Kill the Cat

Schroeder seems to believe we put up the Christmas tree for his sole enjoyment. And he most enjoys destroying it. He has a vendetta against an ornament of a snowman skiing - no matter how high we put it, he gets it and attacks the crap out of it. We eventually just had to take it down. When I got home from work yesterday, I texted Steve (who has Schroeder firmly on his Naughty List):

Schroeder had a very traumatic morning - it was time for his annual checkup and shots. Steve took him to the vet and said when he pulled him out of his box, he had puffed up his fur so he looked twice his size and kept mournfully yowling throughout the entire ordeal. And, also, he's fat. Official confirmation. The vet said he needs to go on a cat diet. BUT - the best part of all of everything is that it led to this (and, yes, that is me snorting with the force of trying to hold in my laughter):