Archive for September 13th, 2011

13th September
2011
written by amber

Beware of Cat

The body was in the living room – naked, oozing blood from a dozen, or perhaps a baker’s dozen, stab wounds.

“The wife’s waiting for you in the kitchen, sir,” they told me. “She’s a witness.”

The wife was tall, blond and covered with blood. A medic knelt in front of her, wrapping gauze around her hand.

“You’re wounded, ma’am?” I asked. Well, that was obvious, but I just wanted to get the conversation going.

“I came home,” she blurted, “and I found a man in a balaclava stabbing my Steve. I tried to stop him.”

“He cut off her finger,” the medic told me.

“Can you sew it back on?” I asked.

“Can’t find it.”

“Did you see where it went, ma’am?” I asked her.

“No, I fainted. When I woke up, the man was gone, so was my Steve’s wallet and everything from our safe.”

When I’d entered the house, I’d seen the gaping metal door and the painting which had hidden it lying on the floor. “What did you have in there?”

“I don’t know exactly. Steve had stocks, and cash, and my jewelery, of course. He took care of all that.” She broke down, crying uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I have just one more question, then the gentleman here can give you a sedative or whatever you need. Do you have any idea why your husband would be naked in the middle of the day?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded a little miffed with me. “Maybe he was taking a bath or something.”

I decided not to point out that the man was not the least bit wet. I returned to the living room. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked my men.

They pointed up the spiral staircase. “But I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” one said.

“Why not?”

“Cat’s in there. We called animal control.”

“For a cat?” I bounded up the stairs, hearing, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” as I went.

I flung the door open. I flung the door closed, after glimpsing two things. First, the cat was some kind of big cat, spotted, snarling, blood around the muzzle. Second, there was no water in the tub.

I came back down the staircase, told my men. “Get that kittie to an animal ER, get the stomach pumped.”

“Why?” they asked me.

“The cat bit someone. You see any bite marks on the victim?”

They shook their heads.

“So, it bit the perp,” I elaborated.

“Balaclava guy.”

“No, the wife. Robbers don’t stab like that, lovers do. You’ll find her finger inside the cat. Anyone want to bet against me?”

They shook their heads.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story posted every day on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line suggestions in the Comment section.