Mew Year’s

Trump's doctor said this cat was in perfect shape.

Trump’s doctor said this cat was in perfect shape.

 

With the New Year upon us yet again, it’s also that magical time when self-indulgent dumbasses make a ridiculous flurry of soon-to-be abandoned New Year’s resolutions.  I always thought such meaningless faux promises were nothing more than a giant waste of time and sobriety.  Why would it take the dawning of a new year to stop being shitbag?  Why not Flag Day?  Well regardless, my opinion and policy has changed in the Year Of Our Fake Presidential Retribution, 2018.  For the first time ever, I made a New Year’s Resolution.

My cats need to lose some weight.

It’s true.  I have to face fats.  My kitties are bordering on obese.

This catastrophe isn’t all my fault.  Every male house cat tends to let themselves go after they get fixed.  Why not?  They’re not running around outside fighting and fuckin to keep in shape; no wonder they pack on the pounds.  When I was a wee lad I had a male house/outdoor cat who wasn’t fixed, and when it was mating season or whatever he would literally bust through the screen of a second story window just to jump to his Shangri-La of pussy-filled freedom.  Sure he stayed more slender than his practically cockless counterparts, but he also had so many fight injuries pile up that we finally had to sit him down like Frazier in the Thrilla in Manilla.  Oh, he wanted to go back out for more, but I had to Eddie Futch his scarred-up, furry-ass before he became some coyote’s dinner.

So these days I don’t mind a little well-timed neutering for safety’s sake.  Especially now since I’m the one responsible for the goddamn vet bills if these little niggas get Mufasa’d out in the deadly Taunton jungle.  But still I was blind to their ever-increasing corpulence until tactless house guests started making comments about it.  It was practically cat-shaming.  One dude even said my white cat was the size of a polar bear.  That may have been hyperbole, but when my landlord dropped by and asked if the same caucasion kitty was pregnant, I knew as flightless bird impersonator Owen Hart once said, “It’s time for a change.”

My solution?  To use Tom Brady-like guru technology to modify my furry friends old, unhealthy, and outdated diet of cat food, and replace it with something truly radical: cat food.  Only less.

We’ll see how the Chinese Year of the Fat turns out.

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