Really, how do you do it? I’ve never dismantled a meth lab, so when I finally find the one that Percy’s been keeping in business in my garage, I’ll need to know how to do it. It’s not a Google search I look forward to — and now I’ll just find my own blog entry. This is backfiring. At least I’ve seen lots of “Breaking Bad.” Surely that will help.
Here's Percy. Doesn't he look crazy, like he's a notorious methmaker?
Let me back up a bit: When my brother lived with me, Percy, my mammoth-esque tuxedo cat, fell head-over-heels in love with Nick. Percy could take or leave me, but Nick, hoo boy, he’s a champion in Percy’s eyes. Mostly because Nick catered to his every whim, first and foremost being let out into the garage. I should also tell you that Percy can open doors with his thumbless paws, which is more terrifying than you could ever imagine. He will be holding hostages before the year is out.
So Nick comes up with a theory. I should probably warn you that Nick is weird like me. But Nick’s theory is that Percy is either building a bomb or a meth lab in the garage, and that’s why he wants to go out so often. And since Percy meows with ferocious intensity to be let outside, he cabbaged onto the idea that yes, it was a meth lab, and Percy is very concerned about getting the chemistry correct.
He’s good at keeping it secret. But randomly, when Percy’s out there by himself, we’d hear a tool drop to the floor, then a scuttling, and once he opened the garage door. I don’t know how, I just know that he was gone for a minute, then on the front porch meowling to be let in.
Percy goes in an out of the garage about 17 times a night. I don’t know what he does out there, because if I open the door, he either hides as quickly as possible or runs inside. Or yells at me. Seriously, he looks at me and yells. Like, “MOM!!! CLOSE THE DOOR AND LEAVE ME ALONE! I’M DISTILLING CRANK IN HERE!”
I apologize to him, quickly grab the laundry out of the dryer and move on. I don’t want to be caught in between my cat and his methmaking.
Sometimes, I leave my windows open in my car and find Percy in the driver’s seat. He’s going to steal my keys and drive to Cranktown, I just know it. I don’t know where Cranktown is, but I bet Percy does. I bet he’s the Foursquare Mayor of Cranktown.
And I’ve mentioned this before, but during the blizzard, there were sets of kitty tracks going back and forth to the garage. And Percy still went in the garage, even when it was -13 and my car remained frozen even parked in there. I think he was dealing to the neighbor cats. I also think that maybe he’s got a deal with the ghetto birds, the choppers that circle my house from time to time. Perhaps they’re landing in my back yard and collecting the new batches for sale. My questions are: What does Percy do with all the cash? Why won’t he share? Does him bringing it in the house make me an accessory to the fact? Is cat meth different than people meth? Does he sell cat meth to humans? Do they then become cats?
What I’m afraid of is that the DEA will converge on my house and blame me for all that meth. And really, do you think they’ll believe me that Percy built it? Let this blog serve as my testament: I DO NOT have a meth lab. It’s my cat’s. Really.
I don’t think I’d believe me. And I also think maybe Nick and I watch too much television.
The Garish Chicken 