Several companies are developing GLP-1 drugs for cats. There’s just one problem: the little stinkers are notoriously averse to taking meds. But with the right conditioning, our feline overlords could enthusiastically gobble up the weight loss drugs like they inhale their favorite snacks.
NEW YORK — Big Buddy had a copy of the New York Times when he returned to Casa de Buddy after doing errands on Friday and made a big show of reading the broadsheet over lunch.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” the human remarked.
Little Buddy’s ears twitched, but he didn’t stir from his catnap.
“Wow,” Big Buddy said. “How about that? Muscle-building supplements for cats!”
Little Buddy sprang up.
“What did you say, human?”
“It says right here,” Big Buddy said, pointing to an article about a senate hearing. “See? This headline says ‘For Cats, Finally Supplements On Par With Their Human Counterparts.’ Then it says a whole bunch of stuff about a company that’s developing muscle-building supplements for felines, just like the supplements humans can take.”
Gears turned in the feline’s head as he considered what he’d been told.
“You mean these ‘supplements’ can, like, make my meowscles more bigger and stuff?” Little Buddy asked.
His human nodded enthusiastically.
“It’s amazing, actually,” he said. “I didn’t even know fitness supplements for cats were a thing.”
Little Buddy approached, sniffed the paper, chewed on one corner, then pointed a paw at a photo of Arizona Sen. Mark Kelly behind a podium. “Who’s this guy?”
“Ah, that’s the CEO of the new cat muscle-building company,” Big Buddy lied. “He’s very excited to bring the products to market.”
Little Buddy trilled enthusiastically.
“Friend human, we must acquire these meowscle-enhancing ‘supplements’ immediately!”
Big Buddy sighed, doing his best impression of hesitancy.
“I don’t know, Bud,” he said. “You’re already pretty huge and ripped.”
Bud is already considerably ripped thanks to his workout routine.
The gray tabby flexed.
“It’s true, I’m the Arnold Schwarzenmeower of cats,” he said. “But my meowscles could be even bigger! I’d be like a superhero, but a cat. A super cat hero. Or a superhero cat!”
The larger Buddy gave his pal a contemplative look.
“The world might not be ready for that, little dude.”
Little Buddy’s tail thumped the coffee table. “Friend human! We absolutely must acquire these ‘supplements’ the moment they become available. It’s of paramountic importance!”
“Okay, okay! You win.”
The feline’s tail quivered and he smiled triumphantly.
“By the way, friend human,” he asked, “what’s this new meowscle medicine called?”
We’ve now officially joined our European friends in deep summer, with an oppressive heat dome settling over the central and eastern US ahead of the July 4 weekend:
My extended family’s July 4 cookout is starting to look more like it’ll be a cook-in, pool or no pool. I think I’ll sit inside and watch baseball, thank you very much!
On behalf of Bud and myself, I hope everyone is taking it easy and staying indoors as much as possible.
For our friends in the New York area, you already know what the deal is: sticky, soupy heat from the high humidity that is the trademark of our summers.
Of course our furry friends have it even worse in this weather. Imagine having a jacket you cannot remove in humid 100 degree heat! Even Bud, a domestic shorthair, has modified his sleeping habits, snoozing next to my head with a paw on my hand instead of draping himself over me like he usually does.
Here’s to hoping everyone stays safe, hydrated and lazy this holiday weekend!
Buddy the Brave covered himself in glory by not being afraid of the fireworks.
The park across from Casa de Buddy is the site of our town’s annual fireworks display and I was a bit apprehensive about the Budster’s reaction this year.
The fireworks are so close that you can both hear and feel their percussive booms inside, but Bud’s been hearing them every year since kittenhood. The first few years I stayed inside with him to make sure he was okay, and to let him see how relaxed I was.
It’s never been a problem.
However, we are talking about a cat who sometimes freaks out at the rustling of a paper bag, and over the past year or two he’s become a little more sensitive. I attribute that to old age.
The fireworks here are no joke:
I gave Bud some grinded-up catnip, knowing that it calms him because he eats the stuff instead of just sniffing and rolling in it like civilized cats do. Then I waited until the explosions began, saw no visible reaction from Bud, and went outside to join everyone else.
When I got back, Bud was splayed out on the floor without a care in the world. He poked his head up as if to say “Ah, there were fireworks today, human? I hadn’t noticed!”
The Budster’s still got it!
