There Are No Happy Fat Cats
“Ah… obesity? Well, Kkulluk is a bit chubby, I guess.”
In a moment when she absolutely shouldn’t have been smiling, Shin Min-ji let out a sigh of relief and grinned.
“There’s nothing to smile about. Just like in humans, obesity is the root of all diseases in cats too. And Kkulluk has gone beyond ‘chubby’—he’s downright obese.”
The video Shin Min-ji had shown him on her phone earlier must have had some filter making even the cat’s body look slim.
Kkulluk’s real body was worlds apart from what was on screen.
“Obese is a bit…”
Shin Min-ji’s brows furrowed slightly.
She had no idea that “obese” was already putting it kindly.
“The simplest way to check a cat’s obesity level is to feel the ribs. If you can feel them easily with a light stroke of your fingers, that’s underweight. If you need a little pressure, it’s close to normal. But if you press hard and still can’t feel them, that’s severe obesity.”
“With our Kkulluk…”
“You couldn’t feel his ribs at all. No matter how hard you pressed.”
Shin Min-ji tilted her head, as if she couldn’t believe it.
“I haven’t touched Kkulluk’s ribs myself, but I don’t think they’re that buried. I figured he was okay.”
He could drag Kkulluk in from the exam room right now and reveal the truth of those ribs, fossilized deep under layers of fat.
But given that he could understand animals and they could understand him, it was better to talk to the guardian alone without Kkulluk present.
“Do you remember looking down at Kkulluk from above?”
“Yes, pretty much every day?”
Fine. If she couldn’t grasp the ribs thing, he’d explain another way.
No matter how factual his words, if Kkulluk’s owner wouldn’t accept them, it was all for nothing.
“Then there’s an even simpler way to measure cat obesity.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s called the Body Condition Score, or BCS. You look down at the cat from above while it’s standing and score based on its body shape.”
“That sounds much easier. For our Kkulluk…”
Before Shin Min-ji could finish, he continued.
It would be less shocking if she heard his explanation first.
“The ideal shape is one where the waist looks slightly tucked in from above.”
As he explained BCS, her expression darkened just as he’d expected.
“A straight-line body is a little chubby. But a sausage-like shape is what people call a ‘pig cat’—full-on obese.”
“So Kkulluk is obese…”
She tried to speak again, but he shook his head.
“No, Kkulluk isn’t just obese. He’s almost perfectly round.”
“…”
Shin Min-ji ducked her head in embarrassment, but her face mirrored the countless cat owners he’d seen before.
The face that said, My housecat is a happy chubby kitty.
“American Shorthairs are famous for catching mice, you know.”
They were descendants of the cats sailors brought to catch rats when European settlers crossed to America in the 17th century.
“But looking at Kkulluk now, he doesn’t seem like he could catch a mouse—or even exercise. When was the last time you played hunting games or got him moving?”
“Um… I heard American Shorthairs are independent and like being alone…”
“Is that what you wanted to believe, Ms. Reporter?”
“……”
Unlike her initially smooth-talking demeanor, she hesitated at his cool tone, unable to respond right away.
He pressed on coldly.
“A typical adult cat sleeps two-thirds of the day—about 16 hours—to store energy. But doesn’t Kkulluk sleep almost all day?”
“Well… yes…”
He’d already confirmed this directly with Kkulluk.
If she’d lied here, he would’ve scrapped the interview entirely.
But luckily, Shin Min-ji was ignorant, not dishonest.
“Cats like Kkulluk, who only sleep, eat, and sleep, might be suffering from lethargy.”
She clearly hadn’t expected those words from him. “Lethargy… syndrome?”
“Lethargy and obesity. Both are clear signs a cat is unhappy.”
There were other signals of feline unhappiness, but Kkulluk’s lethargy and obesity were the worst.
“Cats sleep two-thirds of the day so they can explode with energy the rest of the time. But you don’t play with Kkulluk much, and he stays inside all day, right? What joy does he have in life?”
Shin Min-ji’s lips twitched before she spoke cautiously. “That’s…”
“Think about it—there’s only one thing. Eating. When he’s bored, he eats. Lonely, he eats. Stressed, he eats. For Kkulluk, eating is his entire world.”
“……”
Her mouth closed, but he kept going.
