I went to Boston last week for work. I usually travel a lot, but haven’t been on the road since I got Miss Moneypenny. Normally, Alan would stay with her and make sure all was well, but he got called to NYC himself last week, so I scrambled to find a sitter. I even went so far as to contact a professional pet sitting place to see if someone could stop in… but then my friend Alison hopped to the rescue.
We were at dinner a few days before my trip and I mentioned that I needed a sitter. “I’ll do it,” she offered.
“No,” I said, “It’s for multiple days…”
“That’s fine,” she said. I wish I were that laid back. She hadn’t even MET Miss Moneypenny when she volunteered to cat-sit.
Her friend Shawn piped up, “Careful! Ask her what happened when she cat-sat for me!”
I looked at Alison expectantly. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “How was I supposed to realize the cat and dog had separate bowls?” Turns out, she’d emptied the cat’s bowl into the dog’s bowl and only fed the dog for the week. In her defense: it’s not like there wasn’t food around. If the cat got hungry enough, she could’ve snacked from the dog’s bowl.
Fast forward three days from hearing this story… There we were with fresh sheets on my bed so Alison could house/cat-sit and play with Miss Moneypenny until Alan returned from New York.
The report cards (which arrived by text) were positive regarding Miss Moneypenny. (“She’s so sweet!”) But not so positive when it came to my upstairs neighbor. (“Dude. Is your neighbor a GIANT? Does he LEAP instead of WALK?”)
Oh crap. Forgot to caution her to bring sleeping pills to cancel out McStomperson.
NOT my cat. But note the saggy tummy.
Alan arrived back from NYC in time to relieve Alison for the last day. He called me with an odd question. “Have you ever noticed, when you’re behind or above Miss Moneypenny, and she runs somewhere in a hurry – like to her food bowl…”
I knew exactly where he was going with this, so I cut him off. “Yes! You’ve seen her fupa!”
Alan started laughing. “EXACTLY. What is going on there? Her stomach swings like a gate from side to side when she runs!”
(If you don’t know what a fupa is, it stands for “fat upper pubic area” and is generally used to describe loose fat that hangs down into a person’s pants somewhere between their stomach and their crotch. As it turns out, cats can have them too, even though they don’t wear pants.)
Time-out: My sister just informed me that “fupa” is not a technical term. Apparently I shouldn’t treat UrbanDictionary as a legitimate reference source. Alicia says the actual term I’m looking for is “pannus.” (See? This blog is educational. Which means classy. You’re welcome.)
Anyway. The moral of the story is: Miss Moneypenny survived the week without me. And you have to love a cat whose stomach waves in greeting… almost as much as I love this photo:
This has NOTHING to do with this post, but absolutely slayed me.
pithypants 
LOVE that last picture! made me laugh out loud
Right? Me too. Made me want to construct a table for Miss MP. But she’s not fuzzy enough to pull that off.
If you let that belly wagging go to far, it can turn into a hula hoop of fat. Let’s see, that happened at about 23 pounds. Hilarious … until the veterinarian starts her on Cross-Fit.
I’ve recently taught Miss MP to sit like a penguin for treats. My sister thinks it’s a plot to strengthen her abs. I’m not denying it. Cesar Milan might be the dog whisperer, but if I do this right, I can create six-pack abs – on CATS. Pretty sure there’s a book deal if I pull this off…
I’ll pre-order … when a publication date is set.
Wow. You’re a serious cat owner. Mine’s lucky if someone stops in once a day to feed her when I’m away. But she too has a fupa (a term I vastly prefer to “pannus,” which just sounds gross. Like “smegma.” Or “sebum.” Stupid Latin body thing words). Also, she sometimes gets into the catnip, winds up higher than Elton John on a bender in the early ’80s, remembers she knows how to shut the bathroom door completely but FORGETS she does NOT know how to OPEN IT. So if your MIss Moneypenny develops this? Extra litter box in the room she favors. You’re welcome.
Define “serious.” If you mean: I’m nervous my cat will barf piles under my bed and decide the shag carpet is a litter box so someone should monitor her at all hours, then YES… I’m serious. Or OCD. But we’ve established that.
The actual term is “gunt”. It’s a combination of gut and… well I’ll let you figure out the rest. I’m sure you could find it on urban dictionary haha.
Oh Sharon… that was the FIRST term I used, but I tried to clean it up in case people are offended by “that” word. Although, I have to say… “gunt” is an effective onamonapia that body part. Sounds like “grunt.” Thanks for going there, so I didn’t really have to.
Sit ups, that should take care of the fupa. My Moe has the same thing & I’ve tried getting him to do sit ups but that’s why we also call him Chomper. Could be a personality thing though.