April 30th, 2006
|12:13 pm - Some notes on catnip.|
1. Catnip is a vicious little weed that can turn the most mild-mannered and dearhearted cat into a mewling, whining, crazed junkie who will do anything, including sinking its claws into your chest, to get its next fix. Well, some cats at least. Martha never dug on the stuff, but perhaps that was just so she could feel superior to Abbie when he got on one of his Hunter S. Thompson jags.
2. Catnip stinks to high heaven. Cats can smell that goddamn stuff a mile away. ratatosk is growing a plant in his room, and he left the door open one day, and apparently Abbie noticed from two flights down or something (I may or may not be exaggerating here for comedic effect.) The cat, who only moves fast when there's something in it for him, made a beeline for the greenery -- which, even if plants do have some kind of innate sixth sense, couldn't possibly have seen it coming. They had to coax Abbie down gently and he went stubbornly, indignantly howling at the outrage of it all, nearly-opposable thumbs clinging tenaciously to a stalk or two. Ok, I am exaggerating here, but you have to admit the mental image is worth it.
3. But my point is that even if you hide the sealed plastic catnip baggie, ziplocked up as best you can with all the air removed, if you hide that underneath some unused t-shirts in a top dresser drawer, the cat is still going to sniff it out and then prostrate (not prostate, dear lord that'd be disturbing) himself in front of the dresser as if it were some kind of Magical Cat Ganja Shrine. When the Shrine fails to deliver the goods in a timely fashion, Mr. Abbie has taken to banging on plastic bags or other such noisemaking instruments in the hopes that the Shrine will act much like The Big Guy Who Sleeps A Lot does, and grudgingly wake up to provide him with some instant gratification.
It hasn't happened yet, but hope springs eternal.
Still, anyone who can legally spend his ninth birthday hopped up on crumbled green leafy psychoactive substances can't be having all that bad a day, so enjoy it, you mook. Tomorrow you go out and get a job.
I have been known to keep my stash in the fridge. So far they haven't figured out how to open that. So far.
Happy birthday, Mister Abbie! May you have many more years of psychoactive substances and being spoiled rotten by your guy.
I have yet to give Ziggy ANYTHING with catnip in it. He's already fucking insane, that would just make it ten times worse.
Happy birthday, Mister Sunshine. Pure bred Wisconsin beaver cats get cake.
"Magical Cat Ganja Shrine" came damned close to making me snort Diet Mountain Dew up my nose.
Happy psychedelic birthday, Mister The Cat.
Happy birthday, Abbie! We've outlawed catnip in this house, because it makes Bosco sit even harder on his sister, and there are usually teeth involved.
|Date:||April 30th, 2006 08:12 pm (UTC)|| |
Happy Birthday, Abbie!
Happy birthday, ya big furball.