN1Sa8_BvW4U4w6d_Fe-CDHmP34XgvFEFSt74CeiBJXTobOOAG-TN-nFfBC1bshJtuPl_piet-aohwh-_uZ0T0bB2xwprYK56SF1cigJdLqiYeHYP6ZhxIiw4gMEwxocEYwNZjZSb4/s1600-h/teeth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXWgN1Sa8_BvW4U4w6d_Fe-CDHmP34XgvFEFSt74CeiBJXTobOOAG-TN-nFfBC1bshJtuPl_piet-aohwh-_uZ0T0bB2xwprYK56SF1cigJdLqiYeHYP6ZhxIiw4gMEwxocEYwNZjZSb4/s320/teeth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5069746339327284658" border="0" /></a> mouth or, heck, open your own. See those big, flat molars? Those are designed for grinding grain. Now look in my mouth (ok, that's not my mouth). Pointy, vicious little renders!<br /><br />I need meat. Meat, meat, meat. And sometimes grass. But mostly meat. And bone. And fat. I don't need chips, bread, or pasta.<br /><br />But I do love them so. That's my problem. I love carbs. Jess has this big tub of food she gives to the stray cats outside. It looks like kids cereal! Everytime she opens it, I can smell all the corn. I stare at the tub, hoping a nugget or two will bounce to the floor. Oh, sweet temptation!<br /><br />Everyone in the house now eats a high protein dry food that contains no grain at all. It's good and crunchy, but not nearly as satisfying. I like it and I ask for it as much as possible (I don't always get it, but I ask).<br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/JESSIC%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" />Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-14650997774449484622007-05-27T00:15:00.000-04:002007-05-27T00:38:49.301-04:00Fat. Healthy, but FatI'm huffing my way up the stairs to the litterbox. I have to stop half way and rest. Then I have to stop at the top of the stair and rest. Then I have to rest at the litterbox. This is a dream? Right?<br /><br />Nope. I thought there had to be something wrong with me (besides my prodigious belly) so I had them take me to the Vet. I admit it, I hate getting in the carrier. It scares the shit out of me. I'm sure I'll never get out or, when I do, I won't know where I am and they'll leave me again. I know, I know. I'm safe and the girls have promised never to leave me. I still squawk in the carrier.<br /><br />Jess complained the whole time about carrying me in the carrier. "Geez, Mosby! I hope I can make it to the car!" ha ha. I'm not self-conscious enough yet.<br /><br />The trip was mercifully short but as soon as the carrier was open, I was in a weird place with people poking me. Without so much as dinner first! Everyone kept popping in to stare at me. Truthfully, I was so freaked out about being at the Vet, that the attention was the least of it. It bothered Marlene a lot, though.<br /><br />The Vet prodded, massaged, felt, and listened. She drew blood (three tries, thank you. I've got three bald spots now!). I tried to maintain some dignity in all of this: I refused to give them a urine sample. Ha! Of course, two days later I found Jess holding a little dustpan under my ass while I peed in the box. At least I made her work for it.<br /><br />But guess what kids: I'm fine. My thyroid levels aren't low. My red and white cells are fine. There was no sugar in my urine. I'm fat. But I'm not sick.<br /><br />Now I'm on Atkins. I kid you not.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6079725527521797957.post-13090126174306908432007-05-24T19:48:00.000-04:002007-05-28T23:53:55.975-04:00Hi, my name is Mosby, and I'm a carb addict.My name is Mosby. I'm 8 years old and I've always been a big guy. Even when I was young and fit I was tall and hefty. I didn't have to work at it, I just played with my brother and did the stuff you do when you're young. And I ate whatever they put in front of me!<br /><br />I was comfortable and happy in my home, even when they had me and my brother declawed (I'll get to that in another post). Then, seven years into what I thought was a great relationship, my world turned upside down.<br /><br />My people, the ones who raised us and loved us, abandoned us. We found ourselves homeless and living in rescue (better than the shelter, yes, but still not home). By then, I was up to 18 pounds. I was hefty, but I could still play and get around easily. But this, this upheaval, left me shattered. Like many of you, I turned to food.<br /><br />Food made me happy. Food made me feel better. Food didn't go away. So I ate.<br /><br />We went into a foster home with loving people and interesting roommates. There was always food there, too. This time it was "weight management" food. Great! I thought. It's light! I can eat as much as I want! So I ate. A lot.<br /><br />Before my foster family knew it, I'd packed on nine pounds! They moved the wonderful food so I had to climb to get it. I climbed. I ate. I ate a lot more.<br /><br />The nice foster people adopted me and my brother after a year. They're wonderful, kind, gentle, and really care about us. They're very worried about me. I don't move around well. I breathe heavy. I'm constipated. They tried other foods, but what I really want is kibble. They're nice, they give me a few pieces with every bowl of moist food. But my wonderful food, my constant companion, is out of reach.<br /><br />I'm on a diet, kids. I'm not happy about it. But I really have no say. We went to the doctor, ran all kinds of tests. More on that in the next post.Mosbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05983065067944396802noreply@blogger.com1