You ever wonder where all those brilliant high thoughts go after they leave your brain? As though some magical creature came and stole them away. In some countries it’s the Weed Fairy. In others, it’s the Californian Chronic. But for much of the world it’s the legend of The Weed Cat. The Cannabis Cat is the hip dude that brings you the sticky icky when you need it most, but in payment takes your high ideas and weed dreams, leaving you confused and groggy the next day. Here is his story:
On the eve of April 20th not long ago, a stylish cat named Jay refused to drink his milk. “Come eat your dinner,” meowed his mother.
“I don’t want to. I wanna get baked and listen to records,” he complained. “The Weed Cat paid me a visit! It’s time to party!”
Jay did a little dance. Suddenly he stopped. He heard something.
Skitter-scatter. Pounce. Purr.
Jay followed a large group of alley cats headed for the beach. There amid the sand, waves and beautiful sunset, a crowd of kitties had amassed.
Just that moment a silence fell over the crowd. Jay struggled to see a snazzy, fuzzy feline appear from the ocean, hopping off his surfboard.
“It’s him! It’s the Weed Cat!” exclaimed Jay.
“My dudes, what’s happening?” Weed Cat addressed the crowd, “You may not know me. My name is Al. I’ve been Weed Cat for like sixty-nine years, man. Bringing green crack to the hip cats of the world in exchange for their brilliant ideas and dreams and stuff. But I’m an old kitty, you guys. It’s time for me to pass on the mantle and retire, dudes.”
“What?! No way!” said the crowd.
“Yo guys, quiet it down. Mellow out!” said Al. “So, like if you want to be chosen and all that, then you’ll have to complete three challenges. You’re gonna have to prove that you’re courageous, inventive, and most importantly: clever.”
“That is so me!” thought Jay.
“For your first challenge,” said Weed Cat, “Blaze a sesh with a dog!”
“Aw snap!” said one cat.
“That’s like crazy, man,” said another.
Many cats attempted the challenge. Did they all succeed? No way, José. Most were lucky to get out alive.
Only five returned with a selfie of them smoking the peace pipe with a dog.
“Pretty good,” said Al, giving props to Jay, the youngest contender. Al saw something special in Jay, a “Je ne sais quoi” that he couldn’t put his finger on.
“That selfie doesn’t count,” complained one cat. “He’s too little to be the Weed Cat!”
“We shall see,” said Al. “Now you hip cats might be courageous, but are you inventive? Your next challenge is to build a hash pipe with nothing more than these random bits and scraps!” Weed Cat gestured toward a pile of parts and junk. “And beware, only a working bong will be accepted!”
The five mice set forth, but only three were able to figure out how to assemble a working bong from basically nothing. (One made a gravity bong out of a plastic 2-Litre pop bottle. Another used an aluminum pop can. Jay stayed chemical-free and hollowed out an apple.)
“Sweet,” said Al, with a hint of a smile. “Now for your last, and most difficult challenge... follow me.”
Al, the Weed Cat, led the three contenders to a rooftop overlooking the city. He gestured to the cloudy sky.
“Check it out peeps,” Al said. “These clouds are where we store all the high thoughts and weed dreams our stoner compatriots give to us. As you can see, there are hella clouds up here. Every puff goes to the sky, and we are expecting a lot more tomorrow. It won’t rain until the clouds are empty, so what are we going to do with all of those ideas? You have until sunrise to come up with a plan.”
“Millions of thoughts? Stored in the clouds? It’s too tough to wrap my head around. My brain hurts,” thought Jay; his tail dragged as he headed home.
“I was so close,” said Jay back at home, “But I guess I’ll never be Weed Cat.”
“Just drink your milk and go to bed,” said his mother. “Something will come to you.”
Jay did go to bed, but he dreamed of weed. Sweet skunk. Cannabis. Marijuana. Grass. Chronic. The wacky tobacky.
When he awoke, he smiled, “Of course!”
At sunrise the three cats met back at the beach, along with the crowd of onlookers, to present their plans.
The first cat said, “Like do nothing man. They’re just clouds.”
Ha! Clearly he had toked too hard the night before. “The clouds, growing larger and larger, would eventually suffocate the earth,” explained Weed Cat.
Second cat said, “Send the clouds into outer space. Give the thoughts to the aliens.”
“Take a science class, dude. The nearest star is light years away,” scoffed Al.
Jay, the sly young cat, realized the answer was simple. He slowly handed his plan to Al. He was quiet as he read the proposal.
“Yup!” grinned Al. “You got it bro! May I present to you: the new Weed Cat!”
The crowd cheered!
Jay, the sly, stylish cat that wouldn’t drink his milk, spent the rest of his days as the Weed Cat. He blazed sessions with the great stoners of the world, and collected their thoughts, ideas and dreams.
And what, you may ask, did he do with those thoughts and dreams?
He gave them back to the trees of course!
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