Well, it seems the DEA have taken my neighbor for an indefinite stay at some detention center or other. I remain cautiously gleeful. "Gleeful" because he wasn't nice to my guest cats and because he had unsavory types banging in and out of my building in all of the wee-est of the wee hours. "Cautious" because he might come back. I have since spoken to other people in my building, one of whom went out on the morning of the raid to move his car, and apparently there were some 15 body-armored DEA types surrounding the building. I feel for the guy or two who got stuck with the duty at the back of the building where there is no pavement, only blackberry thickets, a rather sudden drop-off to the highway below, and squelchy raccoon turds in-between.
Since then I have heard several people approach the building and key in the now-obsolete entry code, only to be met with "entry de (wait for it) nied." I keep wanting to sing out a "he's in jail" response to the tune of "Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah," but so far I've managed to restrain myself. The body armor lingers in my mind: body armor suggests the notion that our guy had weapons. Of the variety that require body armor. Which suggests the possibility that his bosom buddies are also packing heat. I'm not quite brave enough to taunt drug users who are (a) potentially armed, and (b) needing a next hit. There is a crabbiness quotient here reaching into the lethal zone, and I'm really more of a duck-and-covergirl.
So until I know that neighbor Shady McDealsSomeDrugs is truly gone for good, I'm outfitting the guest cats with wee little flak jackets and hunkering down behind my sofa to sing the Nyah Nyah song quietly to myself.