Liverwurst Therapy

Clueless may be home, but for a cat with a history of gourmandizing, he’s amazingly uncooperative at meal times. If left to his own devices, he’ll only eat a few kibbles and then wander off in search of a better place to sleep. Warrior Princess and The Grey Menace now bolt their food and then race to watch Clueless pick at his, in hopes of nosing their way into some additional bounty. I stand guard by Clueless’s bowl while he nibbles his way through his meals, but if my attention strays for just a few seconds I can expect to look down and see someone else in the process of tying on Clueless’s feedbag.

I purchased some discount liverwurst on Friday to hide Clueless’s pills in. He’s discovered that the “Pill Pockets” I got as a freebee during the last veterinary convention I went to are Trojan Horses, and now refuses to let them past his toothy gate. Pilling him by force is an adventure best left to those far more professional (and suicidal) than I. But liverwurst … that playdough of sandwiches … that culinary clay … that pungent and malleable pile of unknown ingredients … liverwurst is capable of awakening some of the gourmand greed that used to lurk so predictably inside Clueless’s heart. Liverwurst – it’s not just for hiding pills anymore.

Liverwurst has become my secret weapon in my battle to win back Clueless’s health. His pills come coated with it. His kibble comes embedded in it. It’s dished out a irregular intervals during the day as a way to cultivate appetite and get a little weight back on his bones (my once fat nearly twenty-pound cat is now down to just a little over eleven pounds). I don’t know what I’ll do when liverwurst loses its appeal, as the pill pockets did a few weeks back, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

The Socialist happened to glance under the oven a day ago, looking for I forget what. He didn’t find what he was looking for, but he did find twelve fuzzy mice, one wine cork, one foil ball toy, and one strange plastic and twine fish that’s supposed to be fish-scented. I’d wondered where all the Grey Menace’s mice had disappeared to. Inspired, I looked under the hutch in the dining room and found two more fuzzy mice.

I hope she never grows out of this.