Last week, I took Boo to the vet for a check up and was told that he had gained over a pound in less than 9 months. Over a pound! That's like if you gained 10 lbs in 9 months. It's pretty drastic. At this point, the vet wants Boo to lose 1-2 lbs, which means he is now on a strict diet.
I blame myself.
When I'm hungry, it's scary times for everyone around me. I am hostile and emotional. I once cried because a bouncer at a bar told me that the kitchen was closed. This food panic is apparently something that runs in my family as my sister has told me the only real fight she's ever had with her boyfriend was about when and where to eat.
The thing is, I'm apparently not rational enough to remember I am a middle-income American who is surrounded by food at all times. Even at 3 am, I can go to CVS and get a box of Cheez-Its if need be. Yet, when I'm hungry, I act like I am most definitely going to starve to death. Immediately.
Likewise, sometimes, if I'm gone for more than 24 hours, I come home to Boo's food bowl flipped over (presumably in fury), water all over the floor, and a chewed up sweet potato that he stole off the counter. It is the image of desperation.
Every time he eats, he acts like it's his last. He rarely breathes between breaths. His ass is getting huge.