I had just finished feeding Miss Skye when Matty decided to join us for some post-dinner conversation. How he managed to balance all of his twenty-two pounds on the arm of that chair, I’ll never know. An early Christmas miracle. He looks regal sitting there, paws crossed just so, but don’t be fooled. He pooped in the corner of the living room just hours later. (I am SO wrapping a Pampers Swaddler around his furry ass.) Also, I’m fairly certain that behind that elegant facade, Fatty Matty is dreaming of dipping that chubby thigh of Skye’s in gravy and chowing down on it for dessert. Can’t blame him. I wouldn’t mind a nibble of those cute rolls, myself.