Don't ask

She had to do it. She had to get me on the scale.

I'm back up over 28 pounds.

Maybe it's muscle? Muscle weighs more than fat, right?

See, nothing good comes from going to the vet.

Ignorance is bliss, right

Marlene 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.

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!

Seriously, do I have to? Couldn't we just stay home on the couch and watch Family Guy?