Yesterday, I visited one of our local pet supply shops to pick up some goodies for our marvelous dogs; Beau, our elder pooch, had slipped a disk and was in urgent need of some edible comfort. Guilt compelled me to treat Biscuit the cat, too. Said pet store is located on the same street as at least 8 marijuana dispensaries, and as I walked down the block in my customarily baggy threads, clutching a small plastic pouch filled with catnip (I swear that's what was in it), I couldn't help but feel delinquent.

The feeling wasn't helped by the M.I.A. song 'Paper Planes' repeating itself over and over again in my head as I carefully loaded a few scrap pillows full of the weed. But I think the little cat cannabis cushions turned out pretty nicely (I stuffed them with some strips of old socks and a ton of feline ganja), and Biscuit certainly enjoyed them.

Biscuit has been acting extra adorable lately.
It's probably because of the herb.

Brother S will undoubtedly mistake (or just use) this as tea in the near future.