“My name is Whiskers, and I’m a catnip addict.”

“Hello, Whiskers.”

“It’s been about…” Whiskers checks her watch. “Forty-five minutes since my last catnip. Like a lot of you, my addiction started when I was young and easily influenced. I lived in a nice house, with a nice yard — no dogs, plenty of birds to chase. Life was good.”

“Then one day, this stray wandered into the yard. I guess I felt sorry for him. I gave him a saucer of milk and a couple Friskies I’d been saving. To show his thanks, the stray — I never even got his name — handed me something that looked like a rolled-up cigarette.”

“He said it was Meowijuana. Told me, ‘Trust me. You’ll like it.’ Then he walked away.”

“I never saw him again.”

“Later that night, I lit it up. I’m sure a lot of you remember your first time. I loved it. It sent me into a frenzy of ecstasy and… well, you know.”

“That was the beginning. My owner found it, and instead of scolding me, she started bringing Meowijuana home from time to time. I couldn’t get enough. Before long, I was too blissed-out to chase mice, and they basically took over the house.”

“When the family moved, I guess they figured I was pretty useless. They left me behind.”

“I ended up on the streets. Doing whatever I had to do to get my next fix. Don’t ask… it was bad, okay?”

“But now I’m here. Trying to get clean. Trying to rebuild my life.”

Whiskers glances around the circle.

“…But, uh… if any of you cats happen to have some on you… maybe we hook up under the twelve steps after the meeting?”