Tag Archives: Cats making meth

How to Dismantle Your Cat’s Meth Lab

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.

Percy Leonard Katt

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.

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It’s the end of the Blizz as we know it

… and I feel FINE. Beyond fine, really. Drove home tonight after spending the night in the Hyatt Regency in downtown Tulsa due to the Winter Storm of Impending DOOOOOOM :O

The morning came too quickly after too many Stella Artois, but who’s counting? I was drinking on a weeknight! I am naughty!

I walked to work this morning in the blizzard. It was probably the coldest morning I’ve felt ever, but I didn’t really feel it because I was jacked up on coffee and eggs. We had breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant and I must’ve had me about 15 cups of coffee. I make my own coffee every morning, and it’s strong enough to skin a mule, so I don’t have to drink much. And there isn’t a guy bringing me more (I MUST work on that). I was in caffeine buzz heaven and I got a lot of shit done early.

It was fun getting out of my well-worn comfort zone. My former roommate, the Ex-Gay Husband, came by in the middle of the night to let Leon out to Do His Thang. That meant I didn’t come home to shitpiles! Hurrah! Despite my near-psychosis about leaving Leon alone, it all worked out. The cats did construct and detonate an atom bomb, but that’s not important right now.

I’m really stupid tired. But it’s a beautiful night here in T-Town. The sun shined for a few hours, though it’s colder than Billy Blue Blazes, as my mom used to say, but it’s nice to be home. I’m going to settle in with some somewhat homemade food, “Breaking Bad: Season 2” and my dog. Probably a few cats, too, though I don’t want them to watch “Breaking Bad.” I’m pretty sure Percy has his own meth lab in a shady corner of my garage. I started believing more today when I got home and there were several sets of tiny kitten tracks in the snow leading to my garage. My cats don’t go out — you tell me what’s going on.

I think life will start getting back to normal, so be prepared to read more posts borne out of boredom. They’ll probably be more structured, and contain more somewhat-real stories about my family, such as my brother-in-law Justin who adores Little People.

Peace out for tonight, homeslices, and stay warm, unless you’re in Florida (I’m talking to YOU, Natalie.) You guys can get sunburned for all I care. Motherbitches.

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