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Felidae Obesus

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By Shalion

Several months had passed by the time my weight slowly crept under 120 pounds. By that time, I had fully explored the entire apartment complex, barring spaces too narrow for me to squeeze my fat ass. It took a long time for my weight to come down because I was increasingly successful in scavenging for food, especially as the amount of distance I could cover effectively increased week by week. It is hard to understate the impact my mobility had on my life.

Having started out barely able to drag myself across smooth, level surfaces and faced with the monumental task of hiding my oversized form, I had barely been able to move enough in the early days to keep from dying of dehydration, even with an internal water recycling system a camel would be envious of. It had been incredibly tedious just to drag my bloated carcass a dozen paces and I always had to be sure to allow myself at least an hour or more to get back to a good hiding place where I was again, forced to spend nearly all my daylight hours not only because of how big and conspicuous I was, but also due to how slowly I moved.

Down now a little more than thirty pounds from the day I stepped out my front door, even small gains in my ability to move made huge differences in my life.

Naturally, I was still massively obese, my fleshy form dragging heavily on the ground everywhere I went. If it were not for my healing factor, undoubtedly my chest and belly would have been scarred and stripped of fur by now; not even mentioning the devastating effects of infected cat bites. But I was able to move three or four times faster now than I had been to start with. It probably looked ridiculous, with my massive sides wobbling up and down, bouncing against the ground as I did something like a bunny hop, shoving my forequarters forward and pulling my heavier rear half behind me. As my muscles further developed, I was able to do this surprisingly quickly, even if the length of my 'stride' left a lot to be desired and I could only manage a few seconds at top speed before needing a breather. I let the exercise sculpt my musculature naturally though, without artificial intervention and the results left me continually surprised. My first clumsy attempt at manual manipulation had left me - under all the flab of course - looking like a steroid abusing body builder. Time allowed underused muscles to shrink, but this actually allowed some of the muscle groups I used the most extra room to grow more powerful, my strength becoming more specialized. My abdominals and quadriceps in particular became massive as I was always using them to propel my heavy self forward on my belly.

To my great surprise, however, losing weight resulted in me having more and more of a weight load on my paws. It should not have surprised me so much though. My weight had mostly been supported on my belly and flanks themselves with hardly any weight load on my paws at all. When I stood up now though, I really did feel the weight on my legs as I was forced to pull up skin and bulging fat which was not swamping my figure so completely anymore. It was something of a mixed bag. I was overjoyed at being able to move around more, but the joy was tempered by the fact that I still detested work and as I moved closer and closer to actually walking as opposed to awkwardly dragging myself around, moving about definitely began to feel like work. But the perks were substantial as I have already mentioned.

Each night I covered more distance, eventually reaching the point where I could easily cover half of the complex during the hours I was able to be inconspicuously active. But I was also able to devote more time to exploring since I needed less to get back into a hiding hole. Not only that, but there were slightly more good places to hide once my form had shrunk a bit. I began to have actual nightly rounds. Between the sprinkler system, morning dew, and my newfound ability to rear up and manually turn a tap with my paws, finding water became trivial. In fact, over the course of many months, I actually substituted out ten or eleven pounds of fat for water which I retained in my blood and tissues. I admit, I was a little paranoid still about dehydrating, but also, retaining water helped stave off a little of the constant weight loss about which I was still deeply conflicted.

I noticed this sharply the first time I was able to get a glance at one of my forepaws which - with effort - I managed to reach out from under the thick curtain of brisket and lower neck fat which normally buried them. All of the hopping I had been doing as well as the abrasion that came with the massive amount of weight they needed to support had turned the once soft, brightly pink beans a much darker shade, almost a prune purple everywhere save the edges. The soft skin had flattened slightly and become callused in just the short time I had been using them.

I thought to myself that I ought to feel elated at seeing evidence of recovery, of strengthening my body, but I really only felt contempt at what I had been forced to do to survive and to keep my freedom. I lowered my paw in disgust, not wanting to see it again any time soon. Certainly not for the first time, rosy dull memories came to me then, of endless dishes of delicious food, of strong hands bearing my incredible bulk, of peace and security, free from the burden of having to think for myself.

The thoughts of food especially were potent. After spending almost half a year already in a state of near starvation, hunger was a companion who was always near at hand, a constant pressure on the back of my mind even after I cut off the sensation traveling up my central vagus nerve from gut to brain, a necessity to spare my very sanity considering the vast portions I had been accustomed to beforehand. Despite using my ability to its full extent in cutting off the sensation of hunger, its ghost remained in my psyche. I could not help knowing that I ought to be hungry, very hungry in fact.

One of the perks of being able to actually move reasonably well was that I was finally able to scavenge a little, however. This made my relationship with food a little easier in some ways - mainly that I actually had a chance to find any food at all - and harder in others. Even now, I remember vividly the first stale pizza crust I came across walking down one of the many concrete paths in the apartment complex. The moon had shone down on the bit of discarded dough like treasure from an old Zelda game. I remember practically flying over the ground to pounce upon it, only to fumble at the last moment and end up with it caught under my flabby front end. It took me many long, agonizing seconds to fumble for it blindly under the soft skin and fat, eventually pushing it out from under me so that I could bend forward, reaching my stunted neck out to its limit, to pick it up and devour it greedily. I remember the stale bread tasting so good, it was manna from heaven and it was not the last find either.

But though I was able to occasionally come across scraps here and there, as often as not, there was nothing to be found at all, the grounds irritatingly immaculate. The realization that I could find food had created in me the expectation for at least a tiny amount of food despite how I suppressed my appetite. And when that expectation went unfulfilled, I became miserable. So, as moving around became more routine, I found that I had more mental energy to spare thinking about ways to fill my expansive gut. OK, sure, I could have pushed the water retention thing if I had really wanted to, but I had never been into inflation as a human and certainly did not find the notion of turning myself into a living water balloon appealing as a cat. I wanted food, actual goddamn food. So it came as a great surprise when I managed to find sex well before I found any secure source of nourishment.

