Even though he’s well over 2 years old, we still frequently refer to Oscar as “The Kitten,” or various profane permutations thereof. He’s fully grown, but in our heads, he’s still the tiny pissbu… err.. hissbucket he was when H first saw him on the Stephens County Humane Society’s page. It doesn’t help that he can squish himself down small enough to still be held in one hand.
It turns out he’s actually a full ass cat. He’s right smack in the middle of the range for both length and weight. All our other cats have been giants, so our perspective is skewed. If you grew up in a big Samoan family smellin’ what the Rock is cookin’, moving to the city is gonna make everyone else look a bit squeeny.
Every once in a while, I manage to grab a picture of Oscar that shows he is, in fact, a perfectly normally proportioned cat. With maybe a slightly longer and thinner tail than average. He looks like a skinny Coatimundi. Or a hipster about to tell you why his 2 year old love of Pink Floyd is MUCH more genuine than your 30 year listening career.
Oh god. He’s Skinnyfat, isn’t he? He’s got the feline equivalent of skinny jeans on.
Moving to LA is one thing, but homing with a hipster? Even I have my limits, y’all.