Sounds like a good name for a totally whacked picture book, don't you think?
The other day I walked through, well, in another life I think it was a dining room, and I came across a clove cigarette in the middle of the floor. Bent in half, tobacco leaking out, partly chewed. Believe me, the last thing we need around here is more overly-stimulated felines.
Then today I found Charlie stalking a small rubber rat that has been sitting behind my kitchen sink unnoticed for at least a year. Which would be one thing, if I could trust him not to eat any pieces of rubber rattail he might chew off. But I can't, so I had to steal his prey, like a bigger, meaner cat, not letting him have any fun. I stuck it up by the little squishy skull (it's like one of those squeezy stress balls, but in skull form), on the high shelf.
That's when my honey came in and said, "That's where your clove cigarettes were. I had to move them because someone was trying to knock them down."
At least Charlie was after a pretend rodent, which is reasonable cat behavior. Little Chloe tabby wants to be a hipster!