What is going on with this eating thing?
I love food, have even been called a foodie, but really, how does virus + murder hornet + social unrest = EAT?
Stress eating is a real thing. You say it, and the nods start. It’s something we peoples all understand, even those who don’t do it.
There’s a related, but different thing going on in my house: stress cooking. The state of my freezer is PACKED. We’re very careful about what we eat, and we’re seeing and feeling wonderful results, but I can hear my freezer groaning at me. (Anyone ever visit the Salem Witch Museum in the 1980s? Moooore weight!)
The effect this has on my kitties is noticeable. WOMAN! Pay attention to ME! That food can BURN. Oh, hey! She dropped something! YUM! The four of them are louder than ever. Even my very quiet Ollie has become one chatty catty, although none can match Higgs for strength and length of a single meow. That boy can holler!
These musings about my fursome foursome lead my thoughts to travel about 6 miles down the road to Tabby’s Place. (So…much…duh.)
Things have changed for our friendly furballs. The changes are arguably more drastic for them than this household’s one crazed cook spending unhealthy amounts of time planning, prepping, and packing food. At Tabby’s Place, the masses of admirers, aids, aides, and servants aren’t there. A special, treasured, beloved few see to their many needs.
Such as things have become, I wonder if the Tabby’s cats are stress eating more. I know they aren’t stress cooking. The lack of opposable thumbs is too large a chasm to leap. Somehow, don’t ask me why or how, but I think Shiny and Stafford might have some answers about cats and stress eating. They also probably have some very good advice for this stress cook: stop cooking, pet cats. Not bad advice. Executive kitties are very wise.
Ever see Boom eat? I’m just leaving that right there.
I do love the attention one gets on walking into any suite, at any time that could be remotely considered a meal time. Forget “grease,” “attentive” is the word. Yup, especially in Suite C. Never miss a meal in there. Don’t blame them. Meals are good. But, for the poor self-feeders, is it really stress, or is there something else going on? Wiring maybe? Our beloved behaviorist probably has a very good understanding, but the point right now is to ponder, not understand.
So, instead I beseech a coupla big guys. Archer, Louie, care to weigh in on this? Silence descends with a thud. Oh, no, that was Carrot coming down as soon as someone entered the room…just in case there might be an offering of some tiny little crumb…or a lap.
Then, there’s Michelin. Treats? So what. Too close. Must hide up ramp. Oh, wait you touched me. Nice! No, not nice! Poor, sweet Michelin. I miss working with her…well, trying with her. It’s a rare turn to wish a cat were more responsive to food, but there it is. Nevertheless, and as always, we volunteers and staff will do what we do.
Eventually, Michelin will find a happy place within her self, with us, and one amazing, wonderful, cosmic day, with a new family in a forever home. Will she respond to treats there? Will she rub legs and climb butts in the hope the cook will drop a tiny speck of something to gobble off the floor like my Loki? Will she patiently lay in wait about 3 feet away like my Ollie? Will she only care – and complain LOUDLY – that she’s not being paid due attention like Panther and Higgs?
Every cat is so special, so uniquely wonderful, it’s hard to imaging getting a chorus of agreement about anything. Stress eating? Eh, maybe. Sometimes. No. Yah. What?
Mouth full – nom nom.
Photos from top: Boom, Cheela, Shiny, Boom, The Two Largest Cats Of All, Michelin.