Divide does not exist in meow. It would not work. I have a plate of tuna fish and the feline next door sees that I have a plate of tuna fish.
“Hey Tabby, give me half of it.”
“No Roschti, it is mine.”
And Roschti walks on, there is no discussion. He realises that there will be no division of the tuna fish, because he also speaks meow and does not know the word. He might creep up and try to steal a few paw fulls and that is when the fun begins. I hiss, he hisses and perhaps Butch, the other feline, is watching and while we are paw swiping and making threatening movements, Butch begins to eat the tuna fish.
When the disagreement with Roschti is finished I return to my bowl of tuna fish to find it empty and see the tail of Butch disappearing beneath a bush. For Butch, divide also does not exist in meow. No, I do not follow Butch to teach him a lesson, there is no sense. He has eaten the tuna fish and it no longer exists. I have worn my claws down on Roschti and Butch is bigger than me, so who wants to fight a feline that is more powerful. The only chance I would have to regain my tuna fish is if Butch would produce a hair ball mixed with the remains of the tuna fish, and I do not like second hand hairballs. I prefer my own.
It is a different case with the cat nip. If Mrs. Human would plant catnip in the garden, I roll in it for a while. It might be that Roschti and Butch join me, but having got high on the catnip and forgetting all happenings surrounding my state of mind, I would not even notice that two other felines were also rolling in the catnip. It is the only time when we actually divide something, we share our state of transcendental catnip meditation.
Although I must now decide which sleeping place to occupy and that will not be divided. I just change my bed when the mood takes me.