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A Matter of Consequence |
| Written by Trixie | |
| Friday, 30 May 2008 | |
 The call came one afternoon while I was at work. Something that I feared would ultimately happen. I left the office, racing home. As I got closer to my house, I found that I could not get down my street for the choke of police cars, emergency vehicles and the mob that had gathered in front of my house.
There he was; standing on the roof, threatening to jump. The angry mob below shook sticks, brooms and shovels and called out rude names. My dog had gotten himself in quite a pickle this time, and I felt certain that I could not help.
You see, it started innocently enough several years ago. My dog gradually began killing the neighborhood cats. His obsession, as it turned out, initiated with one taunting feline in our neighborhood. This was all it took to send him reeling over the edge. Once he found that he could easily finish that cat off without consequence, he started to methodically stalk his next victim and plan his next hit. Yes, my dog is a serial cat killer.
At first, my neighbors would attribute it to theft or a fatal accident on the highway nearby. Then it began: the grumbling of foul play and the probability that something vile was at hand. I promptly sold my house and found a new neighborhood, trying to convince my dog that it was a new start for both of us and that he would have to leave the new neighborhood cats alone.
The new neighborhood initially did not appear to have many cats. However, after several months of living there, they began to appear. Dread overwhelmed me and I would come home from work every day searching for evidence of a hit. Eventually and inevitably, one of the neighborhood cats came up missing. It was the fat Siamese cat that sat at the bottom of his driveway every night, licking his paws. A harmless cat that minded his own business and did not deserve the torture and end that was dealt him. Then another cat went missing, and another, until I pleaded with my dog to get it under control.
Eventually, they found his burial ground, containing tiny cat bones and skulls hidden in shallow graves. The Engineer that lives in the big house on the cul-de-sac put up a motion detecting camera and caught him red handed dragging one of his victims to the area. It was undoubtedly the end of my dog's methodical killing spree.
That day, the mob came to my house much like Frankenstein's mob, wanting to tear him apart. You can't blame them. They do not know my dog as I know him and to them he simply appeared to be a monster out of control.
But, you see in his mind it was justified. The cats' innate selfishness and clever mockery of my dog were reason enough to strike out at them. He felt that he was scarred for life by the brutal denigration and ridicule he has suffered at the hands of the cats.
When I got to the house, I pleaded with him to come down, to turn himself in, that there may still be a chance for some redemption. The mob threatened to burn the house if he would not come down. He relented and was taken into custody by animal control.
Now he sits in the dog pound prison in an 8X8 cell with no dog run. I visit him on Thursdays and Saturdays. They sentenced him to ten years of hard time. He is filing an appeal. Copyright 2008 Trixie |
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 30 May 2008 ) |
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