Doing battle with daily dragons

Thursday, March 10, 2005

The Cost of Addiction

I’ve been sceptical up until today, but it appears that spring is actually coming. There hasn’t really been much evidence to support this hypothesis other than that the seasons have supposedly been going round and round since the world began to cool. But today, there were signs. The daffodils are beginning to crack their green, leafy heads. Birds are singing their feathery little hearts out. And the cat was outside, getting high.

It’s a terrible thing, addiction. It can ruin the best and furriest of us. Our family cat, Moggins, has struggled with it all of her life. In the winter, she seems to come down, become reflective, even sober. But when the first green shoots of The Dragon force their way through the earth in springtime, all of her coldly nurtured resolve melts and the terrible wheel spins once more.

It’s catnip season.

It’s funny, when you think about the way humans think about catnip. If YOU were to drop acid, you’d be risking believing that you are being chased down the street by a 15 foot tall Mars Bar. However, we have no compunction about doing the very same thing to our cats by presenting them with sweet little mouse-shaped toys laced with street quality White Lightening.

Moggins has a whole bush of the stuff. At the moment, only the first very green little shoots are poking through the ground. While enjoying the fleeting cold sunshine with The Rock Star this afternoon, we noticed her taking her first hit of the season.

She’s not really much entertainment value til the paranoia takes hold. Suddenly, both of her ears will go back and she’ll fiendishly attack an invisible foe, biting, scratching and kicking with all her might. Just as suddenly, she’ll race across the lawn, coming to a screeching halt under the pampas grass and look behind her to make sure that whatever her grape-sized brain made her believe she was being attacked by is nowhere to be seen. Then she’ll sleep. And on waking, the tender green shoots will beckon again.

Poor, hairy little junkie.