I was pet sitting Taz, the world's friendliest cat. His parents were due home in three days, but his kitty litter box was dangerously low. I texted his dad. Do you have more cat litter? He did not. Would I buy some, he asked?
Taz's brand was available only in a 25-pound box. Holy moly, I thought as I picked up the carton—25 pounds weighs a lot more than it looks.
As I hoisted the monster-size box into my car, a thought struck me: I am more than 50 pounds overweight. That's two boxes of kitty litter. Two! I imagined each of my hands clutching a 25-pound box of litter. In my mind, my shoulders hunched. My back ached.
That's how much weight I carry around every day.
That's how much weight I carry around every day.
One of the reasons I love animals is that they don't judge a person by their looks. Taz Kitty doesn't care that I am overweight. That's how I always think about my weight: how people will judge me. When I take pictures of myself I never show my entire body. I hide behind trees, animals, other people—anything. That damned box of kitty litter left nowhere to hide. All I thought about was my poor body, struggling under its own weight.Kitty litter taught me a lesson. But there's a problem. I left the box at Taz's house, behind the laundry room door. I am comfortable forgetting the weight of that box.
It was a hard lesson: I pray that I remember it.
