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Saffy and Mat

Mat my white tabby with black markings is the sweetest, best-behaved cat; in the morning when I open my eyes he’s curled around the top of my head like a fur hat. The other night I heard a commotion in my room, and when I looked in my three cats were all acting casual but the closet door was open. “What’s going on?” I asked, and they looked away or started grooming themselves as if they didn’t know what I was talking about.

Obviously something had gone on because there were drops of blood beside the closet, though the trail ended by the door. “Have you been fighting?” I demanded, and inspected each one: I didn’t notice any cuts or wounds, although Koosi fled and leapt to the top of the bookshelf and Mat had a spot of blood on his paw. I’ve never seen a mouse in my apartment, but I inspected my room in case the cats had killed a mouse. Nada. I wiped off the blood but didn’t scrub the floor since the cleaner was arriving the following morning anyway.

At two in the morning I was reading in bed when I noticed Mat sniffing the floor where the blood trail had been. Then he got very excited; if he could talk he would’ve said “Yeah! I Am Cat!” Then he started running around the house, leaping onto tables and chairs and looking thrilled. I think he was celebrating having killed something or at least drawn blood. I have to remind myself that I live with natural-born killers.