My Cat is Elvis' and Satan's Love Child

Okay - I know Elvis and Satan were men and a child two men cannot make.  And unless someone has some nifty video he/she would like to share, I've never seen woman pop out a feline, either.  So suspend your belief for a nanosecond when I tell you my cat, Chutney, is equal parts rock-n-roll and Lucifur. How in God's Green Earth does this have anything to do with my diet, you ask?  It doesn't, unless you consider Elvis slathered himself in fried banana and peanut butter sandwiches and Satan has a particular affinity for barbeques.  In other words, my evil tabby routinely undermines my diet.  There she sits, lounging upon her synthetic pillow thingy, fervently licking her feminine bits while I gnaw on a limp celery stalk.  There she is again perched upon the arm of my chair with her Cheshire Cat grin mocking my skinless chicken breasts.  I hear her laughing to herself as I lie in bed at night, my stomach engaging in its own Hunger Games.  I think I even saw her shake her cat hips at me when she caught me naked in the shower.  My next post might include a recipe for Chutney stew....