Why Clumsy Cat Owners Shouldn't Buy 17.6-Pound Bags of Food
Captain's log. 1:30 a.m. Goofy (the cat with the bladder crystals) is running low on food. Good thing I ordered more online. The special kind for urinary health that costs $60. Hmm, 17.6 pounds of food is heavier than I thought. I'll pour some into a smaller container so it will be easier to manage on a daily basis. What do I do with the rest of the bag? If I leave it on the floor, Jack (the cat with the seizures and demonic food lust) will rip it open and eat until he can't feel feelings anymore. Okay, there's a small space on a shelf in the entryway closet. The bag is too tall, but I'll zip it closed and see if I can shove it in sideways. Shit, it's stuck on something else on the shelf. While holding the 17-pound bag with one hand, I'll haphazardly shove the other thing out of the way. Wouldn't want to start over. "Guess that bag wasn't as zipped as I thought," I thought as a half a pound of the expensive special food rains do...