Green Paws
It is a little known fact that during the month of April, in the year of Our Cat 2002, a handful of cuttings were propagated, under darkness, in the gardens and grounds comprising the territory of one 'Dribbler', former proprietor of the All You Can Eat Feline Restaurant and Grill, and pillar of the feline community. Strangest of all, no human hand was involved in their planting.
Two years later, it was found that the self-seeding perennials had spread upwards and outwards from their initial planting. Where previously there had been only a single, tiny plant, there were now large, sprawling patches of Nepeta cataria, each young plant between two and three feet tall, and elbowing its neighbours for space. Butterflies and bees, attracted to the small white flowers, hovered in colourful profusion. In the midst of the vegetation, a pair of truncated legs could sometimes be seen, surmounted by a rotund posterior. Had one taken a closer a look, the strange figure would have resolved itself into an exceptionally sleek feline, its head buried amid the fragrant leaves.
* * * * * Prior to these events, the only source of 'nip had been the dried leaves occasionally doled out by Tall and Tallest. They had placed it on a high shelf, out of reach of inquisitive paws: A dark blue box with a picture on it of a frolicking cat.
Sometimes, when the back door was left open, Dribbler could smell it even through the cardboard box. It was said to drive cats wild. When he was feeling out of sorts, or under the weather, the dancing cat would loom large in the back of his mind. Then, in his fevered imagination, or later, during paw-twitching sleep, they would glide across the kitchen floor together, scoring the cheap, yellow linoleum with their claws; Dribbler and his partner, the wildly jitterbugging cat pictured on the catnip box.
The first time he'd been offered the powdery herb, he had barely turned a whisker. Indeed, he had feigned boredom so thoroughly, that the 'nip had been swept up and thrown away.
"He doesn't like it", they'd whispered, surprised. "Perhaps he's immune to it."
On the second occasion, he'd all but torn the box out of their hands.
If – oh, happy day! - the box should be opened, he would immediately know it, even from the other room. His eyes would grow large, and his whiskers shiver in delicious anticipation. As the box drew nearer, his feet would begin to dance an insane rhythm and his ears to whirl.
They would sprinkle it on the carpet for him, and he would lick it up and roll in it and try to snatch the box out of their hands. He would lie on his back with his magnificent belly on display, tail thrashing from side to side, grabby paws snatching at anything that moved. If Tallest's bootlace should chance to slither across the floor, he would attempt to trap it and kill it. In a moment of clarity he might perceive that dignity had been surrendered; that such behaviour was scarcely fitting for a cat of his station. He would then attempt to pull himself together, gather up his stripes and, assuming a pose of the utmost formality, would politely disassociate himself from the aforementioned activities. Such stringent self-control might last for a few seconds, after which he would, inevitably, be sucked back into the maelstrom, back arched in ecstasy, legs akimbo, mouth open in a fiendish grin.
Ahhhhhh, catnip!
Was there ever anything like it for lighting a cat's inner fire? And when the fire had all but burnt out, was there anything like it for stoking the embers of yet another mad five minutes? Kitten-hood had been permeated with such moments of abandon. As one grew older, it was generally enough to sit, to sleep, to keep one's own counsel. One did not like to let one's mask slip. One did not like to betray one's inner kitten.
But when one was under the influence, that was a different matter. Under the influence, one could be playful and frivolous. One could forget, if only for a few moments, that one carried the weight of the world on one's shoulders.
Dribbler had long cogitated how best to remove the fragrant box from the high shelf on which it stood. He had tried on several occasions to dislodge it by sheer force of will but, although this invariably worked well with other cats and even the occasional dog, the box itself stubbornly refused to budge. If only it would move forwards an inch or two! If only it were closer to the edge, that he might blow on it with his fish-breath and cause it to topple over. In the face of his fish-breath, even Tallest retreated, gagging.
Another time, he had gone in for the time-honoured, tried and tested method of "keep on keeping on". They had given him biscuits, but he hadn't wanted biscuits. They had opened a new can of moist, meaty chunks, but he hadn't wanted those, either. Oh, he had eaten them, if only to show willing. But it simply wasn't good enough. Why could they not understand what was required? Why were they so very stupid? And since when did 'prrrut!' mean the same thing as 'nnngow'? Had he really taught them nothing?
And then, he had forgotten all about it.
Taking the air one day, a familiar scent had returned to tantalize him. The source appeared to be a large white sink, situated at ground level just outside the back door. In it were growing a number of small plants, all vying for height and space, and each with its own distinctive smell. There were spikes of lavender, the slender, blue-grey blooms perfuming the warm air. There were curly parsley leaves fighting for room amongst the unruly ranks of gray-green sage running rampant. There were blue-ish green stems of dill, and light green fennel, and small white flowery spikes of basil. There was sky blue borage, and the downy, heart-shaped leaves of Nepeta cataria…
Ahhhhhhh, catnip.
Dribbler stood up on his back legs, rested his paws on the edge of the container and pushed his nose into the leafy profusion. Sniff... sniff...
To get inside was the work of a moment, and he was soon nosing amongst the greenery. This might, he thought, be a good place to do his toilet. On the other hand, there was a distracting overlay of scents which could only detract from his own… Yes, well. Perhaps he would save that for later. Decisions…decisions…
As he trampled his way around, the bruised leaves gave off a scent at once familiar and enticing. He knew that smell. 'Said to drive cats wild', if you will. Pfffft. The very idea! How strange, then, to be lying on his back with his legs in the air, vulnerable belly parts exposed to the warm sunlight. How exceedingly odd! And his brain, that organ of unsurpassed efficiency, had narrowed its range to a single point, comprising one sense only and, very specifically, a single smell. For a few heady moments, the whole world and everything in it including Dribbler was caught up in that scent.
Naturally, the herb garden did not remain a secret for long. Dribbler had made such a good job of trampling everything down, that the scent had dispersed itself all over the surrounding area. Each cat thought he had discovered it for himself; that he was the first. And, generally, whenever a peculiarly strong strain of catnip was discovered, it was first come first served, and every cat for himself. Not this time. They came from far and wide, over the wall and under the fence and via the gaps in the hedge. They milled around, sniffing the air and each others’ bottoms, and nobody thought to start a fight or to dispute Dribbler’s territorial rights. It was peace and love, man.
Strangely magnanimous, Dribbler permitted each cat to take a cutting. Then, following his instructions, each went away and dug a shallow hole and in it planted a catnip cutting. And so it was that, thanks to the unprecedented generosity of Dribbler, each cat now had its own catnip plant to cultivate.
It was an ingenious plan, and no-one thought to question why Dribbler had decided to share the bounty in this way. Had they known that he would one day absorb their territories into his own, they would likely have taken a different view. But that, of course, is another story... * * * * *
It is several months later and Dribbler is lying on his back in a bed of catnip. All of a sudden, his head detaches itself from his body and floats up and away towards the brilliant sun. A voice speaks to him from inside the fiery bright light, and it is as loud and as primitive as thunder.
"Majestic being, thy name is Dribbler. Ye shall straddle the earth with thy legs encased in striped leggings, and ye shall be the mascot of the gods. As a small token of our esteem, I do crown thee everlasting king of this earthly domain, and everything in it.
"So long as they continue to serve ye well, your retainers shall walk on stilts and shall enjoy regular audiences with their King. Ye shall know them as Tall and Tallest."
As the words materialize before him in flaming letters, ten feet tall, Dribbler emits a small, derisive snort.
"Now tell me something I didn't know."
~ Fin ~
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