My workout video

I 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.

But I'm proud of Buddy. He's workin' it! He's moving his fluffy orange butt!

I did promise, didn't I

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, fercryinoutloud!

I'm a cat, and a declawed one at that. What makes her think I want to "explore" the alley. That's what she keeps saying: "C'mon, Mosby, don't you want to explore?" No, I want to sit on my fat ass and watch Oprah.

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.

Jess seems to think that if she can get my brother Stoney to go, I'll be more confident or something. You know what, Stoney's a great guy, but he's the active, outdoorsey 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.

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. Stoney 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.

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 Reverend's car, so I guess I accomplished something.

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.

mmmmm carbs, oooohhhhhhhh

When 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.

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?

Let's be honest, here. I have sharp little teeth designed to rend flesh from bone. Open a cow's 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!

I need meat. Meat, meat, meat. And sometimes grass. But mostly meat. And bone. And fat. I don't need chips, bread, or pasta.

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!

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).

Hi, 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!

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.

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.

Food made me happy. Food made me feel better. Food didn't go away. So I ate.

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.

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.

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.

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.