AVOIRDUPOIDS

 

AVOIRDUPOIDS*

*note for those who don’t know: Nothing to do with eating peas, although too much of those will have a deleterious effect on your girth.

 

GG’s trying to get me to reduce. Her judgment as to whether this is necessary is not based on my weight (heavy) but on my waistline. She likes hers concave. I’m purrfectly happy with convex. In any case — what would she think if I tried to do those sideways stretches she does in the morning to keep hers that way? Totally beneath my dignity, quite apart from probably impossible.

 

Sooo… dieting means she doles out less than a full measure of kibble and thinks I won’t notice. Gotta tell you… She’s deluded. Not only that, but she’s setting herself up for an epic fail. Why? Because as soon as I get to the end of the crunchies, all I have to do is strut up and down the kitchen, jump up on the chair near the counter where she keeps my food (see pic), give a ‘please’ miaow and stare at her expectantly.

 

She gives in. The end result? I probably get to eat more rather than less.

 

At the moment, I’m back on mushy of an evening. My tastes are not eclectic, which puzzles GG. She doesn’t understand why I don’t like leftover bits of her food, such as chicken or salmon. I don’t understand either, but that’s just the way it is.

 

GG’s such a soft touch. I don’t mean when she’s giving me scratchies—her fingers use just the right amount of pressure. No. I mean that in a metaphorical sense. Take this a.m. for e.g. I came in from the rain soon after five. Once I’d made enough noise by throwing myself at the middle door, GG woke and got up.

“I’m coming, BoBo,” she calls.

(Why do I need a Nick-name when I already have a Freddie name, as well as an ‘official’ name attached to my chip, which is Elliot??. I don't mind being called 'The Fredster' because that's amusing and 'humour always helps'...  GG's motto)

As soon as I rubbed my wet fur against her legs she sprang aside, grabbed the old scrap of towel she keeps in the hall, and rubbed my back. I don’t care much if my fur gets wet, but she objects.

Anyhow, now she’s awake, up and in the kitchen—not barefoot, but you can't have everything, can you? In any case, I’ve got her where I want her. My nocturnal adventures and neighbourhood perambulations have left me… hungry!!

p.s. GG's a fine one to talk. She's the one who's thinking she'll stop wearing fitted tees because they show her bulges. I have no plans at all to wear a tee shirt. I'm perfectly happy with my fitted fur, TY very much. And, for more on this subject, see the 'Feng Shui' post.