There was still much to say to Kkulluk’s owner and guardian.
“Obesity leads to diabetes, heart disease, arthritis, liver issues, and more complications. I’ll give you a printout I prepared on how dangerous it is for cats—please read it carefully. And Kkulluk is an adult cat. You get what I’m saying?”
Lips pressed tight—whether from denial or refusal to admit it—Shin Min-ji replied, “I don’t think so, Director. Kkulluk’s still growing.”
“No. He’s not growing—he’s fattening up.”
Her lips trembled at his firm words.
Her face screamed, How can you say that?
“Large breeds like Maine Coons, Ragdolls, or Norwegian Forests grow until two years old. But American Shorthairs like Kkulluk finish growing in about a year. Even if it’s slow, one and a half years max makes a full adult. And yet Kkulluk’s still on kitten food?”
Shin Min-ji stared, wondering how he knew.
“You can tell that from diagnostics? I thought it was just from free-feeding…”
“Free-feeding is a problem too—over 50% of free-fed cats are overweight or obese. And kitten food makes it worse.”
Until moments ago, she’d been convinced Kkulluk was still a growing kitten.
So she asked, puzzled, “Is kitten food bad? He loves it.”
“Of course he does. Even the same volume has way more calories than adult food.”
Think of human kids in a growth spurt.
“Recall your childhood, Ms. Reporter. Or think of a nephew. Kids eat adult-sized portions but don’t gain fat easily, right?”
“True. Same amount of food, but growing kids… they’re super active.”
He nodded. “Exactly. But Kkulluk’s an adult now. No more energy needed for growth. Yet he’s on a high-calorie feast every day—like holiday spread. No wonder he’s ballooned.”
“Oh my god… I had no idea…”
That odd slogan—“cats play fine on their own”—led too many to adopt impulsively and neglect them.
Dogs crave time with owners and need daily walks, so people think cats are easier.
But cats aren’t low-maintenance.
American Shorthairs like Kkulluk shed moderately, but homes still turn into fur zones. Clothes become “cat hair edition.” Fur floats in soup, gets skimmed casually.
And they scratch, leaving claw marks everywhere.
You need at least 30 minutes of hunting play daily. Unless you want a fat cat like Kkulluk.
With a resolute expression, he said, “Ms. Reporter, never forget: there are no happy fat cats in this world. Only sick ones. At two years old with Kkulluk’s level of obesity, this is serious. Treat it that way.”
“…I will.”
There was more to say about Kkulluk, but he’d wielded the stick enough.
Being a novice guardian didn’t excuse neglect, but Shin Min-ji didn’t mistreat him on purpose.
Kkulluk had said she was just too busy to pay attention.
“So… all I can do is switch to adult food and limit portions?”
Her face flushed as she waved her hands. “Oh, of course I’ll play hunting games too, but my place is a studio, so he doesn’t have much room to move.”
A common newbie cat owner worry: space for activity.
Humans like big homes; cats do too.
And territorial cats naturally burn calories in wide spaces—no extra effort needed.
But “it’s a studio, what can I do?” was an excuse.
“Even in a studio, there’s plenty you can do. Cats, unlike dogs or humans, excel in vertical space. Create paths just for Kkulluk—not human routes—to expand his territory naturally. Here’s what I recommend…”
To Shin Min-ji, whose eyes had grown misty, he dove into detailed diet advice.
She opened her forgotten notebook and jotted down every word.
Only after a long while did the Kkulluk lecture wrap up.
“Director, I’m so sorry to keep you so late. Thank you for everything today.”
“No worries. I hope next time I see Kkulluk, he’s much changed.”
Grinning broadly, Shin Min-ji suddenly remembered something and rummaged through her bag and notebook.
Moments later, elbow-deep in the bag, she pulled out a DSLR camera.
“I came for an interview, but I got so caught up with Kkulluk I forgot to take photos. You probably have some on hand, but I’m a bit of a photographer. As thanks for the late-night consult, how about I take a cool shot for your article?”
He smiled brightly. “Sure. And for thanks, just pay the consultation fee.”
His sincerity landed like witty humor; she laughed, gums flashing.
“Fee goes without saying. Shall we shoot in the office?”
“Let’s do it.”
Keep the heart hot.
And separate work from personal strictly.
That’s the life of a debt-ridden vet.