I live in a house with three cats. The boys are both bigger than ten pounds. Nutmeg weighs six pounds at the most, but is about sixty pounds of attitude and swooshy tail. She has a nasty one-two combo and the boys never try to sniff her rear.
At eight, she’s a mature middle-aged lady, so I’m trying to get a little meat on her bones before she really gets old. But she is a picky dainty eater.
Thus we come the current situation; where the boys are on a diet, and at night I feed Nutty an entire can of wet food in my room while Raven and Oliver howl mournfully outside the door.