Why can't my cats remain thin and lithe, like those feline models in Cat Fancy and Backdoor Kitty magazines? My unhealthy concern over the figures of my cats rivals my own self-criticism. When I first brought Coleman home I noticed what I thought were several eating disorder warning signs. She would consume her entire bowl of food in a single sitting, producing loud snorts as she aggressively pushed her bowl across the kitchen floor. Each meal was eaten like it would be her last. And her diet wasn't limited to kibble. There was the Blueberry Muffin Incident, the Sesame Bagel Problem, and The Great Lemonheads Mystery (i returned home after an overnight absence to find an empty bag of lemonheads on my living room floor and evidence of only two or three actual lemonheads candies beneath the sofa and behind my entertainment center. I didn't want to think about where the rest of them went, although i have a pretty good idea.).

After bearing painful witness Coleman's destructive eating habits for a few weeks, I decided it was time to take action – so I endeavored an intervention. I would grab her bowl from her and hide it away on the highest surface in my apartment, forcing her to temporarily curtail her binge-eating. I would let her catch her fat breath, wait until she became bored or exhausted enough to move to another part of the apartment, and then replace her bowl to its original location. (making sure to do this like a cat food ninja, without a sound; not even allowing the small scrapings of dried cat food against the inside of the bowl lest her bionic ears confuse this with a special bonus feeding time.)

This worked for a while, until Coleman got wise and began hiding around the corner until I finished my secret Bowl Replacement Act. When I was through, pulling myself off the floor (I found the best way to perform this act without endangering its success was to continually keep my body level with the bowl. This meant completing the act lying down with my belly flat against the linoleum floor of my kitchen) and exiting the kitchen with a ridiculous sense of self-satisfaction (that, on more than one occasion, including the exaggerated gesture of smacking my hands against each other as if to say "and that's that!"), she would just creep back in and finish what she'd started. This completely undermined my efforts, of course, and forced me to enter phase II of my forced feline diet.

I started doing two things. First, I purchased only "less active formula" food, hoping it would have some sort of balloon effect in her stomach and cause hysterical bloating. Then I cut back her portions, rationing her daily kibble intake across several meals and "snacks" throughout the day, to prevent her from eating everything at once. This plan backfired almost immediately because I'm terrible with schedules and routines. Within a week I started forgetting how much I had fed her and when and this produced a net effect of feeding my cat about three times what she used to gobble down daily. Coleman seemed grateful so I just continued, expecting I'd catch up with myself and get her diet down perfectly in no time.
And in no time I had a sweetly obese cat. Still do, even though I've figured out the whole food thing and her trust has grown strong enough to slow down her eating habits. People come over to my apartment and almost immediately remark at how "solid" she is. I know solid is code for "chubby" and Coleman probably knows it too but as long as she can bend over far enough to lick her own vagina she's completely ecstatic. And so are the thousands of consumers who buy my series of Feline Fatty Tongue Bath adult videos.

P.S. Ble is small and thin, but slowly gaining ground. Even as I write this I am on hold, long distance to Osaka, where a team Japanese engineers who specialize in feline fitness equipment are constructing an elliptical trainer custom-built to her specifications.