My kitchen window faces the street. I stop what seems like eternal KP duty and stare at Mr. Carson marching down the sidewalk and making a sharp right turn into my driveway. As usual, I am blown away by his size. The fact that he can ambulate with such single-minded purpose and physical ease amazes me.
Where has he been? Why can’t I find out? He’s too mysterious. I hurry to dry my hands and get his lunch ready. He’s been gone so long he must be starved…though you’d never know by looking at him.
After he eats a few bites, he heads for bed. I write that down to share with his physician: Gone since early morning. Back at noon. Apparently full of energy. Took three bites and then needed a nap.
Doctor Robinette says this particular patient looks like he’s swallowed a bowling ball. I have to agree. His head and extremities are normal size. From his neck to his feet he is huge. After numerous x-rays and blood tests, the diagnosis remains inconclusive. Something is not right.
All I can do to offer any help is to observe and make notations. I already measure every morsel of food. It’s so perplexing and I feel helpless. This could kill him. No matter if he is fat or skinny, he’s part of our family and we love him. I imagine he loves us too, though he often resists letting us know.
A month goes by and the scenario hardly changes. Rainy days do not keep him from going, except he moves a little faster. I try to follow him, but he turns around and seems to stomp back home, obviously disgusted at my interference into his daily schedule.
We have a family meeting. It is way past time to find out what’s going on with our loved one. My son has a brilliant idea. I hurry to write a note I will attach to our wily wanderer: My name is K. Carson. Please call this phone number if I come to your place of business or your home. It is of vital importance my family gets some information. It could save my life.
As soon as the letter is secretly secured to the back of his collar where he can’t see it, we wait. Hours go by and then the phone begins to ring. I hear fourteen different people tell me the same thing.
When Mr. Carson comes marching home in the afternoon, I stand at the window and watch as he makes that never-fail sharp right angle and heads for the door. I smile at how handsome and smart he is. He radiates such confidence, since he doesn’t know he’s been found out. Things are about to change.
I hug him and tell him how much he is loved. He acts contented, but not one bit hungry. Now I know why. More than two dozen of his closest friends are feeding him every day…and probably better things than I have to offer.
He looks up at me with complete trust and squeezes his eyes shut a few times as I tell him the new plan.
“Now listen, Mr. Kit Carson. You may be a cat, but I truly believe you know what I‘m saying. You may not go out for a while until we break this sneaky habit and get some weight off of you. Poor baby, you can barely reach to wash anything but your face and front paws!”
He stares at me for a few seconds, then switches his internal motor on to high-purr and snuggles down in my lap. I decide that if he can stop eating the wrong things, so can I.
We’ll help each other. When he shrinks to the size he should be, maybe I’ll take him to visit his old pals who helped create my little roly-poly monster.
Meantime, I need to get a stack of good books for the table next to my easy chair. It’s going to be a long and cozy winter.
Proverbs 20:6 (NLT)
Many will say they are loyal friends, but who can find one who is truly reliable?
Based on a story told to me by my veterinarian regarding a lady (he heard about from another vet) who attached a note to her cat’s collar and got more than a dozen calls from people who admitted they were feeding him on his secretive daily rounds to their homes.
Also, my darling jumbo cat could easily pass for Mr. Kit Carson.
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