There are people who don’t look in mirrors or weigh themselves. They won’t allow photos taken even though their grandchildren will have no pictures to treasure after they are gone.
I don’t know if it’s self-consciousness or denial. Or maybe something else entirely.
However, these people are humans who are the strangest beings of all.
Last fall, after prodding by the vet (but not much), I put (my cat) Hazel on a diet. If she was human she would be morbidly overweight. She was bouncing (but not very high) at 18 pounds. She’s a small stature cat who should weigh 10 pounds.
She had triple chins. Hard to see on a cat but there they were.
She loves food. I doubt if she looks in mirrors. She’s not crazy about being photographed either. She says it adds 10 pounds.
There is no Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig for cats. Owners have to be brave and stand tough. Be strong against those sad kitty eyes asking what they have done to deserve the starvation diet. There are little sad mews.
She did well. Just like a person, the first pound fell off. After that it was an ounce here and an ounce there. She lost 3-1/2 pounds. Not an easy feat for this weak, soft cat owner.
We cheered each ounce. I celebrated with pizza and a beer. Hazel celebrated by whining about going to Cat Protective Services. (I had to tell her there isn’t one and she is doomed to live with me until one of us dies! I hear she has a bet on which one of us it will be.)
We had weekly weigh-ins. I stood on the scale with her, then without her and subtracted the difference.
No matter what the final answer was, I was always positive. Cheerful even!
“Oh look, you’ve lost a half ounce! How wonderful! Yay!”
“You’ve gained a quarter pound! It could have been much worse! Good job!”
And I always followed up with a bunch of head scritches and telling her how beautiful and loved she is.
How on earth can you get upset at that? She did!
Last week she gained a half pound. I weigh her at the same time (before breakfast because that’s the only time I can catch her) once a week. We had a little conversation about “getting back on the wagon” and not “cleaning everyone’s plate.”
That’s what she does. There are no treats in this house because of her weight issues. After she cleans her plate, she also cleans up the plates of the other three unless I get there first. A tablespoon here, a tablespoon there, it all adds up (just like with people).
This week when I brought the scale down to her “dining area” she totally freaked. I couldn’t get near her for 24 hours. No scritches behind the ear or belly rubs. She refused to eat until I left the area.
It was like bringing out the pet carrier that means someone is going to the V-E-T. It will be hours before I even see a cat. (I have learned to bring that carrier out three days before the appointment so they “forget-about-it.”)
How could she “know” that the scale was connected to increased alertness to pick up the unfinished plates? She did.
It took two days to catch her and I’m pleased to say she lost that half pound. According to her she just had a little constipation and that half pound plopped out and had to be scooped!
We are still on the wagon. I need to go to meetings to learn how to deal with those sad little eyes.