Poor Kitty

My poor Booboo. He's getting too fat. It's not that he's eating more, he's moving less. We've all been trying to get him to exercise more.

The problem is that you have to pretty much piss him off before he'll play. So we taunt him with string, tease him with his mousie, irritate him with little jangly things. He's moving more, but he's also swiping at us in irritation.

I figured that since he was attacking us anyway, we should smear ourselves with tuna and run around the house in the hopes that he'll give chase. The idea was nixed. I still think it was a stroke of pure brilliance. Maybe I'll try it on the girl. She's a fast runner and it'll be a lesson in Darwinism. It'll be all so very lion in the savannah taking down the graceful-- or in my daughter's case, not so-- gazelle. How very National Geographic.

(Note: Before anyone gets all huffy about the above statement, I would not put my child in harm's way. I was being facetious. Besides, the cat doesn't like red meat, he'd only nip at her a few times. The tuna? Would so be gone, though.)

Another reason why I bring up the cat's weight is his window seat. This is the second morning in a row that I've woken up and found that it had fallen. The velcro was not holding. I wonder if the cold is interfering with the stickiness. I know I cleaned the window sill before I stuck the velcro on.

I think poor Boo was on the window seat when it fell. He seems traumatized. He won't go near it today. Even after I screwed that sucker down. It's not coming off. Well, unless I sit on it. I even tried to demonstrate for the cat how firmly in place it now was. He looked at me like I was mentally unhinged-- which I suppose I am if I'm trying to explain things to a cat-- and walked away.

It has now become my sole mission in life to get this cat back on his window seat. And on a diet and exercise regime.