This coming summer and fall, so many people (read: visitors) are coming this way (read: France) or that way, meaning Rome, and I just know we’ll be going back and forth, back and forth between cities. I’m carsick (make that catsick) just thinking about it, but actually, I do pretty well in the travel area and I’ve never been carsick, actually. That Feliway stuff sort of lulls me into thinking I’m not gonna be turned into a neckpiece or have a thermometer up my you know where. They might even try some catnip next time, because that stuff is po-tent! Mama planted a little patch in the garden where I can roll around and get completely loaded on whatever is in that stuff. But I’m not myself after the roll, and I have to sort of come down, if you’ve ever smoked or ingested any of those types of things, you know what I’m saying.
I just climb up on the couch and gaze off into the distance until whatever that stuff is wears off. Mama made me (and her friend, Nan’s kitty, Lena) a little bag of that stuff shaped like a mouse and Nan said that she had to hide it in a drawer and that she’d come home sometimes and find Lena scratching at the drawer in a frenzy for her little ‘mouse’ of drugs. So I guess you could call my mama and pusher of sorts. She certainly is about desserts, because she doesn’t ever touch sweets or not much (she likes chocolate every now and then but she doesn’t have a sweet tooth) and makes them for guests and such but she, herself, abstains. Then again, if you put a whole Reblochon or Brie or even rat cheese (ech!) in front of her, and if there were no consequences, she could polish off the whole wheel! So maybe she’s more like a mouse than a cat, although I like a little gout of Reblochon myself every now and then…
But nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is like a bed of catnip all your own. And you don’t roll it, you roll in it.