We had our town’s fireworks today, I presume, because there are a metric crapton of July 4 events this year, and a neighboring town is known for their world class fireworks display which is always the night of. I still appreciate our display: it’s paid for by a local mom-and-pop business that is extraordinarily generous with the community.
Anyway, what could be more ‘Merican than celebrating our nation’s birthday by blowing things up? ‘Merica!
Humans have insulted felinekind for the last time!
Little Buddy was determined to win the prize.
A lavish spread of his most favoritest snacks — including a mouth-watering variety of crunchies, Gouda and American cheese, turkey meaty sticks and more — would be his if he could rush to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, remove a cold beer, and somehow get it back to his human before the end of the half-inning commercial break during a Yankees broadcast.
“Sixty seconds left!” Big Buddy called from the living room.
Little Buddy panicked. He was still working out how to reliably open the refrigerator door and was worried about whether he’d be able to carry the bottle by gripping the slender part with his teeth, or would be forced to roll it.
With a back paw resting against the adjacent cabinet, Buddy wedged his body against the refrigerator door and, with a bit of wiggling, finally pried it open. Yes!
There it was: the cold beer.
“Thirty seconds!” Big Buddy called.
Oh crap! The feline tried to grab the top of the bottle with his teeth, but it was slippery with condensation and cold.
I’ll have to roll it, then, he conceded.
Working quickly, he had the bottle safely on the floor in a few seconds and began rolling, nudging the icy brew with his nose and correcting its direction with his paws. Think of the snacks, he told himself.
He was out of the kitchen and heading toward the living room, beer rolling along, when Yankees announcer Michael Kay’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“And we’re back here in the bottom of the sixth, Yankees up two runs over the Red Sox,” he said.
“Time!” Big Buddy said, then got up and walked over to where his feline pal was sitting dejected with his shoulders slumped.
The human picked up the beer and cracked it open.
“So close,” he said, shaking his head. “What a shame.”
Little Buddy stared at the floor sadly as Big Buddy walked into the kitchen. Then he heard the unmistakable crinkle of a plastic bag. It was music to his ears, a balm for his soul, relief for his rumbling stomach.
I knew Big Buddy wouldn’t do this to me! he thought. He’s gonna give me that snack spread anyway!
The excited feline came skidding to a halt just inside the kitchen doorway and looked up to find his human digging a few mochi nuggets out of a Trader Joe’s bag. His tail, which had been quivering with excitement a second ago, sank like an inflatable air dancer suddenly deprived of wind.
“Mmmm,” the human said. “These are delicious. Don’t you just love snacks?”
He walked back into the living room and collapsed in his chair, leaving Little Buddy staring longingly up at the inaccessible Cabinet of Yums.
The hollow pop of a fastball discharging its kinetic energy off a wooden bat and the roar of the crowd sounded through the speakers in the next room, sending minute rumbles through the floor that tickled Buddy’s paw pads.
The gods of yums are pooping on me from great heights, he thought. What have I done to deserve this cruel fate?
“He’s training you!”
Little Buddy spun around. Who was meowing to him?
“Up here, dummy!” the voice meowed, and Little Buddy looked up to find a cat the color of a tangerine sitting on the outside window ledge and licking one paw.
“What do you mean by ‘he’s training me?'” Buddy asked the mysterious interloper.
The other feline continued raking his tongue along his paw at an insouciant pace, then finally stopped and looked down.
“He’s conditioning you to retrieve bottles of beer,” the interloper said with certainty. “The promise of a reward lit a fire under your behind, so you didn’t even question the ridiculous ‘challenge.’ And that, my boy, is how humans train lesser creatures like dogs. It is beneath us felines and an insult to our dignity!”
Buddy let the new information sink in.
“That bastard!” he meowed.
“Yes!” the tangerine cat replied.
“He’s treating me like a mutt? A dirty dog?”
“An abominable way to treat a friend, and if I may say so, an insult to your stature!”
Buddy seethed. “I’m supposed to be his best pal! His little buddy!”
“Some might call it a stunning display of absolute contempt for your feelings and your stomach,” the other feline nodded. “Criminal, really.”
“I’m gonna kill him!” Buddy meowed angrily.
The orange cat held up both paws.
“Hold off on that for a minute, will you, pal? If you go scorched Earth right away, you’ll have nothing for when this inevitably escalates.”
Buddy nodded reluctantly. “What did you have in mind?”
Tangerine smiled mischievously.
