The International Language of Fat Cats

So the furnace guy (not the twirly mustache guy, someone else) came a couple of days ago. He spent two hours working on the furnace, but between my crappy Norwegian and his rusty English, he really couldn't explain to me what was wrong, or how to avoid the problem in the future. In fact, the only successful communication that we had occurred when he saw Toonces. He exclaimed how big and fat the cat is (in Norwegian, which I actually understood). Then he peppered me with questions about how much the cat weighs (20 pounds), how old is the cat (6 years), how did the cat get to be so fat (I don't know, he doesn't eat that much, he has tons of toys to play with and kitty condos to climb on, he wrestles and plays chase with Honey the dog, there is nothing physically wrong with him according to the vet, he is just, um, big boned).

(This conversation took place while I was in my pajamas. Kevin called me from work very early in the morning to let me know the furnace guy was on the way...as the doorbell was ringing. So I was wearing green flannel pajamas and my bright red rubber rain boots, because inexplicably, they were the only shoes I could find in my rush to get to the door. Yep, Toonces and I are all kinds of awesome, real American ambassadors!)