My Cat Has An Eating Disorder

For a long time I thought my cat was just wonderfully cuddly or wearing her winter fur, but after being asked if she was pregnant by at least nine people (including the guy who came to fix our bathroom tiles) I began to think that perhaps my perception was a little distorted.

There were definite signs that she had a problem.

Like the day we realised that our fish tank was just a big, glass pot-plant holder.

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It’s not like I haven’t tried to help her slim down, I really have, but she always finds a way to thwart my efforts.

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The other day I fed the cat and dog and, as always, I fed the cat on top of the dryer so the dog can’t eat her food. After a few minutes I heard growling and barking coming from the laundry. This is what I found:

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That’s right, apparently her food was just an appetiser and the dog’s food was her main meal. This discovery left me wondering two things; firstly, how many times has she done this without me knowing and secondly, why is my dog such a wimp?

So, I put my cat on yet another diet yesterday and I thought she was doing pretty well…that is, until I went to take the clothes out of the dryer.

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As I bent down to retrieve the toasty-warm clothes I heard footsteps thundering so loudly through the house that, for a brief moment, I believed it might be the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

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I was confronted with a full-on assault!

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My cat, in the mistaken belief that (because I was in the laundry) she was about to be fed, leaped through the air with such force that she butted me fair in the head, knocked me off balance and crashed into the box of laundry powder atop the dryer, spilling its contents all over the floor.

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She then attempted to look cute and ask for food.

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Although I know this diet is good for my cat’s health, I’m not so sure that it’s good for mine.

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My Cunning Plan

I was a pretty naughty kid and got into my fair share of trouble. My real problem was that I just never fully thought things through. Like the day I found my little sister, Christie, emptying my favourite cereal onto the kitchen floor. She was having the time of her life.

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I was horrified! This was my favourite cereal in the whole world and it was being wasted! I was so mad! I was so shocked! I was so going to tell mum!

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I turned to go, when I suddenly realised that I had a real opportunity here to get my angelic little sister into a lot of trouble. The floor didn’t really look that bad, so the first thing I had to do was completely destroy the kitchen.

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I made a game of it.

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It was kinda fun.

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When I thought the kitchen looked bad enough I ran off to tell my mum. Christie was going to be in so much trouble. For once it would be her and not me; I would be the good child! Everybody would talk about the day that my sister destroyed the kitchen and wasted all that cereal. They’d talk about how naughty she was and shake their heads in despair. I could hardly wait for my mother to come and see what she had done!

I raced into mum’s bedroom and started shrieking hysterically about what Christie had done to the kitchen and how I had tried to stop her, but she was unstoppable in her rampage!

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My mother didn’t even look up from her magazine. She just said “Oh well, be a good girl and go clean it up.”

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Not only did Christie not get into any trouble, not only did I have to clean up what can only be described as clown vomit, but I was forced to eat boring, old Weet-Bix the next morning with the full awareness that it was my own stupid fault.

Brutal Life Lesson #2

I was one of those kids that chased anything that moved – bugs, lizards, birds, cats… I’d pretty much pick up anything that wasn’t fast enough to escape my clumsy, but well-meaning clutches.

So, when my parents took me to a beach that was covered in scuttling crabs I thought I had died and gone to heaven. There were literally hundreds and hundreds of the little beggars rushing about, popping in and out of little holes in the sand. They were so cute and I was having a blast chasing them around trying to catch them, when suddenly, I hit the jackpot! I found a huge crab and I wanted it so freaking bad.

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This crab seemed to know it was bigger than the others; it didn’t even try to run away from me. It just sat there – daring me to pick it up. Although I wanted more than anything in the world to do so, I was very aware of the size of its claws. So, I just stood there for a time trying to work out the best way to pick it up, while also trying to estimate the potential pain if those claws got a hold of me. As I was pondering these things a kindly old man wandered by and saw my dilemma.

