Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Clementine woke with a tremendous headache.  It had taken her hours to finally get to sleep, and when she did finally snooze she had the most bizarre dreams.  She felt as though the night had been spent in search of a closet.  The dreams had her moving from room to room in the house, except instead of the yarn lady’s little 2-bedroom condo there was room after room, all with closets on every wall.  She was looking for a particular closet because something important was in that closet, but none of them were the right one.  There were huge walk-in closets like in the fancy house shows, tiny little closets with doors she couldn’t fit in, closets that held giraffes (and why, pray tell, were giraffes in the closets?) and closets so full of junk that she couldn’t even fit inside.  Clem lay on the corner of the couch and slowly returned to reality.  She was home with the yarn lady and from her vantage point, there were the usual number of rooms and the only closet in sight was the coat closet next to the front door. 

It was mid-morning and Clem discovered the yarn lady wasn’t even home.  She recalled from last night that there was some emergency at the noisy girl’s house she needed to attend to, and Clem had obviously slept through the yarn lady getting up, dressed and leaving.  That was good, as Clem didn’t feel like being social right now.  She stretched slowly and made her way carefully to the crunchy food bowl.  Each bite was like a hammer to her skull.  Was she coming down with a kitty cold or flu?  She didn’t think so, as she had no stuffy nose or anything other than the headache and a rather stiff neck. 

The kitchen was still littered with the remains of last night’s mousie massacre, and Clem looked at the mess with shame.  Had she really gotten so out of control that she’d torn the mousie to pieces?  It appeared she had, because there were bits of fabric and tail all around the kitchen.  It had a pouch the yarn lady had put the catnip in, and Clem remembered really wanting to get at the rest of the catnip, and deciding to figure out how she opened it.  Well, this wasn’t it, because this mousie was never going to hold catnip again. 

Was this what a hangover was like?  Sometimes Clem watched television shows where humans who had too much to drink ended up with a hangover the next morning.  She supposed catnip was like alcohol, so maybe this was a hangover.  Maybe her behavior last night was an indication that she was addicted to catnip.  Clem climbed carefully onto her favorite blanket and considered this.  She wanted to ask one of the other cats about whether this was possible but she was too ashamed.  She was weak, a stupid weak cat who couldn’t handle her catnip.  She put her head on her paws and tried to reason the situation through, but sleep caught up with her long before she figured anything out.

It was evening before the yarn lady reappeared.  She was in a good mood, playing with a plastic doll that came with a bunch of cats.  She posed the doll and the cats and took pictures.  Clem climbed up on the counter, but the yarn lady pushed her aside.  Usually the pictures were of her, but tonight it was the stupid doll.  Humph.  Clem stalked into the living room and began clawing at the slipcovered chair.   That should get her attention, though Clem. 

“Clementine, why are you doing that?  You have a perfectly nice scratching box, and you know I’ll give you treats if you use it.”  The yarn lady stood, hands on her hips, staring at Clem.  She removed her claws from the chair, ashamed of herself yet again.  Why did she keep doing these things?  The yarn lady reached down and picked Clem up, burying her face in the soft fur.  “I love you dearly, but sometimes you drive me to distraction.  But you know, I wouldn’t have you be any other way, dearheart.”

Clem squirmed and was put gently on the floor.  The yarn lady put a few things away she’d brought home with her and reached for something on the top of the fridge.  She called Clem’s name, shaking the tube filled with catnip.  In an instant Clem was at her feet, reaching upwards for the tube.  The yarn lady sprinkled some onto the small white rug and Clem pawed at, rolled in it and time went away….

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