“My friend,” he trilled, “do you know what a toothbrush is?”
Author’s note:This is a work of fiction. At no time has Bud ever been denied a snack, nor has he ever missed a meal.
Q: So the theme of this interview is humans, specifically humans you admire. Would we be correct in assuming your human is at the top of your list?
Buddy: You would not.
Q: Uh, okay. Why not?
Buddy: Because he’s a wimp! A pushover. Weak.
Q: Wow. Okay. So who are some humans you admire?
Buddy: Let’s see. Genghis Khan. Tony Soprano. Xerxes of Persia. Kim Jong Il was pretty cool even if his hair was not. The Tokugawa shoguns. King Joffrey’s a classic. Nero. Ivan the Terrible. Oh! Commodus from Gladiator, he’s another good one.
Q: Seriously?
Buddy: Yeah!
Buddy and the humans he admires.
Q: But why? They’re all tyrants!
Buddy: Exactly.
Q: You consider that a positive personality trait?
Buddy: I love a good tyrant. I’m an aspiring tyrant myself, you know. Some would say I’ve already achieved tyranthood, although my tyrannical activities have been small time so far. I say when it’s bed time, I demand snacks whenever I please, I’ve banned closed doors in my domicile, I collect protection treats from the other cats in the building, I’ve…
Q: That sounds a bit more than small time.
Buddy: Indeed, but I haven’t realized my plan to take over the world. World domination has always been my dream, even as a kitten.
Q: What would world domination under Emperor Buddy look like?
Buddy: Well first of all, we’d have to have the humans build a replica of the Coliseum. The cats need entertainment, and I need a place to feed my enemies to tigers. Plus we can make the humans fight each other for our amusement whilst I sit in my imperial box where beautiful women feed me candied figs and my servants fan me to keep me cool.
Q: Uh…
Buddy: And then we invade Turkey to plunder all their turkey. I’ve given a lot of thought to that, obviously. My personal guards will be an elite group of lions called the, uh, Lion Guard. They’d look all intimidating and stuff in their resplendant armor. Also, I would summon a group of the best engineers, experts in biomechanics, and luxury car designers to create vehicles for my people.
Buddy’s Lion Guards stand watch around his imperial personage.
Q: You want cars for cats?
Buddy: Exactly.
Q: But lots of people would object to sharing the road with you guys…
Buddy: They don’t have a choice, remember? I’m the emperor!
Q: Right. Well, this has been an, uh, enlightening inter…
Buddy: I say when the interview is over!
Q: Er, okay. Is there anything you wanted to add?
Buddy: During my reign, there will be mandatory nap times. Also, when I enter a room everyone must stand, not only because they should bow and say “My liege,” which sounds pretty cool, but also so I can pick the spot I want. If any human was sitting there, they will move, of course.
Q: Of course. If I may…
An Imperial Buddesian coin featuring a likeness of Imperator Buddy. This 10-can coin entitles the bearer to 10 cans of premium cat food.
Buddy: Yes?
Q: Where does your human fit into all of this?
Buddy: Which one? All the humans will be my loyal subjects when I’m emperor.
Q: You know. Your human. The one who adopted you and takes care of you, feeds you, cleans up after you, rubs your head and tells you how brave you’ve been when you get scared…
Buddy: Fake news! I don’t get scared.
Q: My apologies. Of course you don’t get scared, nothing could frighten you! So what happens to your human when you’re Emperor Buddy?
Buddy: That’s an excellent question, one I haven’t given much thought to yet. I could make him the High Warlord, grant him a dukedom, or put him in charge of the mint to oversee the handsome new coins featuring my likeness on them. But I have trouble sleeping unless I’m draped over him, and it would be a pain to train someone new to make things just the way I like them, so he can be Bates.
Q: Bates?
Bates, right, assists Lord Grantham changing into his dinner wear on Downton Abbey. Buddy envisions his human holding the position of Bates in his Buddesian Empire.
Buddy: Yeah. Like on Downton Abbey. My personal servant, separate from all the palace servants.
Q: Ah…
Buddy: I’d just feel more comfortable if he were always within three feet of me. That is non-negotiable. And with that, I now formally declare this interview concluded. If you’ll just step over there please, my Master of Great Works will take down your information so that, if the final published version of this interview is displeasing to me, we can send you to the mines along with everyone else I don’t like upon my ascension to the throne. Cheers!
Pain In The Bud 