Looks Like The Cat’s Out Of The Bag

(Our current apartment is too small to section off “Cat Free Zones” for my husband’s allergies, so [Cat] has been living with my parents until recently. He is only seven years old, but he had an undiagnosed health condition that, until two weeks ago, was completely asymptomatic. After an emergency vet appointment, fluids, drugs, and a terminal diagnosis, I pack him up and take him straight back to the apartment with me anyway, so we can do the best we can in his final days, because my parents aren’t able to give him the attention he needs. He has gone from a fat 12 lbs to a bony 8.5 lbs, and he has recently been refusing food completely [resulting in the dehydration that brought us to the vet for the emergency visit]. The vet gives me formulated high-calorie canned food to feed him, which he doesn’t like, but with trial and error over a few days, I finally come up with a routine that gets him to eat on a regular basis, and his strength has been improving a lot. Soon, I have my first double-shift day at work, leaving my husband to try and cope with my cat’s newfound finicky eating habits and schedule. This is the conversation we have when I check in during my break:)

Me: “How are my boys? Did [Cat] have dinner?”

Husband: “No, he won’t eat it.”

Me: “What did you give him?”

Husband: “A quarter of a can of formula, and a teaspoon of tuna.”

Me: “Did you microwave it?”

Husband: “Yes”

Me: “How long?”

Husband: “Like ten seconds.”

Me: “That’s too hot. Did you blow on it to cool it down?”

Husband: “Umm… yes.”

Me:*tsk, liar* “Did you add a little bit of water to make it like gravy?”

Husband: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, he probably doesn’t want tuna because he had tuna for breakfast. There’s some shredded pork in the fridge.”

Husband: “Right….”

Me: “And make sure you only microwave it for six seconds, so it doesn’t get too hot–“

Husband: “Okay, got it–“

Me: “And you have to watch him eat it, because if you aren’t watching him he’ll follow you out of the room instead–“

Husband: “Okay….”

Me: “And pet his head and tell him he’s a good boy.”

Husband: “Sure.”

Me: “And you have to sing ‘If I Had Words’ to him and do a dance around the living room while the barnyard animals watch.”

Husband: “…wait, what?”

Me: “I’m kidding. If he doesn’t eat the pork I’ll try when I get home; don’t worry about it.”

Husband: “I changed my mind; I don’t want kids. You are literally the most annoying mother on the planet.”