Tag Archives: Drug Enforcement Administration

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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Filed under Brain Disorders, General Nonsense, Pets

Five signs your dog is on crack cocaine

I came home today and realized that Leon, my blue heeler/lab-type dog is probably on drugs. How do I know this?

Leon Russell in the snow

Don't let that sweet-boy look fool you. He's doing crack cocaine, and you can't tell me otherwise.

He’s pretty subtle about it, but with my trained journalistic mind, I’ve got it figured out from these five telltale signs.

5. He doesn’t eat his food until the next day. I know that usage of crack cocaine makes people less hungry. I always fill his bowl up, then he stares at it for a minute and goes back to the couch. He eats it while I’m at work, or is possibly selling it for more crack.

4. He thinks the squirrels are after him. He demands to go chase the squirrels off of the back fence, fiendishly whimpering out the back door, then taking off like a shot to rid the yard of squirrels. Either the squirrels are with the DEA, or they’re selling bad shit. Or the paranoia is making him crazy.

3. He steals. I’m sure of it. I know for a FACT that Percy, my male tuxedo cat, has a meth lab in the garage, so why is it out of the realm of possibility that Leon steal money out of my purse? I never have any cash. Who else would do it? I know I didn’t spend it all on Diet Coke and Taco Bueno.

2. He’s moody. I get home from work, and he freaks the fuck out for like 10 minutes, licking and spinning, then retreats to his spot on the couch. I know I’m boring, but does the excitement wear off that quickly?

1. He needs to “go outside” at odd hours of the night. After I’ve taken my bedtime sleepy medicine (thank you, makers of Tylenol PM,) and my senses are dulled thanks to its liver-damaging powers, he immediately scampers to the back door, demanding to be let out. I know there aren’t squirrels out that late (unless they’re covert squirrels… curiouser and curiouser…) and even the mention of the phrase “go outside” makes him slobber a little. Pavlov’s dog, my ass. Pavlov’s crack addict is more like it.

I don’t know what to do about this. Do you think they “Dog Intervention” would be a good show for A&E? And if you take this idea and run for it, I’ll turn my crack-addled dog and meth-making cat on you.

Oh, the carnage. There will be blood.

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Filed under General Nonsense, Pets