Last night, they told me they were out of crack, or heroin, I�m not exactly sure which one. Their logic was fairly sound. Who would sell crack to a cat? It wasn�t always this easy, giving in to their every demand. Things used to be alot simpler.

I became a bit concerned at first when they started drinking alcohol. I went to all those websites about how to help your teen and such. I remember being their age and wanting to do all the things I was told not to. All kids rebel, so I figured I would give them some regulated rebellion. They started with beer. The light stuff. Soon it became apparant that beer was no longer giving them the desired result, so I had to switch to the hard stuff. The two of them could down a bottle of tequila in a sitting. It was very impressive. I decided it was time to cut off the liquor, so I threw them into rehab. It worked, for a time.

Next it was marijuana. To me, this was the next logical step in the ladder of rebellion. So I bought a dime bag, and some papers. Of course, I then had to learn how to roll a joint, since they lacked in opposable thumbs. For a while they were content. My food bills sky-rocketed within a week. I never realized cats could eat so many treats! On many an occasion I found one or the other in the kitchen , clawing at the fridge door, desperate to get milk, meat, anything. And we can�t forget the entertainment. I can recite whole passages from Half Baked and Dazed and Confused. I know the lyrics to most Pink Floyd and Grateful Dead. I had a contact high 24 hours a day.

I don�t know where they got the coke. Maybe that rottweiler next door slipped it to them. Two months ago, I found it in the litterbox. What desperation makes a cat hide his drugs in his toilet? He didn�t want me to know, but a mother notices things like that. He doesn�t do anything anymore. Just lays on the floor and stares at the ceiling. I think he started heroin about a week ago. He no longer eats, which has a good side as well.

I tried to explain that drugs were not the answer. That they need find something to live for. I think one of them is coming around to the idea. She passed on grass tonight. I was so happy that I cried. The other one is going into these terrible rages. Last night, he broke my coffee table. I�m becoming afraid of him. What kind of person am I, to be afraid of my own cat?

I feel like one of those people who go on Jerry Springer, even though I swore I would never be one of those people. All I wanted was to raise my family in an honest and caring environment, but obviously I have failed them. And me. I swore I would be a good mother but I failed. I failed.