The Suds Max Style

Apparently my Zen focus on life has done nothing to whittle my waist. While I still find myself the epitome of fabulous health and striking good looks, it appears that my humans do not agree. I had one sneeze and a cough and suddenly I am stuffed into a carrier and carted off to the vet.

What a travesty, this overblown temperature taker had the audacity to make the claim that I, Sir Maximus, am fat. Are you kidding me?! Since when did large muscle tone and fluffy furry locks become fat? The horrors; let me concede to their misconstrued notions of beauty and make a wafer-thin mockery of myself.

Unfortunately, due to my lack of opposable thumbs, I am not capable pouring the goodies into the kitty bowl; yet, I am the one forced to…to….diet. Ugh, just saying it out loud hurts. I have too much class to lash out even as my stomach devours itself each minute. If you must know, the ‘suds’ are not a symptom to be toyed with…especially when paired with lethal cat claws. Now, where did the boss man put his new suit?? I’ve got a situation to handle.

Starving with style,

Max