Mr.Q is the dealer and I am the guilty enabler for our dear, sweet 16 year old cat. She has no hope, really, of rehabilitation – she is addicted and seems unable to pull herself away from the hypnotizing lure of her substance of choice:
men’s underarm deodorant.
More specifically: men’s underarm deodorant, when applied to a man’s underarm.
It gets her stoned and makes her drool far more than any catnip she’s ever encountered. She gets spooky and goofy and stares the walls, tears down the stairs and disjointedly attacks the dog’s stuffed toys and tennis balls. And, she mews – big, echo-y queries that can only be a plea to help cure her case of Sport-Scent induced munchies.
And any day now, we will be receiving a call from the SPCA. Or the deodorant manufacturer…