People began to drift off and I stole into Mary’s office to check my messages. “But they do act like little drug fiends!” said the aide.Īs the hilarity died down, the novelty of seeing our two resident cats acting like clowns wore off even before the catnip did. “The cats don’t smoke it, David,” she said. “I’ve never owned a cat,” I said to the aide. I was joking but honestly, I had little idea what catnip was. “Don’t you know anything about cats?” asked an aide who overheard me. I looked at Oscar, who I had been thinking of as this wise, Sphinx-like creature with all the answers.

There’s some kind of chemical in the herb that gives them an almost sexual high.” Mary laughed, and then launched into an explanation, almost shouting to be heard over the yowling of the cats and the laughter of the staff and patients. Watching their whirling-dervish routine, my inner veterinarian took over. I pushed my way to the front where I found Mary. It was like watching a drug-fueled pas de deux, with cats instead of dancers.

Both cats were charging around the desk at breakneck speed, stopping occasionally to roll around, flailing their limbs in the air. All eyes were on Oscar and Maya who appeared to be in the throes of ecstasy. Like a small child trying to get a better look at a passing parade, I picked my way through the morass of walkers and residents. A small group of interested onlookers, residents, and staff had surrounded the front desk of the unit, blocking my view of the spectacle. It was as if I had stumbled on a scene from the Summer of Love.

Rounds with oscar