turns out Rodgers and Hammerstein puns are too rich for my parents’ cats’ sensitive stomachs.
i’ve been in a weeks-long experiment to find out which proteins have been making their litter box resemble a Jackson Pollack painting. this has involved a lot of monitoring mealtime, staring at soft poops, and recording my findings in a chaotic handwritten spreadsheet.
(my parents’ vet suggested turkey for cats with digestive issues. so far, so good.)
i enjoy sitting with them in the laundry room as they eat or don’t eat. i find it meditative making sure the Food-Motivated Cat doesn’t consume what belongs to the Anxiety-Riddled Cat. (this is not a metaphor.)
but perhaps most charming is when they lose interest in their own food, swap plates, and, suddenly, their appetites return with gusto. but it’s the same food. (this is a metaphor.)