I Drank A Soda, Now I’m Morbidly Obese

It all started with that fateful sip of soda. I was a young, fit tigress, living in the bustling city, eager to explore every nook and cranny. And then, the fast food restaurant opened up, with its neon lights and the allure of greasy, salty, sugary goodness. The scent was intoxicating, and I couldn't resist.

On that fateful day, I decided to treat myself. I strolled in, feeling the cool AC kiss my fur as I ordered a large soda from the machine. The bubbles danced in the plastic cup, and the condensation beaded up like a necklace of sweet promise. I took that first sip, feeling the fizz tickle my nose, and immediately knew that this was going to be something special. Little did I know just how special it would turn out to be.

As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sun beating down, I felt a strange sensation. My clothes seemed to tighten around me, as if they were suddenly a size too small. I looked down, and what I saw made me gasp. My stomach was ballooning outward, stretching my shirt to the point of bursting. My thighs rubbed together in a way they never had before, and my pants looked like they were painted on. I panicked for a moment, but then I took another sip of that soda. The cold liquid sliding down my throat seemed to warm my entire body, and suddenly, the panic turned into something… else.

I liked it. I liked the way the fabric strained against my skin, the way my body felt heavier, more substantial. I liked the way my paws sank into the sidewalk with each step, the new jiggle to my hips. With every gulp, I grew larger, my fur stretching taut over my inflating figure. It was as if the soda had unlocked something within me, a hidden craving for size and softness that I never knew existed.

I couldn't stop drinking it. The more I had, the more I grew, and the more I loved the feeling. My walk home turned into a waddle, my once-lithe body now a testament to the power of carbonated beverages. By the time I reached my door, I was practically rolling down the street, my once-slim waist swollen to unprecedented proportions.

I didn't know what had happened to me, but I didn't care. I had discovered something amazing. I had discovered the joy of being obese. And I never wanted it to end.

Now, I revel in my new form. I wake up every morning and stretch out my thick, heavy limbs with a contented sigh. I pad around the house, my paws thudding with each step, feeling the warm embrace of my own flesh. I love watching the shock and awe on the faces of those who knew me before, their eyes wide at the sheer magnitude of my transformation.

I've become something of a local celebrity. People whisper about me as I waddle down the street, my vast belly swaying with each step. They point, they stare, but I just smile and wave. I know they're envious of the confidence I exude, the way I flaunt my jiggly curves with every move. I'm a walking, talking billboard for the power of self-love and acceptance.

And when I pass by that fast food restaurant, I tip my hat to the soda machine in the window. Without it, I'd never have discovered the beauty in bigness. Without it, I'd never have known the joy of taking up space, of being seen, of being admired.

So, I'll continue to drink that soda. I'll continue to grow, to revel in my newfound size, and to show the world that fat is fabulous. And when someone asks me how I got this way, I'll just wink and say, “It's all in the fizz.”