Isis came to us a seriously-overweight, verging-on-diabetic adult cat. She had been one of 17 cats in a household; her elderly owner died and the lady's vet took on the task of placing the cats.

The lady's cats had been fed via shared dishes kept constantly stocked with dry food. Isis must have had an anxiety disorder in that setting and grazed constantly; by the time of her rescue she was a behemoth. Several months into the vet's diet, at the time we adopted her she was a 17-pound cat hiding a small, 5-pound cat's body. Of course our adoption orders were to shrink her.

First she showed the beginnings of a neck. Next the pads of fat left the base of her tail, and soon her natural rat tail was visible. The next area we noted was shoulder blades discernible under the thick fat that still remained. Next it was hips-- she actually had two of them, not a massive monohip.

She began to look more like a cat, and less like an overblown white football.

She's always been calm and friendly, here. She and Atticus slept together from the third day she was here, and he is kind enough to wash her (it takes hours). She even gives him a lick or two to start him off. :~) He allows her to use him as a pillow so that her shape (and the internal pressure of the fat) don't cause her to die from sleep apnea.

Her program is that she is on reduced rations (as directed) for several months at a time; when we notice the new body parts emerging, we increase the ration fractionally so that she gets a pause for maintenance. This allows her skin to shrink as she goes, as much as possible. It also allows her to re-orient her jumps, etc. as her gravity and center of gravity change. During maintenance, she can regroup and feel relatively secure physicially.


And now on to the favorite thing:

This week she apparently discovered that her weight had come down to a notable degree: she's suddenly to be found in areas she could never access before, sleeping like a normal cat in bizarre locations as they love to do. Open a closet-- there she is on a shelf. Or on top of the mess piled on the laundry room counter-- fast sleep. She may have been able to climb up on things to get to them before, but getting down would have been a nightmare.

She also has begun to try to take over Atticus' alternate napping spots-- the places he sleeps when he's on break from Isis-washing. One is the treadmill. It was funny to see Atticus splayed out there, asleep, in front of the fan-- a real athletic workout there. It's funnier to see Isis rolling over and over in the same spot, reveling in being able to roll over for the first time in some years-- showing off each time we pass by.

Maybe I'll turn that treadmill on for her sometime. :~)

~Susan