1 guy minus 3 cats equals ... fewer french fries

A visitor -- a plain-spoken visitor, I might add -- came in our family-room door at the same time Miss Kitty decided to try for another splash of milk.

"Your cat is fat," said the visitor.

The visitor wasn't being unkind. Nor was she being untruthful. The fact is, tiny Miss Kitty has become a bowling ball with four legs and a tail.

When Miss Kitty adopted us two years ago, she was a fully grown cat, the woman at the adoption agency assured us. So why was she so tiny? Why did the animal shelter keep her in the area with kittens?

Miss Kitty weighed in at a whopping 6 pounds when we joined up. By the time of her first annual checkup a year later, she was up to 11 pounds. Now I'm guessing she is a full 15 pounds. The vet said her ideal weight would be in the 7-to-8-pound range, which comes out to exactly half of what she weighs. Check my math.

Meanwhile, several of you have noticed a couple of bowling balls hanging over my belt buckle. Those are, simply put, two years' worth of french fries.

There is no mystery about how such things happen. If you eat too much, you're going to get a bowling ball. Period.

So Miss Kitty and I had a chat. I reasoned that both of us would be far better off if we could get rid of our bowling balls. Maybe, I suggested, we could aim for a softball, then slim down to a baseball and eventually even watch the ping-pong ball disappear.

Miss Kitty's reaction was swift and certain.

"Are you nuts?"

Sometimes you have to ignore your pets. It's the only way to look out for their best interests.

No more filling Miss Kitty's outside food dish whenever it was low. One side effect of such generosity was that every cat in the neighborhood knew about the round-the-clock buffet over at Miss Kitty's garage. They all learned to use the cat door. They all agreed Miss Kitty's humans were pretty swell folks.

Now, Miss Kitty receives a carefully measured amount of dry cat food in the morning and again at night. She has set her clock accordingly and reminds us when meals are past due. She still comes in for a sip of milk during the day, but we no longer automatically give her milk every time she comes in the door. Otherwise, we would wear ourselves out opening and closing the door for Miss Kitty, who equates going through a door with eating.

As a show of solidarity with my furry young friend, I also had been limiting my food intake. I can commiserate with her when she gives me one of her disapproving slanty-eyed looks.

If Miss Kitty needs to lose half her weight, my math tells me I need to lose three Miss Kittys. That's my goal.

Of course, Miss Kitty will continue to remind me how dumb dieting is, especially when there's a perfectly full sack of cat food on the garage workbench. God didn't make dry cat food for decoration, Miss Kitty reasons.

But we're hanging tough so far. Miss Kitty already has shed a bit of her plumpness. I've lost a few pounds. We both have a long way to go.

Meanwhile, the bowl of cat food in the garage is empty just minutes after I put in Miss Kitty's twice-a-day rations. The neighborhood cats no longer have access to the limitless abundance of the old routine.

One of the neighbor's cats from across the street confronted me on the patio one day this week. The cat snarled -- not a me, but at the empty bowl on the other side of the garage door.

"Hiss!" said the visiting cat.

"Hiss! right back," I said.

Miss Kitty and I never were bowlers anyway.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.