Small barks trumps fat meows.

My cat got beat up today.

My poor baby.

He came to me outside my window and stayed in a corner having war flashbacks. I cleaned his wounds and was in a stage of panic ready to beat up the dog who did this.

I hear more hissing and find my skinny cat running back to me.

O.k. Mr. dog, I got you.

There stood behind the fence barking up a storm, the smallest dog I’ve ever seen.


My cat was too fat to run.

You never know how small you really are; you never know how fat you really are either.

Society’s way of telling my cat fat will kill you.

I’m slightly embarrassed of my furry child.



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