I looked around: I was nowhere near the bathroom scale, and Himself was asleep.
Gink-gonk is the noise my scale makes when you 'wake it up'....you have to gink-gonk it, wait for 000.0 to come up, then step on up and decide whether you will drive to work humming songs from Disney movies, or clutching the steering wheel trying to figure out how to do 45 minutes of exercise in 30 minutes every morning before work and still knock together some carrot stick and bean sprout sandwiches that you'll enjoy while walking uphill doing kegels and listening to Dr. Andrew Weil banging on about 'Conscious Eating' on your iPod.
I looked down, and the cat was sitting on the scale, looking at me. I moved his tail to try and see what he weighed, and realized it was pointless because his front legs were on the floor and he was cheating. (He didn't learn that from me, I swear. ) So I started to wonder. What does he weigh, anyway?
Last weekend, after all, he broke Jesus.
We live in the mountains, and sometimes radio reception is sketchy. Yes, we have XM. But sometimes we listen to free radio because that's where Car Talk is. Himself will maximize our Click and Clack by draping the long, flexible antenna across the kitchen door, securing it to what's handy. In this case, the fancy sick-call crucifix we got as a wedding gift. (Its sort of an Inspector-Gadget crucifix that opens up and has candles and whatnot inside it so you can rig up a bedside altar if you are, you know, dying at home. Cause nothing says 'congratulations on your special day' quite like a reminder that every day you are shuffling ever nearer to the gaping maw of death.)
Seamus has spent several months (since Palm Sunday, to be exact) trying to pull the dessicated palm fronds off the crucifix. He'll jump against the wall over and over like a brain damaged kangaroo despite the fact that they are simply too high for him to reach. On Saturday, I heard the ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk of his jumping and opened the bathroom door to see what he was up to. He was trying to grab the bottom of the antenna, which was draped around Jesus' shoulders and hung just low enough. This is what happened. (I borrowed this photo from Himself, who used it in a different context.)
Yep, he pulled it down and Jesus came off. So I have to find some hardware in my toolbox that will fit the holes in his hands and nail him back on there, because it seems really wrong to hotglue Jesus to the cross.
Where was I going with this? Oh. So I wondered....what DOES Seamus weigh? I gink-gonked the scale, got on it myself (no Disney, but no regrets either), then picked him up and got on it again.
He weighs almost EIGHTEEN POUNDS. I guess its time to cut back on the kitty crack.
Here's where all the fat cats meet, daddy-o.