Catnip

That elusive je ne sais quoi that whips little felines into a frenzy. All this packing and moving stuff seems to have triggered of my baser instincts as I lean forward to check for remnants stashed in the coffee table, and my nostrils are assailed by the faint but deeply suggestive scent of a rich mangshoer jhol. I sniff again, and my nose is arrested, the scent zinging its way to my brain, tweaking synapses, demanding attention. I forget why my hand is stretched towards the table and instead, feel the primeval steal over me as my head swivels under the guidance of my nose, eyes making a vague connection with the open slab of pate, but I'm already airborne and pounce on the hapless Brussels paté. Forty seconds later, my tongue sweeps through my mouth crushing any rebellion from escaping bits, and licks my lips as I curl back, non existent tail swishing in satisfaction.