Hudson was trigger-happy. There was just something about feeling the loud purr of the automatic gun that made him feel all fuzzy and warm. But at this moment, it was the dank aroma that enveloped him, emanating from a slowly rising misty plume from his usual nine-piece blunt set. A vintage record player spinned the black circle with his favorite Rug Records album. It would have been a perfect, chill Saturday afternoon were it not for a slight movement in the corner of the officers lounge that caught his never-sleeping feline attention.

He quickly recalled yesterday's mission during which they collected some rather peculiar looking, egg-shaped artifacts from the surface of the planet they were just leaving behind in their spaceship.

Three of those egg-like pods were placed in the corner of the lounge. And they were moving. More precisely, they seemed to be opening, not unlike flowers. Still holding his nine-piece smoke set, he grabbed his gun and started to sneak closer on the tip of his paws.

The movement of the pods grew stronger and stronger, until, when he was almost at an arm’s reach, something slimy jumped out of one of the pods. His cat reflexes directed the gun towards it, followed by a stream of metallic slugs which converted the slimy creature into a fine mist of slimy droplets, some landing on his nose and face.

He didn’t feel it immediately, but the droples started burning through his fur and skin, and when the pain started he winced, wiped the stuff off and grabbed a protective mask. Just at this moment two of the creatures simultaneously flew out of the remaining pods. He managed to pulverize one with his gun, but the other crawled towards him with speed and forcefully wrapped its tail around his arm.

Just as he began to panic and frantically think of a way to get out of this situation, he felt the grip of the creature grow weaker and weaker, until it became limp and only slightly twitching. It took him a while to realize that the smoke from his joints turned out to be fatal for the slimy alien.

The record player was playing the last song of the album. “Another fine day for a cat” he thought as he scratched his paws on the officer’s scratching post. The earthy, herbal plume of his nine blunts, his best friends, saved his life today.