Ralph - the lucky cat with Binge Eating Disorder.

We've had Ralph nearly a year.  (Much to Pepper's vexation.)    

Ralph is kind of doggy.  He greets us at the door.  Follows us everywhere.  Eats like a dog too.  Frantic gulping, sometimes until he throws up. 

And - he's a lush.  He empties nearly a serving bowl full of water every day.  He also drinks from the pool, the hot tub, and puddles.  It's not unusual to see him topping off with raindrops and dewdrops wherever he can find them.

It's a Monday.  Chilly and blustery.  Not a morning to be outdoors.  I finished reading my book first, with the intention of running later. I head into the spare room for... um, something.

What the heck did I come in here for? 

Beyond the glass doors, the back yard is chilly, but bright.  Gosh, why don't we ever use these doors?  Wonder if the lock will even turn?  

(By now I have completely forgotten to remember whatever it was I was looking for in here.) 
I unlock the doors and step out. 

The wind is fierce.  

I barely hear it. 

Plop-flop!  A commotion under the dock.  Too splashy for manatees, but not quite right for dolphins either.  

I head for the dock, where I stand completely still.  Looking.  Listening. 

No sign of disturbance.  No sound but the wind.  A few waves lapping.  Whatever was there must be gone.  I turn to go. 

A subdued little mer-owl? comes questioning up through a crack between floorboards. 

Back down onto my belly.  Hanging over the edge to look. 

Big green eyes blink back at me from a little black face. 

Oh, good grief. 

Ralph, you goober.

Soaking wet, Ralph is balanced on the inch-wide edge of a 1x6 support stringer under the decking.  He has gotten himself up out of the water, but there's no way out from there. 

He's stuck under the dock.  Unless he wants to swim back out. 

As if!

Or...  I could go in after him. 

I picture trying to pry a panicked cat, with really healthy claws, off a solid wood perch and back into deep water.  And then trying to swim out from under a dock with him... 

Sorry, Ralph, no way!

"Hang on Ralph," I say, as if he has a choice.  "I'll be right back."

Out of the water, my new Christmas present, a 12'6" Bic stand up paddleboard, is lightweight, but huge.  And awkward. 

The wind catches it and swings me around, but thankfully the first heave is good.  It lands with a satisfying WAP!, fitting perfectly in the gap between dock and boat. 

Back on my belly, curled over the edge so I can see, I push one end of the pretty blue board under the dock, until it floats directly underneath Ralph, balancing on the stringer.  

I expect to have to coax him into making the leap, but he hops aboard the SUP and sits down as if it were a Sunday paper dropped on the carpet. 

I slide the board out from under the dock and up he pops up onto the deck the moment his head is clear.  

Any other animal would have stopped to shake off all that detestable lake water.   Not Ralph.  He is off like a shot to the cat door. 

I put the SUP away and head for the people door. 

Ralph is in the pantry, dripping wet, frantically licking the bottom of his food bowl.  

A year ago we brought Ralph home with his ribs sticking out and a panicked look in his eye. 

He's now a well fed (some might say overfed) 13 lbs.  He is also trusting enough to hop, without hesitation, from a secure claw-hold on a solid support beam onto a bobbing SUP. 

So, Ralph has made a lot of progress, but he still runs to his dish at the least bit of stress.  Stress, like a spat with Pepper or being pushed off your lap.  Or a fall into the lake.

Did I mention the name of that book I was reading?

"Brain Over Binge" by Kathryn Hansen.

Appropriate, huh?

I've been reading diet books since the Twiggy years. 

I am not easily impressed. 

"Brain Over Binge" impressed me.   

Kathryn Hansen is a former binge eater and bulimic, who spent years in therapy - therapy which didn't work.

One evening, using one new thought, she dismissed her urges to binge.  After six years of binge eating, she quit, completely on her own, nearly overnight.  

Where do those unreasonable urges to eat come from?  Probably not from some childhood trauma or deep seated personality disorder.  They come from our "animal brain" (the sub-cortex), simply sending out automatic survival messages.  Breathe oxygen, drink water, eat food. And in the aftermath of deprivation (or diets), overeat food.

The "animal brain" takes no chances.  It shortcuts straight to well worn neural pathways.   Starving = bad.  Food = good. 

And if you are Ralph?  Falling in lake = bad, bad, bad!   Food = good, good, good!!!

Ralph is one lucky cat.  In addition to luck, he has instinctive muscular control and amazing reflexes. Who knows what predicaments he has gotten himself into - and out of - when there's no one here to rescue him?

But, human survival depends more on a different part of the brain, the cerebral cortex, the "human brain", if you will.  When we encounter trouble, we have to use those great big brains of ours to think up ways to rescue ourselves.  

Sometimes, like Ralph, our thoughts follow well worn neural pathways.  Feeling bad?  Drive to a fast food restaurant and feel good.

Here's the deal, though.  The cerebral cortex ("human brain") has control of the voluntary muscles.   As owner of a nice big brain, a human can control those voluntary muscles that it takes to get into the car, head to the pantry, or open the refrigerator door.  It also takes voluntary muscles to put food you don't actually need into your mouth, chew it, and swallow. 

As Spidey would say, "With great power comes great responsibility."  

So the "need" to eat an entire bag of Oreos is coming from the "animal brain"?  Yes!  We have the power!  We can dismiss it for what it is - a junk message - old data.    

OK, I confess.  I've been meaning to talk about the Beer Can Scramble.  This post didn't start out to summarize an entire, methodical, and well presented breakthrough book on a serious human eating disorder, that I happened to finish the same morning that an incredibly lucky cat fell into the lake.  It just sort of happened that way.  I'm glad it did.  Really I am.

Now, Ralph.  Get off my desk, will ya?