He has dropped some weight. It seems probable that this is an innocuous matter, owing to want of aliment, but I am taking him to the vet next week to investigate.
What happened was, Miss Nickel got fat. Not like the catastrophically obese felines you see in online articles (not on my watch), but distinctly, un-cattily, disturbingly roly-poly. We had already been calling her “Plump Rump” for a while when the vet dinged me about it last fall; she was up from a “Perfect 10” to a Tubby Twelve.
So I began carefully measuring out the kibble offered to the two of them (I am still in a state of cat detente, that is, I have two married couples under one roof but the Kramdens don’t care to share with the Nortons at all, at all).
Nickel has not gotten noticeably thinner.
This even though I installed a Cat Wheel, at some expense, and have been diligently trying to train her to use it. It was inevitable, wasn’t it??? I drag my significant other to the gym, I exhort my clients to exercise, I go out on the bike path with walking poles even when my left thigh is ablaze with the kind of pain you experience in a four a.m. leg cramp. Nickel will swing it from side to side with her forelimbs but hesitates to leap into the thing as other cats clearly do:
But Fergie dropped a pound.
I have thrown up my hands and started filling the dishes whenever he acts hungry. We’ll see if he’s put on any flesh by the time the vet sees him next week; he’s young for thyroid, an unlikely candidate for diabetes or dicky kidneys. But he does tend to sniffle (which may be one reason he’s so damn picky about his food; perhaps he can’t always smell it) and the vet tells me they have steroid nose drops that can fix that now. I could get a cat cam I guess, but I don’t need one to imagine who’s scoffing up the grain-free human-grade health food I dish out every morning.
And he still loves her.