My name’s Simon, and four of my cats have mysteriously died since we moved to the new house. Well three were just kittens, not yet a year old. And the cause of their deaths aren’t so mysterious, at least not to me. Mom and Richard say their deaths were accidents, the risk of letting cats play outside, but I know the truth. My cats were viciously murdered by a ruthless killer.
We moved to the new house a few years ago. I barely remember the old house, but Mom and Richard said they were tired of renting and that’s why we moved. Now they argue a lot about paying the mortgage, or whatever it’s called.
Richard’s like my dad, only I call him Richard. He’s been around since I can remember, but not since I was born. My real dad had to go to a hospital in another state to get better from drugs. I haven’t seen him since I was three. I don’t even know what he looks like, and Mom never talks about him, except on the phone sometimes with Calista. Mom calls him the spam donor, or something. I don’t know why she just doesn’t call him Steve.
But this story isn’t about Mom and Richard or Steve or even drugs, though I’m probably getting sidetracked because I didn’t take my pill this morning. I don’t have to on Saturdays. There’s no school.
This story is about the assassin cat that lives next door and how I plan to take him out before he kills again.