I have a male Ginger cat. His name is Max. AKA Ginger Nutless.
He’s a big guy. I know this because everyone who sees him announces to me ‘that’s a big cat’.
The vet is a little more forthright and says ‘he’s fat, you need to cut his food’.
My Max does like his food. I seldom get to sleep in because he screams in my face a 5am reminder that he’s close to perishing.
I recently tried free feeding him and his fat little sister cat. This involves topping up a container which is supposed to drip feed and last for some time.
My Max fully embraced this new system and consistently ate a week’s supply in one sitting.
So, we are back to him screaming at me twice a day for his meals.
Whenever anyone meets him and gives him a wary look because of his impressive bulk and vocals (he likes to get things off his chest, my Max), I reassure them that he’s ‘such a nice guy’.
Nevertheless, intermittently I am at the vet with him, being lectured on his weight, because he has a wound that needs to be attended to.
He’s not a fighter I explain, he’s really such a nice guy, I suspect he gets injured trying to break up fights.
Recently a visitor alerted me to a cat fight happening across the road.
It won’t be my Max I said with confidence, unless he’s acting as mediator, he’s such a nice guy.
It was my Max, in the other’s yard, definitely instigating and giving the other cat hell. In the other’s home.
It’s possible my lovely Max is the bully, not the bullied.
Children. A constant disappointment really.