Cats and Cigarettes

Alright, here’s the scoop. I’ve had my cat for many a year, 6-8 or somewhere in there. My parents both smoke, and for a while, the cat’s been sniffing the cigarettes when the package is left open on the counter. We thought nothing of it, thinking there was no harm and that it wouldn’t go any further. But lately, she’s been licking, biting, and trying to rip the cigarettes open. Now, I’m thinking this can’t be too healthy. If smoking cigarettes is bad for you, I can’t imagine what eating/sniffing them would do.

So, now, my question to you, all-knowing and wise elYsiun users, is:

Should I be concerned? Could this be hazardous to my cat, and if so, how would I go about stopping her? (Stuff like “Close the package”, “Hide the cigarettes”, etc. won’t fly.)

chili powder cigarettes?

And this has the added benifit of stopping your parents from smoking too

This may stop my mom, but not my dad or cat. My cat likes hot foods, toothpaste, and everything else we’ve tried using to make her leave something alone.

Ask VK hes got a smoking cat :smiley:

When cat gets near cigarettes, hit cat. Repeat until cat quits getting near cigarettes. Problem solved. If this doesn’t work, you aren’t hitting hard enough.

I saved this one in a JPG

I think you should put pictures of burning cats on the package, that should teach him/her :slight_smile:


Can’t say I’ve done much/any research on it, but I don’t think eating them is near as bad as smoking them. Does the cat actually eat them or just chew them and spit them out?
Some animals have wierd things like this, there was a documentary showing stuff like this and some hedgehogs eating cigarettes. They would also chew on kreosote (like varnish) and rub the froth they made over their bodies (worked as an insect repellant).
Anyway…I wouldn’t be too worried, but you might want to ask a vet or try and do some research to see if you can find the answer.

Hell one of my cats ate God knows how many rubber bands, j-cloths, string etc. and he is fine.

thi chili powder rminded me, one time i snuck some of this herb called sage into my uncles cigarette (he absolutely HATES the stuff), at first he thought it was going to be stale because i stuck it into an old empty pack. good practical joke :smiley: . i would say to just discipline him when he bites them, but not be too worried if he ingests a little, just make sure he knows not to eat em’.

Congratulations, you cat is addicted to nicotine!

You could put it in a class action against cigarette makers, might be funny. :wink:

It doesn’t work as well with cats as it does with dogs. Why’d you think Pavlov used a dog? :wink:

I’d say it might be worst. Smoking them, part of the smoke is lost in the air and a part of it that goes in you is filtered (not all of it, mind you).


Don’t hit the cat. Use a water-pistol (Small one, not Supersoaker), whenever the cat goes near the cigs. This way your cat will learn. Works well with cats jumping on tables, too.
And eating tobacco is absolutely poisonous!


Are you buying your cigs from this guy?

If you want your cat to stop, disguise a mousetrap as a box of cigs and when it goes to sniff, SNAP :D. I think I saw a similar thing on Tom and Jerry.

The water sprayer is by far the best. Cats absolutely HATE it and it’s 10x more effective than a smack. Been using one for years and all I have to do now is pick it up and my cat scatters.

Now all I have to do is strap mini super soakers on the birds in the neighborhood. My cat averages 2 birds a week in the spring and the neighbors want to shoot him.

So you’ve caught your cat in the smokes, huh? Take it out back and make it chain smoke a whole pack. It’ll never touch them again.

Go down to the healthfood store and buy some catnip. Oll 'em a few of those. It will prefer it.

Hmmm… Me thinks why has’nt “valarking” replied yet 8)

Do not let your cat smoke. Here’s what will happen:

Be very careful!!!

Hehe…Make it puke until it’s eyes pop out, it’ll never do it again.


Did half my growing up with my uncle and aunt on a farm in NY. She had a boston terrier and wanted to breed it so they went out and bought a male. He was old and scrawney with a neurotic (think everything that that word can mean) disposition, he pissed all over everything inside and outside the house, barns, shed and dairy and uncle Verne soon became obsessed with aunt Julia’s ability to paralize his trigger finger. Although their marraige was hanging by a thread, the dog (renamed Rastus) had a pedigree you could hang from the roof and still have enough to cover the floor, so they made a pact to persevere with Rastus till Nephertitti had had her first litter of pups.
But one of them seemed to be sterile and a year later we were still taking turns at chasing Rastus around the yard with a shovel. Then Gramps, the third husband of aunt Julia’s desceased sister came to live with them. He smoked cigars and every morning after breakfast he’d go sit in the rocker on the porch and smoke, and Rastus would sit on the lawn and stare at him, scratching, shivering with spastic shudders and drooling. By the time Gramps stubbed the half-smoked cigar on his boot the dog had drooled about 2 cups of of saliva that was so thick and sticky that his forelegs, face and ears looked like they’d been soaked with egg-whites and, in his effort to rub it off by skivving his face along the ground, the front of his body was covered in grass shavings and dead leaves that made him look like he was in cammoflage.
Then Gramps put the stubby in his top pocket and went to his room to sleep and Rastus took off around the farmyard in top gear like he was looking for a lost ball. After dinner Gramps came back to the rocker to finnish the cigar and the whole scene was repeated. The funny part of this was that Gramps was blind, so he was the only one that was unaware of what was going on and myself and my sister used to sit and give him a ballgame commentry of what the dog was doing. Aunt Julia assured us time and again that he thought we were just trying to humour him and he sincerely believed there was only one dog.
After this second shift Gramps would line up the stogie (still burning) and flick it onto the lawn where the grassy dog would pounce on it (like other dogs pounce on a ball) and a final gush of gob would soak it while he thrashed at it to kill the ember. Then he’d grab it and dash in under the porch and rip it to shreds and eat every last leaf of it and every other scrap of litter that smelled of it. Then he’d start digging (it was dusty under there where the rain never got to) and rolling around like a mad thing biting at the dirt, probably to stop his mouth and lips from burning.
If we weren’t there watching we’d know when Gramps got done smoking from the cloud of dust comming out from under the house that we could see from whereever we were in the farmyard.
There’s a happy part and a sad part to the ending of this. The happy part was that Nefertitti finally had her puppies and the sad part is that uncle Verne one day shot poor old Rastus. It just took too long to find someone who would take a junkie dog, even if his real name was Chesterton Renny of Malden III’s Camden Duenna.