My cat, Lily, has been described by some as “fat.” Other adjectives commonly used alongside her name include: bitchy, mean, obese, evil, chubby, big-boned, fat-as-shit, and other words that would be just plain hurtful if she understood English and/or cared what anyone had to say ever.
I had seen online that an auto-feeder had helped a few cats lose weight (I guess playing on the fact that the owners didn’t have the guilt over the poor starving kitty so would feed them more). So, I ordered a Petmate LeBistro Feeder, partly because I thought I needed one to stop half of the jeers at Lily’s expense (only half because nothing will be able to solve the issue of her being a huge bitch) and partly because I knew that having something called “LeBistro” in my house would bump up my fancy factor by like 6%, even if the Bistro’s only job was to dump cat food into a dish.
Once LeBistro (ooh la la!) arrived and was set up in the kitchen, Lily was pouty for a bit since she was getting way less food that I usually feed her, and her whining in my face didn’t help her cause any. Soon enough, she started fussing less. “Good for me,” I thought – “I have cured her of her untamable hunger, and now she can be a normal cat, except for the part of her that hates everything.”
Then I started hearing the loud noises in the middle of the night—clunking and scratching. Every time I’d get up to investigate, I’d see Lily sitting innocently at the end of the sideboard in the kitchen. I figured it was her, but I just couldn’t figure out what she was up to. Finally, she got hungry/ballsy enough to start clunking around during the day. Turns out, she was fussing at me less because she had figured out a way to jam her grubby little paws into the throat of LeBistro and shake some food loose. Also, she apparently doesn’t give a shit if I see her up to her shoulder in shenanigans. Sometimes her gluttonous plans work out and a few kibbles drop out for a snack. Sometimes she just makes a commotion and a ruckus—I have come home from work on multiple occasions to find dear sweet LeBistro—who is only trying to do the one job he has—teetering at the edge of the sideboard, waiting for that one last spiteful smack of a cat paw to knock him into a terrifying 3 foot free-fall.
On that day, I will cry for LeBistro… he was only trying to do his job.