There is something dreadfully wrong with Mini. When we got her last February she was a stray, about 7 months old, with a crooked snaggle tooth that left her with a permanent look of disdain. She way a right bouncy grey and white kitty, about half the size of Misha. Although we instantly fell in love with her, we discovered her faults right off. Aside from the fact that she bolts her food so fast she vomits, she has a problem cleaning herself properly, which sort of leaves her with a pungent kitty box odor. And Kyle still complains about her tuna breath; I've yet to convince him that all cats' breath smells like that. There was also the time she sported two separate Misha retaliation gashes on each side of her neck. Mini just won't learn that Misha doesn't like to be jumped on. For weeks she looked like her head was about to fall off. But in spite of all these traumas and defects, we love her. Which is why we are so worried about her. You see, Mini has an eating disorder.

It seems she just can not get enough to eat. If you even walk in the direction of the kitchen she jumps up and races past you to shove her face in her food bowl. At first I thought, "Ah well, she was a stray. It's understandable." But now? She's still smaller than Misha, but the middle of her body is all bowed out. She looks like she accomplished an impossible feat and ate a football. I seriously think if things continue on in this vein she's likely to explode.

Poor Mini.

Perhaps all she needs is good lovin' and a trip to the kitty counselor. Anything for my stinky Mini cat.