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He explained to me that if I just reached from behind and picked it up with my thumb and index finger then the crab’s claws wouldn’t be able to reach my fingers. It sounded plausible; he seemed like a nice old man and why would a nice old man lie to me? Plus, old people knew stuff about the world. Now that I was armed with this new knowledge I decided to pick up the crab using the kindly old man’s technique.

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I picked up the crab feeling super confident. I turned the crab to face me so I could look at it closely. I was so cool – I knew how to pick up crabs! Suddenly the crab began to reach underneath itself with its giant claws. I didn’t care, because I knew how to pick up crabs!

 

Apparently the crab didn’t know about my special crab-picking-up technique because it casually reached under its belly, grabbed my index finger and pinched it violently until it drew blood. I let out a blood-curdling scream and flung the poor crab to the ground. The old man was nowhere to be seen and I ran off bleeding, screaming and crying to my parents.

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It was about another fifteen years before I understood their enormous amusement when I told them, while crying hysterically, that I was never, ever trusting an old person ever again!

Where did the old man go and what happened to the crab? Who knows?

I have a pretty good idea, though.

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You might also like Brutal Life Lesson #1

Brutal Life Lesson #1

I was not a pretty child when I was five. I had a really bad hair-cut, big, ugly glasses and, for several months, a giant, brown eye-patch over my right eye (to try and strengthen the left one – which didn’t work). I wanted so desperately to be beautiful. If I were beautiful people would love me and buy me presents and I would be a better person all-round. Yep, in my five year-old mind, life would be all rainbows and ice-cream if only I were beautiful.

I remember my first day of school very well because it was the day I saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life.

This is what she looked like.

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She had gigantic green eyes with long black lashes, long, jet-black, wavy hair and ivory skin. She looked like a princess and that was exactly how I saw her.

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I was incredibly drawn to her because, from everything Disney and every fairy-tale I had ever read had taught me, I knew that her nature would match her beauty. Why, she must be the kindest girl in the whole school! So, even though I was incredibly shy, I knew that she would be sweet and nice and set off immediately to introduce myself.

This is how it went down.

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By the way, if you think I’m exaggerating about how utterly goofy I looked, here’s my class photo from grade one.

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The Sun

I have a morbid fear of something that has led many people to believe I am a crazy person – I am scared of the Sun. I’m not talking scared in a oooh, the Sun is mighty and powerful, I have great respect and awe for it kind of way, but more of a the Sun is a death-ball of horror that is hunting me down and trying to kill me kind of way. Now, before you start agreeing with the aforementioned assessment of my sanity, I put it to you that if you are not afraid of the Sun, then you, sir or madam, are the crazy person!

The Sun is approximately 150 million kilometres away from Earth. Yet, if I go outside at noon in my bathers and just stand there, minding my own business, it will burn me. Not only that, it can burn me so bad that my skin peels off. It can even cause cancer in my skin. Cancer!  The Sun can kill me from 150 million kilometres away! How is that not terrifying? I can’t even look up at the Sun and shake my fist at it in fury because it will burn the retinas right out of my eyeballs!

Aside from my zombie-apocalypse nightmares, I am also regularly treated to Sun-apocalypse nightmares. Sometimes I am hurtling towards the Sun, being slowly burned alive. Sometimes the Sun will either explode or die. Other times the Sun will simply consume everything, me, the Earth, the Universe. It becomes some insatiable monster, hell-bent on growing ever-larger. Because of this, I make it my business to avoid looking at pictures of (or learning anything about) the Sun. If a documentary on the Sun comes on television I cannot reach for the remote quickly enough. Unfortunately, my ignorance of the facts about the Sun means that situations like this often happen while watching regular TV.

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For reasons that I am trying to forget, the Sun has been in the news a bit lately which has made it hard for me to avoid learning new things about it. A few nights ago I accidentally looked at the TV when it showed a close-up of the Sun. I shuddered in horror and turned away, but the image was already imprinted on my brain. This has brought on a series of nightmares of which I will share with you in pictorial form.

