Koksun snapped out of his daydream as he realized a smile was on his lips. It was to his utmost relief that anything could bring a trace of happiness to his afflicted mind—even if paradoxically it was the memory of a small test he had passed and set in motion a chain of events that ultimately led to what at this moment seemed like a gloomy prison cell with a pile of enticing poison placed right under his very nose.
But regardless, the happiness of the memory pierced through his gloomy pessimism like a sword through tough armor, and once wedged there it refused to fade simply because of it pertaining to an event that was indirectly responsible for his current situation.
He had had his body pushed to the limit many times, and always it had recovered. And he had been pushed mentally too, but never by a mind-altering substance, at least nothing like this. But the still-present happiness from the memory assured him that just as the physical body recovers from overexertion with adequate rest so too would his mind from the foul substance he had partaken of too liberally, albeit not by choice.
He wondered again if a whiff would help or just make things worse. They couldn’t get much worse, a voice told him.
He inched towards the pile of pungent green dust as cautiously as a man who fears heights approaches the edge of an immense precipice, afraid that if he got too close all hope would be lost and he would be unable to prevent himself from inhaling as much as his nose could in a single sniff.
R-r-r-r-r-r-r-i-p
Koksun had read that smell was the most powerful of the senses and that in a matter of moments the memories it could trigger at the subconscious level were equivalent to hours of conscious recollection. He had never before had an experience that so thoroughly proved the theory, in spite of his centuries of life.
As best he could recall, he had drifted off into his reverie when Donive had entered the kitchen and begun removing some items from a basket. The particular item inside the basket that had caught Koksun’s attention was now in Donive’s hand and was torn open.
Donive was reading the back of the bag containing the substance. She went over to the cupboard, grabbed a small measuring spoon, and headed towards the bag.
In a flash, Koksun sprang forward through the air with a vicious “MEOWW!” and grabbed the bag at the top, careful not to ingest any of the substance. He then began pulling it outside quickly, while Donive stared in disbelief at the erstwhile passive, lazy feline that had suddenly turned into a brazen bandit. Incidentally, “Bandit” was the name had Donive had chosen based upon the mask-like appearance of white around his face, interrupting his otherwise all-black, shiny coat.
“Bandit!” she cried angrily. “BAD CAT!!”
Koksun was out the door and onto the grass. He made it ten feet before he heard the pitter-patter of Donive’s feet closing in rapidly. He pivoted around with the fury of a bobcat just as Donive, who was squatting down in front of him, prepared to reclaim the spices she intended to use for that evening’s stew.
Koksun’s aggressive response took her entirely off guard. She leaped back in horror at the devil she had once so warmly welcomed into her home.
She prepared to verbally chastise him but was at a loss for words at what she saw next. Koksun seemed to rival a rain cloud as he suddenly began showering what appeared to be every square inch of Donive’s precious spices. He then performed other acts which need not be recounted in order to ensure no attempt was made by anyone in the household to touch the spices, not even Mervin, the Great Dane.
Koksun knew he was in danger of losing his home or possibly even his life for what he had just done, so he eyed Donive closely to see what her intentions were. He suspected that one word from her, and Mervin might no longer be so friendly but rather a roaring lion who would consume him like an appetizer.
“Come here, kitty,” Donive coaxed.
Koksun looked at her carefully, his human intelligence examining her body language, and his feline smell searching for signs of aggression. Taken together, the conclusion was that Donive was righteously furious but not planning to whack Koksun over the head.
Koksun lowered himself to the ground and gave a timid meow, which he hoped would arouse sympathy. He was not disappointed.
“I’m not mad at you, kitty. I just need to know why peed and pooped on my spices.”
“Meow!” Koksun responded assertively, hoping to communicate There’s a reason!
He looked at her directly in the eyes, hoping she could see he had not gone crazy. She saw more intelligence in there than even Koksun might have guessed, and her female intuition did not take long to tell her that her cat was reacting instinctively and sensed something foul in what she was about to consume. Something she could not.