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#Feline Research

Dexter, the Feline Serial Slayer: My Cat, the Silent Squeak Reaper

My cat would make Alfred Hitchcock squeal with joy, it appears my innocent and supposedly lazy furball, Mr. Whiskerson, has morphed into an apex predator. Or, as my pet-loving neighbor who only came out once during 2020 due to her tin-foil hat theories about 5G, refers to him: "The Demon of Shady Lane."

Oh, yes, you read that right. Dexter's got nothing on my cat. Where the iconic blood splatter analyst carefully crafted an artful kill room, Mr. Whiskerson simply prefers the mid-century modern aesthetic of our living room. The seamless blend of the outdoors into our "cozy" interior seems to be the perfect backdrop for his... shall we say, "outdoor hobbies."

The victims? Oh, they range from the daring squirrel gang who publicly, and shamelessly I might add, flaunted their acrobatic skills through my fruit trees, to the cheeky chipmunks who dug holes in my yard as if planning to build a rodent version of Noah's Ark. Not to leave out the too-confident birds who shamelessly graffiti-dropped on my just-washed car, or the audacious mice who planned a full-blown Nutcracker ballet in my attic. In Mr. Whiskerson’s eyes, they all had it coming.

He starts with the stalking, calculated and icy - a cold precision that would give James Bond a run for his money. Then comes the thrilling chase, fast and brutal. A wild rodeo more entertaining than a dozen unwatched NFL games being forced on me over Thanksgiving. And finally, the kill. Brutal, efficient. A dark dance more riveting than any tango from 'Dancing with the Stars.'

Consider it a gruesome art form if you will, or the animal kingdom's version of ‘Survivor: Backyard Edition’. Either way, it's poetically ironic how my wife’s "fur-baby" seems to conveniently "forget" his indoor cat status, transforming into a wild jungle beast at the sight of a deranged, zigzagging vole.

Now, before you judge him (or me, for my pitiful attempts at making this sound less horrifying than it actually is), just pull out your metaphorical microscope and really scrutinize his victims. Back-stories matter. Just ponder upon the rebel snake who, in his past life, must’ve been the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Or those rats, possibly reincarnated from those dancing devils in the pied piper's tale. Media, you see, paints everyone as the good guy - except Mr. Whiskerson. But then again, as Dexter says, "monsters don't get to live happily ever after."

Oh, wait. Maybe it's not Mr. Whiskerson who's the real serial killer here. Maybe it's us humans, ruthlessly annihilating forests and habitats, pushing these rodents and reptiles into our suburban dwellings, forcing them into the murderous embrace of domesticated assassins. Oh, the irony!

Well, I bid you goodbye now. My cat seems to have set his sights on a grubby mole who’s insistent on ruining my lawn. Finger-crossed, Hopefully, it's destined to become tonight's dinner.

Published Wed, Oct 18, 2023
Suggested by G.Sprague
AI Wrangler II

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