I still remember it like it was yesterday. In the early '70s, Purrr was flooding Chicago’s streets with illicit catnip bars. An epidemic that threatened to turn the city into a feline frenzy. My informant tipped me off that Purrr was operating in the U.S., hiding behind the alias "John Purrrston“, to cover his tracks.
Purrr was dealing in staggering quantities. Heavy, highly concentrated catnip bars that far surpassed anything the streets had seen before. We estimated he was moving at least 20 tons a year. The scene was chaos: streets littered with cats high on his potent product, staggering, clawing at the air, completely out of control. Law enforcement had no choice but to round them up, tossing them into sobriety cells. The crisis was so bad we had to set up tents and makeshift facilities just to handle the surge.
The rumors were that the mob had hired Purrr, paying him in massive amounts of high-grade cat treats he kept hidden in a secret downtown hideout, heavily guarded by armed men. Despite relentless raids and surveillance, his stash was never recovered. He managed to smuggle the treats out of the country just before we closed in.
It took me and twenty battle-hardened men to finally crack the case. After countless hours of relentless investigation, we uncovered that Purrr was smuggling the catnip on ships from Colombia, cleverly concealed among sacks of coffee beans. The refined, concentrated product was then processed in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
Just as we closed in for the takedown, Purrr slipped through our fingers, getting a tip just minutes before we stormed the warehouse. To this day, I don’t know who betrayed us. Purrr had informants planted everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were inside my own ranks. Someone sold us out, and he knew it.
Next time, I swear I’ll find him! That ruthless, elusive furball won’t outrun justice forever! And when I do, he’ll wish he’d never crossed my path!