On just two scoops a day

My dear friend Ashley just fetched her cat from me. As she and her family vacationed in our shared home state of Maine, Cory and I played host to their delightfully fluffy but never affectionate cat, Oreo. I was happy to help out this friend who does so much for me, particularly because I love animals, but must admit to breathing a sigh of relief this evening as Oreo returned home.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely loved having a pet around me again. Still, I always carry a sense of anxiety when I pet sit or babysit. That sense of "Oh God, something is going to go wrong," haunts me throughout the care taking. With Oreo, I was convinced I was going to overfeed her. Oreo had it figured out. She cried and cried and cried for food constantly. "Two scoops a day," I was instructed, "One in the morning and one in the evening." Easy enough, right?

Oreo sat by her food dish and cried for most of her 15 days with us. Whenever we'd get up, she'd run to her food dish, pleading with us to fill it, as if she'd been in a kitty concentration camp for months. With Cory home much of the days still enjoying his summer vacation, it was hard to stay strong. So she broke us. Oh did she break us. There were days where she likely had double her allotted food amount. Zoinks!

As Ashley picked her up today I confessed our sin and she assured us it was hardly a big deal, she does it "all the time". I breathed a sigh of relief that any additional pounds that cat is likely to put on will be forgiven or, at the very least, understood. It's an intimidating thing caring for someone's "family member". I wanted what was best for Oreo, but wanted her "content" as well. I can't have her complaining to her mommy, after all, about my lack of hospitality. I'm still trying to get Ashley's 2 year old son to forgive me for forcing him into footie pajamas that he'd grown out of months earlier the last time I played babysitter. That and his being victim to my first diaper change. Poor poor child.