I was sitting in a small park-like area nestled between the apartment buildings, one of at least four such areas in the complex. I was busying myself with the task of grooming, something which I was in desperate need of after half a year of neglect. When my head had been nearly immobilized, I had been utterly unable to clean myself and things were little better now. I could bend my neck enough now to lick the fur directly below my chin and where my whiskers brushed the heavy folds just beyond my cheeks, but not much else. But just recently, however, I had gained -regained- the ability to lick my forepaws. Transferring saliva to my rough calloused beans allowed me to actually brush my fur across a substantial area of my body. Not nearly all of it, of course, but my fur quality had deteriorated to a point where it actually had begun to mat in places, I could tell by the way the fur tugged at my skin and the lumps I felt while sitting or rolling over the ground. I was more than willing to take what I could get at this point, even if it was a tedious and nearly hopeless effort, what with me living in the "wild" now.

She caught me quite off guard. I had not even detected a hint of her scent on the air before I was startled by the sound of soft paws directly behind me. Seeing as I was still too fat to sit properly, I had been lying on my belly and the quickest way for me to turn 180 degrees and ready at least one or two paws for action was to quickly roll onto my side, "quickly" being a relative term here.

A lot of my recent losses had come out of my extremely wide flanks so I was finally able to roll over consistently without a lot of rocking back and forth or fear of failure, though it was still far from the easiest of my maneuvers. My eyes darted around, looking for whatever had made the sound that had frightened me even as I raised my forepaw in self defense. My eyes landed on a dark grey cat who blended exceedingly well into the dim light. The shape of her snout identified her as a British Shorthair and she just sat there on the cool pavement looking at me. Behind her, her tail flipped back and forth in a gesture of noncommittal curiosity.

I lowered my paw and allowed my ears to prop themselves back upright; there was less fat on top my my head hindering their movement now, which came as a relief to my sense of hearing. I found myself letting out a barely audible meow, certainly no human could have heard it, a shy hello. I realized that this was the first time I had not had to fight or scare away a fellow feline or any other sort of animal for that matter.

She did not respond immediately, instead continuing to study me with brilliant amber eyes, large dark orbs in the scanty moonlight. She canted her head slightly and finally replied with a comely meow of her own.

It's worth mentioning at this point that this was not the first time I had had sex with another cat. In fact, during my year of studying feline habits, I'd found that it was actually pretty easy to score with a female cat, keeping in mind that one had to be quick on one's toes immediately afterwards. Maybe it was a bit odd for a man who had subjectively turned himself into a cat to immediately be willing to 'go the full distance' sort to speak, but... did I mention how kinky I was? Now, after having spent over twenty years as a cat, the idea of getting my rocks off with this attractive young female in front of me felt far more natural than imagining myself with a woman. Long dormant passions began to kindle in my blood as I continued to look at her, taking in the shape of her face and ears, the texture of her fur. The sheer mechanics of how things could work given my extreme size honestly did not occur to me in the slightest. I felt only instinctual lust drawing us closer. Finally her scent overcame the slight downwind and the pungent musk of her heat was unmistakable.

She stood, moved a couple paces closer and turned her body, tail high. I followed her with my eyes; she was definitely seeking attention. I meowed again, allowing myself to sound a little more eager. This seemed to be what she wanted. She moved a step away from me, looking at me coyly over her slender shoulder. It was about at this point that I realized that mind and body were not in complete sync with each other. I really wanted to get up and play a rousing game of tag with the slender, horny female in front of me, but my body was insisting that I was far too sluggish and slow for such games. And despite my eagerness, it was quite difficult to make compromises with reality, I found.

However, there remained the fact that she had sought me out. Considering the number of other male cats in the vicinity, this was not insubstantial. I wondered if she could be persuaded to play a different kind of game with me.

With effort, I rolled back over onto all fours, my excessive flab rippling in black and silver shadows which the female must have found interesting to look at as in the time it took me to move my cumbersome body, she was sitting once again and preened a paw. I took a couple deep breaths to stop myself from panting and I straightened up on my front legs, letting my hinds bend and hang, hips supported by my lower belly which filled the space between my thick haunches; it was the best I could do at simulating a sitting posture. I tried to act casual, letting my eyes drift away from her now, trying to remember that she had come to me, even as I fought against a seeming magnetic attraction to turn back to her lithe body.

I heard a meow beside me and before I knew what was happening, I felt her cheek brushing against my enormous soft flank, near to my left shoulder; she moved so softly! I felt rather than heard a soft purr in her chest as she rubbed her scent into my fur. I didn't mind too much her marking me like this, even if it also meant that other cats would be able to smell her on me and know that we had hung out together. It had been a very long time indeed since I had been able to enjoy the heady, dense musk of a young, virile queen.

I shifted my weight and attempted to return the gesture, my neck straining against my multiple thick collars of fat. I was just too slow as she moved past and I got a face full of tail instead. Of course, the sight of her tight rump and sex did nothing to cool the hot blood inside of me. I called to her again as I rose to my paws, ignorant of the weight bearing down on my knees and elbows. My tail lifted straight up, much like hers, though mine was not nearly a high due to a quarter of its length still being suppressed by a heavy tail head that draped like a shelf over my ass.

I wanted to chase after her, knowing that's what a regular tom would do, but despite my excitement, I knew that I would never be able to keep up with a chase. So, with paws trembling in excitement, I waited for her either to turn back towards me or lose interest entirely.

She turned.

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