Fred hated the catnip. He hated it mostly because he loved it so much. He hated its tempting smell and its alluring taste. He despised his lack of control—as soon as it was in front of him, he was a mess. Rolling in it, licking it, sniffing it like a line of cocaine. He hated the shudder that ran through him every time he did it. He hated the idea of eyes watching him when he indulged in his favorite habit.--the way his wife looked at him, with her hands on her hips like that, glaring and judging.
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