Big Fat Cat Update

Stop the presses! I have an update on the owner of the BFC (Big Fat Cat) that was found waddling about the streets of New Jersey a few days ago and has since been making the rounds on the talk show circuit. (Yesterday, the BFC sat down the Regis & Kelly and tried to explain her situation. But then she realized that she was a cat and couldn't talk and thus, probably had no business being on a talk show to begin with. So she just sat there and looked fat. Really fat. Oh, my God, is that cat enormous.)

The owner has been found. It may or may not surprise you to learn that the owner of the BFC (nicknamed "Princess Chunk" by shelter workers who, apparently, couldn't think of anything better or that didn't include a royalty reference. Was the cat wearing a tiara when they found her? What's up with the 'Princess' moniker anyway?) is a 65 year old woman named Donna Oklatner. And if that didn't surprise you, I'll be that if you learned that the reason that the cat wasn't in her possession is because her house was foreclosed on. Ah, see? I was right. Surprise.

Yes, that is the reason given for why a BFC (which looks like it could be at least four cats in one, by the way) was on the loose without a collar. According to the fine folks over there at the New York Daily News, in her defense (and the beginning of her explanation), she said, "I would never abandon an animal. I gave it to a friend to give to a shelter. It's like giving babies to a hospital." Well, it's not exactly the same. Unless you've just expelled a 44-pound baby through your uterus and left it to wander about the streets on it's own. They're actually kind of different. Very. Very different.

Oklatner said that she fell behind on her mortgage payments, not because of buying food for the BFC, but because of credit card debt and medical bills. Uh-huh. You know, if I have a choice between paying part of my credit card bill or paying my mortgage, I'm going to choose the mortgage, hands down, probably every time. She didn't seem to look at it that way. Interesting choice.

She continued by saying, "After she was booted from her house, her husband ended up in a retirement home and she crashed with friends, keeping only her dog, Cody." Now, apparently the BFC has a normal sized brother, Puff. (And when I say "normal sized" I mean "sized like a cat and not a small bear") Oklatner manager to get a friend to take Puff, but surprisingly enough, the friend "couldn't" take the behemoth 44 pound BFC. Shocking, I know. But hey, she found a place for three of the four animals that she cared for. Cody, Puff and her husband all ended up with good homes.

So, since she couldn't find a place where she could shove the BFC in through the door, she "asked a friend to call the shelter" and say that she had found the BFC. Then the animal control officer came out and used a derrick (or something) to hoist the BFC into a dog carrier. And the next thing you know, the BFC's on Regis & Kitty Kelly. Good Lord, what a story.

I'm not sure that I buy the whole "my house was foreclosed on and so I had to get rid of my 44 pound cat by having a friend pretend to find her so that the overcrowded shelter will take the BFC" story. Wouldn't most people who were going to let someone hang at their place because they lost their house, prefer a cat over a dog? Granted, the dog looks like it could be an appetizer for the BFC. But in general. A dog over a cat? That almost never happens. Something is weird about the story and I'm sure that we'll find out about it in a few days. Probably after Dateline NBC does an investigative report into the BFC's metabolism and "life before the shelter". You know it's coming.

Actually the good people over yonder at the Courier Post Online reported on this story (as did every other publication online and in print did as well) and in their article, Oklander's story is just a little different in a few places. See, and things like this don't seem like they should be all that complicated. Makes you wonder why the two stories are different, doesn't it? (Of course it doesn't. That's because you and I totally know something is up with this broad and the rest of the whole BFC thing to begin wtih. We don't know what, but we know we're onto something.)

There is one other bit of information about the BFC that is rather important. The BFC's real name is "Powder". Not Princess Powder. Not The Duchess of Powder. Just Powder. Powder, it turns out, couldn't be a princess. Powder, it turns out, would have to be a prince. That's correct. The BFC is so B and so F that they incorrectly determined that it was a "she" due to the apparent absence of that which would have made it a "he". Powder is so freaking big that the forty four pounds of feline fat covered up the, uh, frontal lobe (if you will) to the point where it was like it wasn't even there. Wow.

So in just one week, the BFC went from having a home to living in a shelter, from being relatively unknown to appearing on talk shows and from being a female to being a male. Well, that's a busy week for any human, let alone a cat. Good luck, Powder Pounder.

