Of our seven -- Jake, Lucy, Moose and Squirrel (honest to God it's a coincidence), Tosca, Charles Manson, and the Exalted Bhat, only one has ever had a flatulence problem, and of course it would have to be "my" cat -- the one who always wants to sit on my lap, facing toward my feet with her tail in the air of course. Tosca (a gay friend of mine maintains I'm the only straight guy in the world with a cat named after an opera) could kill trees at 30 paces with one cheek tied behind her. Finally, on the recommendation of a friend we tried feeding her Precise cat food. We get it at the local Wild Oats (a natural foods chain). Et voila'. She may still fart but they don't stink or drown out the music I'm listening to so I don't care. Still don't much care to look at her butt, though. Reminds me of Grandma when she was annoyed, which was all of her waking moments.