So this evening, I’ve got the place to myself, and I’d decided to make catnip concentrate.
This may have been a mistake.
Mr. Kitty is the cat with no name. Well, no, he’s got a name, it’s Mr. Kitty. I adore him. He’s my baby. When I traversed the skies to return home from livin’ in Egypt, I brought Mr. Kitty with me. He’s my boon companion, my dear friend.
He’s also seriously crazy.
Now, about Mr. Kitty.
I’ve had him since he was a kitten- he was the only of three littermates to survive some moderate neglect, and so I decided to step in and “rescue” him. He’s a bit cracked, but he’s a sweetie- he loves to cuddle and get attention, and he’s the most personable cat I’ve ever known.
Since coming home with me two years ago now, he’s grown into a handsome, sweet cat who occasionally goes outdoors – primarily to sleep in the hay in our garage/hay shed. He originally had the name “Lando,” (as his neglectful owner called him Mocha, mistaking his orange tiger spots for brown), but he’s now a Russian kitty, with more nicknames and no true “name,” just Mr. Kitty.
Well, Mr. Kitty is doing just fine, even if he does have a rather slapdash name. He adores my dogs, avoids the horses, and gets to run around being confused about many things (name, species, gender… he’s not a very determinate fellow).
I was trying to make some simpler cat toys- just felted bits of leftover roving with some catnip scent- and it turned into a catnip essence experiment, and Mr. Kitty here got very stoned.
Now I adore Mr. Kitty, and I usually love his antics… but half an evening spent with a dVERY stoned cat just forced me to take pictures of his indignified state. I suppose he’d be offended if he had any dignity but, well… Mr. Kitty was more focused on the catnip steam pervading the house this evening than his dignity. Meowing, chasing shadows, more meowing, knocking stuff over… it was a night for Mr. Kitty’s craziness to shine.