When I was a child, my parents had a large honeysuckle bush growing next to the house. Its springy branches were perfect for a young boy to climb and scarmble on. But alas, it was too close to the verandah, and when it got too large, it had to be cut down.
My dad brought some of the wood into the house to burn in the fireplace, where we noticed that the cat went crazy for it. This, mind you, was a cat that had previously shown absolutely no interest in catnip, yet he was wildly clawing and scrabbling and pawing and biting these foot-long scraps of wood.
My mom took some branch cuttings to other peoples’ houses, to test it on their cats — universally, they loved it.
Suddenly, we had dreams of making the family fortune at craft shows, selling bundles of wood as a treat for your cat. We’d corner the market! My mom even had a clever name all thought up (wish I could remember it).
Well, a couple of decades later, and we’ve been beated to the punch. I saw this in a pet store yesterday:
Grant Hamilton
-
Colin