Six Drug-Addled Kittehs

TONI DECIDED TO GIVE the cats a treat and refill their catnip toys this morning. Hilarity ensued as we tried to keep the cats from jumping up on her desk and hoovering up all the loose catnip before it went into the toys. Which all of them tried to do with as much unrelent as the People’s Army coming across the Yalu river in 1950. Or the Viet Minh at Dien Bien Phu. You’d pick one up and dump him/her on the floor and another one would be clambering up. They came over the leather armchair; they jumped up from the floor; they mewled in outrage when I snatched them up two at a time and carried them across the room. Loki and Aqua were the most persistent. Belle was ladylike and demure — no, make that lurking and menacing — hanging back and watching for an opportunity.

Finally, one toy was filled and tied off, to be tossed into a scrum that was worthy of Manchester United versus Our Wee Rangers of Glasgow. They got it cornered between the utility cabinet and a stack of plastic containers and worried away at it.

But Loki was not so easily appeased. Even after the second toy was tossed onto the floor, he was up on the desk like the Tenth Mountain Division at Monte Cassino, going after that motherlode — the envelope that the catnip resupply is kept in. And he almost got it, too. His plaintive mewing said as loud as shouting, “I’d open that drawer myself, but I don’t have any thumbs!”

Gradually, each one of them got his or her fill, and now they’re all in the standing around going, “WOW!” phase of buzzdom. Pretty soon, it’ll be naptime.

And then, Toni and I will start with the vacuum cleaner. Heh. Ain’t we stinkers?

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