My parents are ruining my cat

Matt's been pouting for the last week because I haven't posted anything (I guess my first post didn't count). I reminded him that I don't have any stories to tell b/c 1) I'm not a good storyteller and 2) I never go anywhere save for the grocery store and school. I could regale you with stories about students who don't do show up to class and turn in gibberish for essays and then grumble when they see their D ... but, really, does anyone want to hear that? But, Matt reminded me, don't you have a cat who's always doing uncharacteristic cat things, like play fetch or Sudoku? I groaned, I'll be a crazy cat lady! I don't want to be that girl! Matt just sighed, and I felt terribly guilty that I was ruining his blog. So I'll try.

How, you ask, are my parents ruining my cat? Because they spoil him rotten! Don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciate them watching him while I visit Matt in Tampa, but not only do they let him stay up all hours of the night (dire consequences for my sleep schedule), but they also feed him about 300 treats a day. Each. And one thing I love about my cat is how skinny he is b/c he looks like a goofy little Barbie horse galloping around the house. Will he still be able to play fetch and gallop if he's a big fatty?

Master Marmalade, before his visit to my parents' house:

Master Marmalade, after a 5-day stint at Chez Gunn:

But I guess that's the punishment I get for not giving them grandchildren.

--Ariel