Five years ago, we were awakened at 4:00 a.m. by the sound of what can only be described as an angry bullfrog chain-smoking outside our front door. It was not a normal cat meow—imagine if Marge Simpson and a swamp creature had a baby and that baby was yelling at you in the dark. Bill found the source: a scruffy, exhausted little long-haired cat, skinny and covered in mats. Whoever dumped her thought they were getting rid of a problem, but they delivered us family. The second we picked her up, she melted into our laps and began “nibbing”—giving little love nibbles and weirdly rubbing her teeth on our arms. Bisky is the Walmart greeter of cats, loving every person and animal she meets. We fed her wet food… and more wet food… and somehow even more wet food. She ate like she hadn’t seen food in weeks. 
 
 
 Then came The Spaghetti Incident. The next morning, Bisky had eaten an entire plate of leftover spaghetti and meat sauce meant for the dog. The dog got nothing—not one noodle. That should have warned us: Bisky LOVES food. Not in a normal cat way, but in a “retired truck driver at an all-you-can-eat buffet” kind of way. 
 
 
 Over the years, Bisky transformed from a skinny stray into a fluffy, delightfully plump little goblin. Her stomach nearly drags the floor when she walks, but she can still leap onto laps if food or scritches are involved. She sits upright in Bill’s recliner like a grumpy uncle watching the news, looking deeply offended that nobody has brought her a beer yet. But for every great cat, there’s always a downside. For Bisky, it’s her health. She has megacolon, a serious digestive condition that causes painful episodes and requires ongoing treatment, medications, prescription food, vet visits, and sometimes emergency care. It’s expensive, and we’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to keep our silly girl alive. 
 
 
 We would do it all again in a heartbeat. Bisky is still young, and we want to give her every chance to continue being a feline role model for anyone who’s a little (or a lot) less than svelte. We didn’t want to ask for help, but recently life hit hard—health problems, a broken sewer line, rising costs—and we’re struggling to keep up with Bisky’s care during flare-ups. We also care for six other adopted animals, including four cats who were also dumped at our house (apparently our yard is the unofficial “abandoned cat welcome center” of northern Minnesota). 
 
 
 Despite her medical issues, Bisky is still the funniest, weirdest, most loving cat imaginable. She still screams at us in her gravelly smoker voice, still steals food, and still waddles dramatically through the house like a furry bowling ball with opinions. If you can help support Bisky’s medical treatment—whether by donating or simply sharing this fundraiser—our family would be deeply grateful. Thank you for helping us care for the weird little spaghetti bandit who showed up on our doorstep and decided we belonged to her.

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