Frank the tank









Frank is one of 3 house cats that I live with. I adopted him from the SPCA a few years back with the intention of helping him shed a few of his 22 lbs. Now, 3 years later I have come to realize that my original goal would come at the cost my sanity, and the reality that I have to live with is that while I can maintain his weight, he will never shed those extra pounds. When Frank is hungry he is.... difficult. As I am typing this he is perched above me on my dresser rubbing his face against my space heater so that it tips ever so slightly, then rebalances itself. Soon he will go over near the door and repeatly "boing" the springy coil that keeps the door from hitting the wall. All the while he stares at me with those dark pools of anxiety. If he gets hungry enough he will step up his game. He knows a gentle push can tip over my shelf of maneki neko porcelain cats, or that if he stands on his hind legs on my bed he can reach and knock down a hanging picture off my wall. Don't think that I am starving him by any means. If I let him he would lay next to his bowl and shovel food into his mouth with his paw all day! (This is truly how he eats sometimes) So, Frank the strange and tenacious cat, who growls at the doorbell, menaces the vet, snuggles like a manatee and has the belly fur of a velveteen rabbit. You have quirks and moods and anxiety and a sense of humor, and I salute you. You have blundered your way into my heart, even though you act like an ork sometimes. You have earned the nicknames Frank the Tank, Frank n Furter and Land Yacht, I love you, you big lug.