THE CAT MURDERER

Chapter Two - What's at Stake

CHERRY GROVE - 6:21 PM

When I finally got home that evening, my parents were already waiting for me at the dinner table. My dad, Dan, sat on one end and my mom, Jennifer, sat on the other. My dad was a tall and thin man in all of his features. His short ginger hair came to a point above his forehead in a quiff, which accentuated his receding hairline. He had a long and narrow nose, and he had long and narrow arms and legs. Whenever I was little, I used to say he looked like a green bean. My mother had round and soft features, except for her perky nose. I felt like that described her personality as a whole. She had straight brown hair and she was petite; at the time I was only an inch taller than her.

I sat down at the table between the two of them, not saying anything. I began to help my plate from the dish of lasagna at the center of the table as they continued their conversations about their days at work; my dad at the middle school, and my mom at the law firm. Underneath the table, I felt my cat, a black Devon Rex named Milo, rubbing affectionately against my legs. Family dinner was also a fancy affair; my mom always made sure of that. The table was always set, silverware and all; the food was presented neatly at the center of the table, and there was a glass water pitcher for us to help ourselves from. She said that it was the only meal of the day where all four of us were together, so she wanted it to be nice. On holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and Easter Sunday, she really pulled out the stops.

My dad helped himself to more lasagna as I pushed mine around on my plate. I gazed off into space, poking it with my fork.

My mom stared at me in concern as she ate. "Sweetheart, what's the matter? You've barely touched your food."

I snapped out of my daze. "Oh. Nothing, Mom. I'm fine." I immediately started eating to try and give her that impression. My dad took a sip of his water as he and my mom glanced at each other, seeing through my facade.

Dad cleared his throat and said, "You know, if you're gonna be lifting all those weights, you better eat like you mean it, son." It was obvious that he was trying to lighten the mood. I didn't respond. Mom coughed aggressively and gave him a pointed look.

He sighed, seeming to give in. "I, uh, heard about the police showing up at Agatha Gresky's house today, and you were the one who called. Is...uh...everything alright?"

At that point, I figured that I had no choice but to tell them what happened, even though they were the last people I wanted to tell about it. "Oh! Yeah, um..." My words came out in an awkward stutter. I paused to take a sip of water and they stared at me in anticipation. The whole room seemed to lean in to listen. "Her cat...um...her cat got killed. By someone. It was pretty messed up."

Dad was astonished. "Somebody killed her cat?"

I looked down and interlocked my fingers. "Yeah. We're pretty sure."

"Are you sure it wasn't some kind of animal?" Mom asked me, to my annoyance.

"That's what Chief Stoney said, but they didn't even look into it. They just kinda brushed the whole thing aside." I mumbled downtroddenly.

As soon as I uttered the words "Chief Stoney," my whole comment was immediately dismissed. "Well, the police know what they're doing, honey, so I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"But, what if there's something go on?" I argued, a ring of apprehension in my voice. "I mean, shouldn't they at least check it out? What about Milo--?"

"Milo is an inside cat, so I'm sure that nothing bad will happen to him." Dad interrupted, ineffectively trying to diffuse my anxiety.

"You weren't there. You didn't see it." I muttered through gritted teeth, a bitter mix of anger and stubbornness starting to come to a boil in my stomach. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing, and they'll probably do it again."