I'd forgotten that I had planted lots of catnip this year and then dried and bagged it. So, in late February, I am looking in my pantry and find this fragrant bag. I pull it out, crumble the leaves for my cats, and they engage in a little feline Woodstock. You could practically hear the 60s music down the block. Arcangelo is the worst one. He just covers himself in catnip and radiates his goofy sexiness.
Such little stoners! And they even taught Rory how to party on!