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That Cat Won't Fit In The Hat

In New Jersey, a cat, (yes, a cat!), a cat was found walking around without a collar and it was taken to the local animal shelter. I'm sure you can guess that there has to be more to this story than just that. (Of course there is! I'm not mental.) And there is more. A lot more. Like 44 pounds more. Correct. The cat weighs 44 pounds. Behold! The 44 pound cat!

Holy cats (oh, pun ab-so-lutely intended). OK, that is a BFC (Big Fat Cat) if I have ever seen one. The head is so disproportionate to the rest of the body that it just looks ridiculous. It's like if someone got their Garanimals tags all mixed up and put the cat with the cow and ended up with the catcow. (That, of course, provided that you actually could tag animal body parts in a Garanimal like fashion. And I really don't think that's a good idea. I mean, my God, look at the cat! SO many things could go wrong with a system like that. It's probably best just to leave the animals how they are and not do ANY mixing and matching. Ever. But I digress.)


The workers at the animal shelter have nicknamed the cat "Princess Chunk", which is just about the stupidest name that they could have thought up. I'm not saying I could do much better, but I would definitely leave the implied royalty out of it. "Princess"? Why not "The Queen of Unlean"? "The Duchess of Muchess"? "Mama Cass"? So many better names that could have been chosen.

The BFC's owner has until Saturday to reclaim her. Those at the shelter, being masters of the obvious, believe that the BFC "is a domestic cat who escaped from her home or was abandoned by her owner." Really?! A "domestic cat", eh? Are you sure that she's not some wild feline from an open African range? Maybe a big-boned ocelot? And she's not a saber toothed tiger or something like that? For reals? Wow. It's a good thing they cleared that up for us. A "domestic cat." Brilliant.

If, barring the unforeseen unlikelihood that her owners do NOT notice her missing, and they haven't shown up by Saturday, the BFC is up for grabs! Or up for forklifting, as I don't think grabbing would be very effective. In the meantime, the shelter is going to speak to a veterinarian about putting the BFC on a diet. According to Deborah Wright, a volunteer at the animal shelter and another master of the obvious, "Chunk's diet consists of dry and wet cat food." Uh-huh. As opposed to what else?! NO kidding! Geez. In other news, the sun? Still hot. Water? Still wet. Back to you.

And although the BFC is huge, she's not the fattest cat on record. No, those folks over at Guinness who used to keep track of animal oddities say that the largest tabby on record, who lived in Australia and died during the 1980s, weighed 46 pounds, 15 ounces. Guinness does not keep track of animal world records any more out of fears that people would intentionally be doing things to their animals in order to get a world record. (That sort of logic leads me to the natural conclusion that someone was caught doing something just like that. Probably feeding Fido a big tub of lard three times a day with steroid injections in between.) So the BFC can get to be as B of an FC as she wants, there won't be any world records waiting for her at the end of that meal. Or something like that. But here's where things start to get a little weird.

Now, if you were a BFC and you had to wait around for days for your owners to show up and cart you off back home, you'd need a way to kill some time, right? Given as how the shelter workers seem intent on putting the BFC on a diet, it's not like she can spend her days constantly eating (which would seem to be how she must have been spending her days, and probably a few nights, before arriving at the shelter). So the BFC needs a new gig to keep her busy until then. So, tomorrow, she'll fill that gap by going on Regis and Kelly and then Friday she'll hit the set of Good Morning America and then the Today show. Wait. What?

Correct. The BFC is making the rounds on the morning talk shows. Can the BFC talk as well as eat?! I don't think so! Whose freaking idea was this?! And what if the BFC's owners show up to claim her. "I'm sorry folks. The BFC is caramelizing a creme brulee with Rachel Ray on "Ellen". Can you come back later? Oh, but not too soon. She's having dinner with Oprah and Gayle." We are a sad and all too easily entertained society. :::sigh:::

Although the shelter workers are the masters of the obvious and have stated their theories on how the BFC came to be "lost", they don't understand how it could happen at all. Professed the same Deborah Wright, "I'm about to put a leash on her and walk her. She could pass for a dog! I mean, how do you lose a 44-pound cat?" And I agree with that statement, but I think there's a fairly simple explanation for what happened.

The BFC ate her owners. Hopefully, the shelter workers and whoever books cats on talk shows are next.

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