Well, THAT was embarrassing

I took Chuckie to the vet yesterday because his belly had become increasingly distended over the past several months. That and (I apologize in advance) he's had loose stools. I was convinced he was afflicted with some sort of serious intestinal ailment. I was concerned for his well-being.

It was a bad sign when I arrived and all the veterinary assistants were like, "My, he's gotten BIG," and "Ooh, Chuckie, you're a BIG boy aren't you?" and "Wow, he's really GROWN since the last time we saw him."

Not, "Chuckie doesn't look well."

Just, "Your cat has a fat, fat ass."

They weighed him and he's now 14.8 lbs, meaning he's gained more than three pounds in less than three months.

The vet, a laid-back middle-aged biker with salt-and-pepper hair and a slight Southern accent, came in and started prodding Chuckie's enormous belly. Chuckie just lay there on the examination table, accepting it as some sort of odd pat.

"Huh," the vet said. "No sensitivity or soreness. I don't feel any unusual masses. It's not particularly firm..."

I could see where this was going.

"Chuckie here needs to lose weight."

I tried explaining to him that though Chuckie does eat constantly, we have to leave the food out because our other cat is tiny and getting smaller. Most of the time Chuckie is monopolizing the food bowl, I said, but on the off chance that Bitty comes down for a bite, shouldn't there be food out for her? Shouldn't there?

He shook his head. Separate, measured feedings from now on.

I sighed.

"You know," I said, "We got him from the shelter. I think there was a time in his life when he didn't have enough food, and now that it's always available he's overcompensating."

The vet shook his head again.

"You know, sometimes people try to tell me that," he said. "But cats just don't have that level of... cognition. It's not like they wake up in the morning and think, 'I better stock up on food now - I might be out on the street tonight.'"

He paused, and prodded Chuckie's belly a bit more, for good measure.

"He just likes to eat."

So now Chuckie gets just 3/4 cup food per day, split into two feedings. He is going to drive me bananas, I just know it. I asked the vet if it's okay to feed him early in the morning and then not again till evening.

"Or does he need a mid-day feeding?" I asked.

"No, he most certainly does not," he said.

Last night I didn't feed him because he already had been eating all day. He was underfoot the entire evening, looking up at me expectantly, like, "Oh, pardon me, you probably didn't notice, but the food bowl is actually empty."

Or perhaps I'm attributing him with too much cognition again.

Then he ate a piece of penne pasta one of the boys dropped at dinner.