Peg has some endearing traits – the way she plays in water; the way she bats at her toy mouse – but one trait I could live without is – how shall I put this delicately? – her farting.

Peg has the “Who, me?” look down pat. But she needn’t bother with the coyness. Her flatulence has a character all its own. Nothing smells like the Peg-bombs.

I Googled Catster.com to ask about cats and gas, and the best answer was from Izzie: “Animals usually don’t worry about being polite, they just let ’er rip wherever they are. If their owners or anyone else happens to be in the drop zone, oh well.”

Others on the website mentioned food as being the culprit and went into lists of supposedly bad pet food brands, the merits of wet vs. dry food, protein needs, yadda yadda yadda. Peg could eat honeysuckle and fairy dust, and she’d still pass gas like burrito-eating bulldog.

Peg enjoys making a lasting impression. And does she ever.