Sometimes I think a lot about my mom's cat
My mom's cat is a common domestic shorthair we found on the side of the road as a kitten
Regular cat, not a maine coon or one of those massive breeds. His mom was smaller than a loaf of bread
But in a sort of a Clifford The Big Red Dog situation, he grew super fast, and really really big, and took a super long time to stop growing
Worried that she was overfeeding him, she eased back his portions, but he stayed a massive round baby
When he started having kidney problems, she took him to the vet.
The vet took a look at him and said, "holy fuck, what are you feeding him", checked the nutritional listings on his chow, and told her "Yeah, maybe he's reacting badly to the amount of grain in this, try a meatier diet"
So my mom wound up special-ordering this specific high-protein prescription cat food made of like. Kangaroo meat or some shit that cost like sixty bucks a bag
And, as typical act two in an episode of House, he somehow got worse on the fancy specialized stuff that was supposed to be Primo Athlete Olympic Feline Blend
Like. WAY worse. His guts were inflamed and his kidneys were shutting down and he was all sore and HE WAS STILL HUGE, just miserable and sad
So shetook him back to the vet, where they had to help him pee (he was apparently close to bursting and had some kind of blockage too) and went "Yeah no this is NOT normal and we don't know what's going on, we're gonna do some tests but in the meantime you should go back to what he was eating before, at least that wasn't actively killing him" so she did
And he still wasn't great, but he also improved
And so they take his blood and do an ultrasound and a couple g's later she gets a call back like "this is gonna sound crazy, but we want you to put him on a low-meat diet. Just the least amount of protein and iron and shit. We need you to find the grainiest, filler-iest dollar tree kibble available and give him some of that bad bad shit"
And my mother is a woman of science. So she did
And he GOT BETTER
His energy picked back up, inflammation went down, he started drinking normally again, got back to pissing like a fuckin champion
And so it turns out that out of all the random ass freeway bonus cats we possibly could have scooped out of a ditch, WE got the one-in-a-million freak of nature with a SPECIFIC genetic defect that means a paleo protein free range diet is essentially poison and he THRIVES on cheap ass garbage
Like. He medically NEEDS junk food
I dont really understand how that works, but i cant argue with results.
If we had four of him, they'd outweigh my mom. And he's FINE
Also blind, but that's unrelated
Im not using him as a symbol or a metaphor or anything. I just keep catching myself thinking about my mom's Big Fucking Cat
So many people are gonna get mad I didn't add theirs, but now I am curious
Mine was Vegeta777 bc spanish is my mother tongue, but I quickly changed to Stampy.
"bluey sets unrealistic expectations for parents" like we haven't all wondered why our parents don't do things with us like the TV parents do. the expectations are already set higher than they're getting to. they aren't even reaching for the bar -- in fact, they're actively trying to limbo underneath it
I've discovered corrupted venti. he has quickly taken place as my new obsession. I would happily die for this man
using "what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament" to mean "yeah i made an embarrassing reference but you understood it which is also embarrassing" is very funny to me
Baby stingray and the photo bomber
There once was a young Christian boy who ate cigarettes. Every day he would eat more and more, but he would not die because he prayed while he ate the cigarettes. He ate so many cigarettes that he grew to tremendous size. When the boy finally died, the priests wrapped him in a great silken funeral cloth. It was then that the heavens opened, and from the clouds descended the hand of God, who plucked the tremendous cigarette boy from his casket. It was then that God lit a flame and smoked him.
the point of the trolley problem isn't a numbers game. it's a responsibility game. the single person tied to the alternate track was never in danger, was never going to be in danger, and would have lived if you weren't there. choosing not to pull a lever is choosing to shed responsibility. choosing to pull it makes you directly responsible for that one person's death. could you take that? could you look a family in the eye and tell them that the death of their loved one saved a mere five people, that *you killed someone* for a mere five people? it's not an exchange. it was never an exchange. it has always been about you, holding a lever, with a choice to make, nothing to lose, and six people on the line.
she/they • • • • • you can call me nyoom, mymph, or anything that comes to mind • • • • • don't mind me! I'm just looking at art, animals, and funny things. I don't talk to people much but that's just the anxiety. I love conversation if you wanna chat! • • • • • (don't mind these dots, I haven't figured out how to space yet, lol)
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