The beginning of the infamous body shaming
There comes a moment in every cat’s life when one must suffer an unjust humiliation. Mine came in the form of a routine vet visit, where a human in a white coat took one look at me—sleek, dignified, thriving—and had the audacity to suggest I was a little too fat.
Felix, my so-called protector, nearly dislocated a rib from laughing. Schmutz, ever the opportunist, immediately seized upon this newfound narrative, christening me “Pommes Panzer” and making exaggerated wheezing noises whenever I leap onto the couch.
It’s been weeks, and she still does it.
But let’s talk about this, shall we? Body image, breed standards, and the absurdity of feline beauty ideals.
The Oriental Shorthair Standard: Thin or Just Oppressed?
I am an Oriental Shorthair—a breed often described in human terms as “slinky,” “elegant,” and “delicately boned.” I, however, am not competing in The Hunger Games: Cat Edition. I am a house cat, not a show cat. No judge is peering at my tummy pouch under sterile lighting, measuring my “tuck” and whispering, “Shame, such a pretty face.”
I have a primordial pouch. It is biological, practical, and adorable. It jiggles slightly when I run—which, if anything, enhances my dramatic effect.
And yet, according to the arbitrary standards of veterinary science, I was deemed a little much.
Mum, naturally, was outraged on my behalf.
“She’s perfect,” she declared, placing a protective hand on my scandalized body. “Besides, the belly is cute.”
She’s correct. The belly is cute.
The Pouch of Legends: Evolution or Excuse?
Ah yes, the primordial pouch—a feature as misunderstood as it is glorious. Some humans (uninformed, tragic souls) believe it’s just extra fluff. Others, enlightened scholars, recognize it as a biological masterpiece.
Its purpose? Protection. A battle-ready layer of loose skin that shields a cat’s vital organs during fights. In the wild, it allows for greater flexibility, enabling us to stretch, leap, and deliver devastating bunny kicks with unparalleled precision.
And yet, here I am, being body-shamed by a human in a white coat who likely can’t even touch their own toes.
Tell me, dear vet, if my pouch was good enough for ancient feline warriors, why is it suddenly a “weight issue” now?
Schmutz, naturally, has no such concerns. “You think you’re a warrior?” she scoffs. “For what battle? Defending the last bite of Felix’s sandwich?”
Perhaps. But I will stand firm in my truth: My pouch is a legacy of survival, a mark of power, a cushion for my naps. And I will not apologize for it.
The Real Villain: Diet Culture (and Schmutz)
You know who isn’t cute? Schmutz.
Schmutz, who is built like a haunted twig and yet somehow eats more than I do. Schmutz steals food the second I look away, only to mock me later with her ballet-like leaps and delicate landings.
Schmutz, who, upon hearing the vet’s verdict, rolled onto her back laughing and has since taken to calling me “Tank Girl.”
I refuse to be body-shamed by a cat who once ran headfirst into a glass door.
What Even Is the Right Cat Weight?
It’s time we ask ourselves: Who decides what a cat should weigh?
A vet? A breed standard designed for competition? An Instagram algorithm favoring impossibly slim Abyssinians posed against minimalist furniture?
The truth is, weight alone isn’t a measure of health. Energy, movement, and joy are. I run, I leap, I execute flawless sneak attacks on Schmutz when she least expects it. I maintain my role as household caretaker, ensuring Mum drinks water and Felix stops doomscrolling.
And if my glorious belly happens to exist outside the limits of some archaic BMI chart for cats? So be it.
Final Thoughts: I Am Perfect, and Also Revenge Is Coming
Felix still teases me. “Pommes Panzer, roll out,” he smirks, poking my belly like it’s a prized soufflé.
I tolerate this only because he scratches my ears exactly how I like it.
Schmutz, however, is another entirely different matter. And I have plans.
Revenge will be silent. It will be swift. And it will likely involve sitting directly on her while she naps, ensuring maximum inconvenience.
Justice, much like my belly, will be served.
