Well, Kevin seems fine. But someone is throwing up on the landing (twice today). Could be Kevin, but could also be Harry, whose ability to overeat has been raised to new levels since he discovered how to get to Kevin's dish, which for over a year been placed in an inaccessible spot, too high for a Billy Bunter of a cat to get to.
Kevin has always been athletic, and good at jumping and climbing, so a high feeding place poses no problems for him. It also places him near the sink, where he likes to meditate. Harry, too rotund to do much more than heave himself onto a bed or an armchair, knew that there was a higher place (no, not Cat Heaven) where food could be lurking, but the logistics of reaching such a place defeated him for a long time. But eventually, when I was away for a few days, he learned to get up onto the hob, which is lower than the other kitchen work surfaces, and trot nimbly round the worktops, fired by gluttony, and finish up whatever un-greedy Kevin had left. He has become quite brazen about it too.
Antibacterial surface cleaners are big in this house; I know it's not green, but if any of my friends were to to die of food poisoning, I'd rather the investigation focused on supermarket ready meals or the Council's staff canteen, and not on the slack approach to paw hygiene taken by certain persons round here.