Note: I do not own CATS or Felidae
Chapter one: Homecoming Gift
This tale is not a pretty one. I'd recommend that any human with a weak stomach stop reading now.
Human? Yes, that is correct. I am not human. I am a cat. The name is Mistofelees. I am a black and white tuxedo tom and several weeks ago began the most exciting (and dangerous) adventure of my life.
It all began when my human, Gustav, moved for the sixth time. Even though he at one point studied ancient Egypt hieroglyphics, Gustav pays the bills by writing romance novels. When they don't sell, we move somewhere cheaper.
I personally hate to move. Getting acquainted to the new sights and smells of a new neighborhood, plus the fact that you never get to make any long lasting friendships. And as the neighborhoods have been getting poorer, the chance of having an intelligent conversation slipped too.
Anyway, the first view of our new house as I jumped out of the car was not reassuring. The house looked like something out of the eighteen hundreds. The paint was peeling, the wood was rotting and, for some reason, was three stories high. I mean it was just a house.
"Isn't it beautiful, Misto?" Gustav grinned, arms piled with suitcases as he stumbled towards the door.
I wrinkled my nose as I followed him, thinking beautiful was not the word I'd use. Dump, more likely.
Fumbling with the key, Gustav pushed open the door. I slunk inside, to be greeted by the shady, musty interior of the house. The dust was an inch thick on every piece of furniture. I swished my white tipped tail; this place would take some getting used to.
"You go explore the place, bud," Gustav grunted, dumping two of the suitcases onto the ground. "I'll get our stuff situated."
After he left the room, I started sniffing around. Most of the smells were just the typical odors of an ancient house, but suddenly a different odor hit me like a ton of bricks. It smelled like a veterinary clinic and a nuclear waste.
I followed the smell to the staircase. The smell was definitely coming from upstairs. I decided, however, to explore that later. Instead I headed for the kitchen.
"Hey Misto," Gustav smiled as I entered the room. "Your food is on the mat and your litter box is in the corner."
I showed my appreciation by purring and rubbing up against his leg. Then I hopped up onto the kitchen counter to peer out the open window. A small porch was visible, below which was a beautiful green-brown garden.
That was when I saw him. Sitting on the porch, was a rumpled black and gold main coon, squinting out into the yard. My first instinct was to hiss, to defend my turf, but then I realized that for the past few years, this house had probably been his turf. So I merely, hopped out of the window and sidled up next to him.
He didn't even glance over. I leaned over to look at him and gasped. His left paw was horribly deformed, lacking fur and much smaller than his others. I was just about to cough and try to get his attention, when I happened to spot out of the corner of my eye, the thing he was looking at.
Sprawled out on the lawn, next to a large oak tree, was the body of a cat, blood split all over the grass. Shocked, I leapt down and cautiously approached. The silver tabby was definitely dead, his eyes glassy and blank, throat slit deeply. My heart filled with sympathy, for there was nothing I could do.
"Must've been a can opener."
I jumped; the main coon had snuck up behind him and was sharpening his claws on the oak.
"Pardon me?" I asked.
"I said it must've been a can opener," he growled the tom, digging his claws in deeper. "It's just like them. Get a new ice pick and test it out on poor old Munkustrap instead of the ice."
Something clicked in my head.
"Oh, you mean a human?" I said.
"Yeah," he sniffed, yanking his claws out, "a stupid human, whose only useful skill is opening our dinner cans. And Munkustrap is the fourth one this month."
I was stunned.
"There have been other murders in this neighborhood?" I managed to gasp.
The mane coon chuckled and turned to me.
"You must be new to the neighborhood," he smirked. He glanced towards the house. "Taking over that dump are you? Interesting place. I go in there for a piss occasionally."
Ignoring this comment, I took a closer look at the body. There was a familiar odor on it, but that wasn't what interested me.
"A human didn't do this," I told him, "His throat has been shredded, not cut."
The mane coon took a closer look at the body. He gave a shrug and started to walk off. But then he stopped and barked, "Hey smarty-pants, what do they call you?"
Taken a back, I replied, "Mistofelees."
"Mistofelees," he mused, then snorted and slunk off.