Inkie is in a snit. His ears are pinned back and his yellow eyes are set to flame. His rage is directed at me because at this point, according to him, I’m the worst human in the world.
We’re quarrelling because Inkie is hungry. Starved, actually. But before you call the SPCA, we have our reasons.
Inkie’s dad was huge, super fluffy and looked just like a Main Coon. Our tuxie has inherited his bone structure. He is 5cm taller and 7.5cm longer than Tic Tac and Target.
But at 6.5kg, he’s also too fat. Seen from the top, he’s egg- shaped. Okay, barrel-shaped.
Like humans, obese cats are more prone to diseases like diabetes. Plus, it’s hard on the knees.
We say our Inkie is prosperous because we’re polite but when he jumped on top of me and practically flattened me recently, we decided cutting down on his food portion was essential.
We’ve tried this before and it was a disaster. Inkie is super smart, combining the cunning of Professor Moriarty and the mastery of Sun Tzu.
As we also have our old Target and little Tic Tac to care for, having to slim down one pet is a challenge. I prepped like a general going into war.
We have tuna for breakfast, when I finish work around 5pm and again at 8pm. There are biscuits in the kitchen for snacks.
Last time we tried a diet, Inkie stole an entire bag of cat biscuits, hid them behind a pantry door and ate the lot.
Now that we’re in Britain, Inkie’s not too fond of biscuits. As Tic Tac and Target still love them, my cunning plan was to cut down on tuna portion. It should slim Inkie down and he shouldn’t stuff his face with crunchies.
Here we go
On day one of my campaign, I put slightly less tuna in the bowls. Inkie scarfed his and meowed for seconds. I petted him and took him for a cuddle. He was unbothered, ate a few biscuits and played with Tic Tac.
My plan was working but as I’ve been outwitted countless times, I maintained my caution. Sure enough, when Inkie realised seconds were no longer offered, he upped the stakes.
Our cats have always shared bowls. The next morning Inkie pushed his way into Target and Tic Tac’s food and body-blocked them.
As Inkie can detect the smell of food like a labrador, the other two didn’t stand a chance. I was forced to offer more tuna.
Inkie won that day but the next morning, I walked Target and Tic Tac into the living room.
Now I should explain that since we moved here, we have evening sofa tuna.
Target is 16 and England is cold. We put the central heating on blast but the kitchen doesn’t have a radiator.
To keep our old orange warm and healthy, we put a heated blanket on the sofa, put a throw over it and gifted it to him.
Target loves it. He sleeps with me, tucking his old bones under the duvet at night, toddles downstairs in the morning and spends the day lounging on his heated sofa.
He nips into the kitchen for water and the odd biscuit but mostly he hangs out like a Roman emperor, meowing for snacks – and tuna.
When Tic Tac saw, she immediately wanted sofa tuna too. Naturally, Inkie didn’t want to be left out.
So we now have a sofa tuna ritual. It’s summer now but the cats want to be pampered. Yes, we’re mugs.
Trying his best
So while Inkie stuffed down his breakfast, I took the other two into the living room and offered morning sofa tuna. I exited – closing the door on Inkie who was belting down the corridor.
Inkie stared at the shut door and then at me, big eyes turning flinty. He refused my offer to snoopervise while I washed the dishes and he practically hissed when I suggested we play a game.
The next morning, Inkie sabotaged me by meowing pitifully at the shut door. Target is a tough nut but gentle Tic Tac fell for Inkie’s faked up pathos. She stopped eating, rushed to the door and meowed with concern. She would not rest until she saw for herself that her friend was okay.
When I showed our princess that Inkie was perfectly fine, our utterly shameless boy shot me a glance of unholy glee, piled in and stole her food.
Upping my game, I took to shutting Inkie in the kitchen. Inkie is a big boy but he has a tiny meow so with two shut doors between the breakfast parties, Tic Tac couldn’t hear him.
Stymied, Inkie sulked furiously. He ate some biscuits, had cuddles with me (under protest!) and plotted to steal evening sofa tuna.
To his annoyance, that’s a tough call. I have chores in the morning but in the evening, we are all together.
While we hang out, Tic Tac nibbles at her fish in between chasing the weather maps on the BBC and CBS news. Target opts for ear rub breaks. With me right there, Inkie has little opportunity to steal.
But that doesn’t mean he’s given up. Our tuxy lies on the floor, willing me to have a momentary lapse of vigilance.
Last night he got a win: Target asked me for something and as my attention was distracted, Inkie whooshed in and raided his bowl. So today he’s on my lap, purring smugly.
But he is definitely eating a bit less. I’m doing this for his own good, but I’m not holding my breath that I’ll be victorious.
Inkie is not taking this lying down. He’s bound to come up with something.
