Fat Cat

Keaton, that big loaf of cat.  I could fill an entire blog with his antics alone.  I could also fill a three story townhouse with his ever increasing bulk.

Although he is not a Hemingway, somewhere along the line Keaton seems to have developed an opposable thumb.  This secret digit allows him to break into sealed containers to procure victuals on the sly, far from the watchful eye of She Who Would Try To Keep His Weight Down.  Worse, he demonstrates a considerable predilection for sweets.  So much for the obligate carnivore theory. 

I suppose he thinks I'll never notice his sneaky little nibbles.  He probably thinks I'll blame Mark.  But come on guys, I don't think Mark did this:

Cornbread with a garnish of Wrappe de Saran

Or this:

One time I left a tray of iced Christmas cookies to cool on the kitchen counter.  Upon my return I noticed that a Santa cookie had been licked clean.  I don't think Mark did that, either.

But at last, with patience and perseverance, I got cold hard evidence.  Caught on tape.

As a result of his stealth pilfering, Keaton has developed a nice layer of subcutaneous fat.  He now sports a set of floppy moobs that rival Julia's less than perky udders.  His ribs and hip bones have virtually disappeared.  Ironic, considering he was the thinnest kitten I ever fostered; literally skin and bones when he came in.  Boy, he's made up for lost time.

Time to find a Keetain Pfat Pfarm.