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- Aug 25, 2014
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When I was a teenager, I had a cat that was better than any dope sniffing Shepard. That ******* would find my bag o' weed no matter where I hid it.
He wasn't a fan of catnip, either.
I came home from school and found my dresser drawer partially open. I pulled it open and found him sprawled out on top of my clothes, stoned to the bone. He'd tunneled under a stack of pants to pull my nickel bag out of a pocket of a pair of my bell bottoms. I managed to shake out the stack one at a time and recover a joint's worth of weed that he'd scattered.
He wasn't a fan of catnip, either.
I came home from school and found my dresser drawer partially open. I pulled it open and found him sprawled out on top of my clothes, stoned to the bone. He'd tunneled under a stack of pants to pull my nickel bag out of a pocket of a pair of my bell bottoms. I managed to shake out the stack one at a time and recover a joint's worth of weed that he'd scattered.