A little while ago I decided to stay with a friend for a few days. Well, actually it was more like he showed up at my door and was all, pack a suitcase, woman, you're coming home with me. I was like, I'm not that kind of girl. So he packed for me. Never let a man do that, unless you want to be wearing your itchiest, most uncomfortable lingerie for a while, and have no pajamas to boot.
Preggers was on antibiotics for an abscess from a bite, so she had to come with us. We stopped on the way to get a litterbox and other basic supplies. Which apparently includes a scratching post.
Me: You hate cats, why are you getting her a scratching post?
Him: Just because I hate her doesn't mean I want her to be unhappy.
Me: You know, she also likes automated water fountains and those leopard print snuggle beds.
Night 1: We are watching a movie and Preggers hops up on the couch.
Him: Is she allowed on the furniture?
Me: It's your house, you set the rules.
Him: What's she doing?
Me: It's called snuggling.
Night 2: We get home and Preggers runs over to meet us at the door (like she usually does for me).
Him: Does she always do that?
Me: Yep.
Him: Weird.
Night 3: Friend runs out to pick up dinner, and he's gone for a long time. I'm close to calling to see if everything is alright, but just then he walks in the door with two bags. One's the takeout. The other is a petco bag.
Me: What is that?
Him: A surprise.
Me: For me, or the cat?
He has me grab Preggers and turn around (for the surprise, you know).
Him: Ok, turn around!
He's holding a pink rhinestone-studded harness. For the cat. Thank god.
Him: She's pretty fat, and I think it's because your apartment sucks donkey balls. She doesn't have room to lick her own ass, much less exercise, so you need to start taking her for walks.
Me: You totally love her now.
Him: She's obese. I'm just concerned.
Me: You wanna have, like, 10,000 of her babies.
Him: I'm taking the harness back.
Me: Chubby chaser.
There will be pictures forthcoming as soon as I exchange the harness for a larger size. Because, her size? Let's just say vanity sizing hasn't hit the pet market yet, and it turns out she can't shop in the junior department anymore. I think the problem might be the fat roll under her chin. Or the one on her chest. Maybe her corpulent elbows? Whatever the exact proportional problem is, she's headed to the Lane Bryant section of the kitty world.

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