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I have really tried to come to terms with my fear. I draw happy, harmless-looking suns in most of my pictures and I even got a tattoo of a smiling sun. I have tried to think of the Sun in positive ways…as a giver of life, a nurturer of the Earth and a warmer of reptiles. But you know what? That’s crap! We are utterly reliant on that gigantic, people-killing, planet-swallowing hell-ball and it knows it!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to look at pictures of the Moon.

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Hypochondriac

I’m a hypochondriac. This basically means that when I get sick, or something weird happens with my body, I become completely unbearable to live with. It’s not that I am unaware, I totally get that I am ridiculous, but knowing this is not enough to prevent me from spiralling completely out of control into a crumpled mess of histrionics and self-pity.

It’s all about perception. For example:

Hey, I’d love to be one of those people who is totally stoic, never complains and just grins and bears it, but I’m not built that way! Can I help it if I’m just super aware of my fragility, my physicality, my mortality? I’m a control freak, so when my body starts behaving in ways I can’t control I pretty much curl up into the foetal position and await death. I’m hoping by exposing my craziness in a light-hearted manner that my long-suffering husband will perhaps understand me a little better and maybe someday forgive me for the weeks of sheer hell that I’ve just put him through.

It all started about a month ago with a sore throat and earache. After some Googling, I discovered it was most likely throat cancer. This knowledge prevented me from going to the doctor when I should have; I just wasn’t ready to hear my death sentence yet – it was nearly Christmas, for crying out loud. Just let me get through Christmas!

About five days before Christmas my husband made me go to the doctor (not my regular doctor, either, so I really didn’t want to go). I was told I had laryngitis (but I didn’t believe the diagnosis was correct) and was given antibiotics. I started feeling nauseated and dizzy towards the end of the course and blamed it on the antibiotics. A week after finishing them I had vertigo so bad that I could barely move my eyes.  My extensive Internet research told me that the ongoing nausea and dizziness must have another cause (as antibiotics don’t stay in your system for that long). The fact that the antibiotics hadn’t made me feel better only proved to me that the original diagnosis was wrong.

My regular doctor was away over the Christmas/New Year period and when she finally did come back to work she was immediately booked out for a whole week. Why didn’t I want to see another doctor? Because I’m loyal, dammit. I love my doctor. I trust only her and will never leave her (barring some kind of restraining order). Anyhoo, I made an appointment for a week’s time and spent the next seven days trying to find a cause for my symptoms like some kind of obsessive House wannabe.

It wasn’t long before my husband couldn’t take it anymore and marched me off to the walk-in centre. I didn’t want go, I wanted to wait and see my regular doctor (who is some sort of squishy, lovely, angel doctor with the logic of Spock, the patience of Buddha and the sweetness of Shirley Temple). I waited for two hours and paid forty dollars for a consultation that literally lasted less than two minutes. The doctor didn’t even sit down; he looked at my throat for less than a millisecond, said, “Yes, your throat is very swollen”, gave me a script for Stemzine (medication for the dizziness) then told me, and I quote, “If the dizziness does not go away in six weeks, get a brain scan because it might be a brain tumour.”

Might.be.a.brain.tumour.

My husband and I had quite different reactions on hearing this. It looked something like this.

It was just what my husband needed at this point. A doctor telling his totally manic, hypochondriac wife that she might have a brain tumour.

This is my perception of how the consultation went down.

I was absolutely horrified. What kind of doctor tells you that your throat is swollen and then does absolutely nothing about it? What kind of doctor tells you that you might have a brain tumour based on almost zero information? Walk-in centres blow. Big time.

The appointment with my squishy, lovely, angel doctor could not arrive soon enough. She put me on a course of stronger antibiotics and reassured me that I don’t have a brain tumour as the dizziness is most likely due to my hayfever and throat infection. I felt comforted and happy when I left her office. Everything was going to be juuust fine.

Or, so I thought. I woke up this morning with my right ear completely blocked and my left ear throbbing painfully. But it’s okay, I’ve narrowed it down to vestibular neuritis, Menier’s disease or referred otalgia due to a decaying tooth that desperately needs looking at.

I really should go see my dentist.