The Cat.
He's old. What, seventeen now? Was feral, scars to prove it, always gave as good as he got. I've seen him nose to nose with a fox and he seems to have some understanding with the other carnivores here at the urban interface. Tough cat is what I'm saying.
He's spending more time inside these days. Under the bed or one of his other secret hiding places. In the mornings, he'll come up on the bed, see if we are still alive, and detecting breath in both of us, will retire to the foot of the bed, waiting inscrutably for food. Which I am rationing and he knows it.
I like the cat. But if he weighed as much as I do I think our relationship would be different.