The Spinster's Soliloquy

I am 100% against body negativity, but it was time for me to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with my cat, Dolly Parton. Her bikini belly has officially graduated into a full-blown Buddha belly, and the last thing I need is to get cat-mom shamed for harboring a feline who looks like she’s smuggling a Christmas ham.

So the all-you-can-eat kibble buffet is closed. Dolly has been placed on a feeding schedule. We’re measuring portions, cutting carbs, and generally running this house like a tiny feline weight-loss clinic.

It’s been two days, and she’s already filed two complaints with Kitty Protective Services, alleging starvation and emotional neglect. According to her, seeing the bottom of her food bowl is a traumatic event that has caused lifelong psychological damage. She’s also muttering something about body dysmorphia and demanding a second opinion from another veterinarian.

Tomorrow we’re introducing wet food into the rotation. I’m hopeful that’ll calm things down, because at this point she’s acting like we’re one missed snack away from a class-action lawsuit.