I was in the middle of a deep and meaningful nap when Ben disrupted the balance of the universe again.
One moment, serenity. The next - rustling paper, suspicious enthusiasm, and the phrase “You’re going to love this.”
I never love “this.”
I cracked one eye open. Ben was standing there holding a small paper bag and wearing that expression humans get right before they ruin something. My sister was already trotting over, curious as ever, while my brother didn’t even twitch, his personal motto being “If it’s not food or fire, it can wait.”
Ben crouched down and, with the kind of grin that should come with a warning label, opened the bag.
Out came… a pile of green flakes.
I blinked. “Seriously? Salad? Has he finally lost it?”
Ben chuckled. “Catnip,” he announced proudly. “You’re going to love it.”
Catnip.
The word alone sounded undignified. I was already preparing to mock it when my sister darted forward, nose twitching. She gave it a sniff… and then things got weird.
She rubbed her face in it, rolled over, and started wiggling like she was auditioning for a breakdancing competition. Her eyes glazed over with pure, blissful madness.
I stared. “She’s gone. The green stuff got her. Quick, someone call a priest.”
Ben laughed, clearly delighted. “Guess she likes it!”
“Likes it? She’s possessed,” I thought, backing up.
Then my brother stirred. Slowly. Dramatically. The mighty sleeper had awoken. He sniffed once, twice, then promptly face-planted into the pile. Within seconds, he was purring so loudly the windows rattled. Drool followed.
I was horrified. Two siblings lost to the leaf. It was up to me - the last sane cat standing.
Or so I thought.
Because then, a faint sweetness reached my nose. A sharp, minty undertone. My whiskers twitched. My tail flicked involuntarily.
“It can’t be that good,” I told myself. “Just a sniff. For research.”
And then… BOOM.
The world tilted. Everything was funny. Every speck of dust was a potential friend. My paws needed to move. Immediately.
I leapt. I spun. I rolled. I may have performed an interpretive dance. I remember yelling something about destiny before trying to wrestle the curtain (which, in my defence, started it).
Ben, of course, was laughing hysterically, phone out, filming our downfall. “Look at them go!” he said.
“Oh, yes,” I thought mid-somersault, “by all means, document our descent into madness for your little friends.”
My sister was now doing laps around the room at a speed previously thought impossible for creatures without engines. Each turn left a skid mark of fur and chaos. She tried to leap from the armrest to the bookshelf - missed, and somehow ended up dangling from the curtain rod, swaying like an overly dramatic chandelier.
Ben gasped, rushing to help, but she dropped herself gracefully (read: fell) and landed in our toy basket. A moment later, the basket tipped over, sending a tidal wave of mice, feathers, and crinkle balls exploding across the floor.
My brother, awakened by the noise and apparently still affected by the catnip courage, launched himself into the middle of it. He emerged seconds later with a toy mouse in his mouth and the proud expression of a hunter who just conquered a dragon. Then he forgot what he was doing, stared at the wall, and fell over.
Meanwhile, I was conducting vital scientific tests.
“Can I run up the hallway wall?” Answer: no, but I can bounce off it with surprising force.
“Can I climb the sofa vertically?” No, but gravity has opinions about it.
“Can I fit under the coffee table at full speed?” Also no. Not even close.
The room had become a blur of fur and motion. My sister zoomed one way, I zoomed the other, and my brother rolled somewhere in between. We collided twice, rebounded once, and somehow ended up chasing Ben’s slippers like a pack of feral toddlers.
Ben was laughing so hard he could barely stand. “You guys are wild!” he wheezed.
Wild? We were legends.
At some point I found a stray puff of catnip on the carpet and decided it was obviously a new friend. I rolled on it. Rubbed my face in it. Gave it a few good kicks for dominance. My sister saw this and decided she wanted that exact same puff. A scuffle broke out.
She slapped me. I slapped her.
She hissed dramatically. I hissed louder, because I am the eldest and rank matters.
My brother joined in but immediately forgot which side he was on and started wrestling both of us while purring like a diesel engine.
We rolled under the coffee table in a ball of fur, tails, and questionable decision-making. Something crashed. A lamp? A vase? Possibly Ben’s will to live. Hard to say.
From somewhere above us, I heard Ben shout, “No! Not the table” followed by a heavy thud.
When we finally burst out the other side, the rug had migrated halfway across the room and one of Ben’s socks was mysteriously stuck to my tail. I wore it like a flag of victory.
My sister was running laps, again, but now with a crinkly ball in her mouth and the thousand-yard stare of a cat who’s seen the secrets of the universe. My brother was sprawled out again, drooling contentedly, occasionally batting at imaginary butterflies.
I stood in the centre of it all, chest puffed out, fur slightly askew, eyes wide. “This,” I thought, “is my kingdom.”
Ben leaned against the wall, exhausted. “You three are absolute maniacs,” he said between laughs.
“Thank you,” I thought, taking it as the compliment it clearly was.
At that point, my body decided to take charge of the situation - specifically, by launching itself three feet straight into the air for no discernible reason. I twisted, spun mid-flight like a furry acrobat, and landed flat on my back with all four paws in the air.
For a moment, I lay there, stunned. Then I realised something.
The ceiling looked… fascinating from this angle. Everything did, actually. The world was upside down, which somehow made sense. “Ah yes,” I thought. “This explains everything. Humans. Gravity. My sister.”
I batted lazily at the air, paws flopping like I was conducting invisible music. “Yes,” I decided, “this is my new perspective. I shall observe the universe from here now.”
Ben stared down at me, half laughing, half concerned. “You good, buddy?”
I blinked at him slowly, upside down. “Never better,” I thought. “Just questioning reality, as one does.”
I might’ve stayed like that for a full minute, paws twitching, tail flicking occasionally for dramatic effect. The carpet felt extra soft. The air smelled like victory and regret. “I live here now,” I concluded. “Tell the others.”
My sister collapsed beside me, paws twitching as if she were dreaming of flying. My brother snored softly, one paw still resting on the toy mouse like a war hero clutching his medal.
The living room looked like a battlefield: fur on every surface, toys scattered like shrapnel, and a human muttering something about “never again.”
I gave a long, satisfied sigh.
Sure, we had demolished the living room. Sure, I might have permanently dented my dignity (and possibly Ben’s lamp). But it was worth it.
As I drifted toward a well-earned nap, I thought to myself, “So this is catnip… Interesting. I’ll need to test its effects again - for science.”
Because really, how else would I confirm whether I can make that curtain jump next time?