Are We in the Midst of a Feline Obesity Epidemic?

A little less than a month after Meow, a Santa Fe shelter cat that garnered some celebrity for weighing 39-pounds, died in an ecstasy of ice cream-flavored wet food sprinkled over ice cream, new fat cats have ambled into the spotlight to stake their own claims to fame. 30-pound SpongeBob momentarily captured the public imagination, until a 10-year-old Brooklyn cat named Garfield came to Port Washington's no-kill animal shelter weighing 40 pounds. 40 pounds. How many feelings does that round, decimal of 10 make you feel?

In order to better understand the broader implications of Garfield's proportions, New York Post solicited the expert opinion of veterinarian Gerard Laheney, who soberly tried to put Garfield's weight in perspective: "My first reaction was astonishment. This is the fattest cat I have ever seen." Not only is Garfield enormous, but, to Laheney's continued astonishment, he passed a physical. Still, Laheney recommends that Garfield lose about 20 pounds, which is, like, easy for Laheney to say but has he ever tried to lose 20 pounds? Besides, if Garfield does lose all that weight, what will happen to his newfound celebrity? It'll disappear, that's what'll happen, and then Garfield will just be another cat with a generic name telling all the other stray cats about how he could've been somebody, how he could've been a contender, but now he's got a one-way ticket to Palookaville, and there aren't any cream cheese doughnuts in Palookaville.

New-champ in fatter-cat fight [NY Post]

Image via Nailia Schwarz/Shutterstock.