Cat Gifts

It all started last Thursday. I remember, because that was the day I found out about the serial killer on the news. I was sitting on my couch, watching the local head of police announce that there’s a serial killer in town, so be on high alert.

“High alert?!” I shouted at the TV. “What good is that going to do? I’m a 66-year-old woman living alone. No amount of alertness is going to stop a murderer, I’m easy pickings!”

That’s when I heard the clawing at the front door. My heart jumped inside my chest. I swear I could have died right then and there from a heart attack.

Was this the serial killer? Did he hear me announce that I’m easy pickings and then beeline to my door? Note to self, don’t announce you’re easy pickings with a serial killer on the loose… If I died from a heart attack before opening the door, would the serial killer be attributed with the kill? Or would I technically have died of natural causes? A great question for a philosophy class—

Focus up, Olivia! The detective said to be on high alert and you’ve already lost focus! You’re low-to-mid-alert at best!

I tiptoed to the door.

More clawing.

I looked through the peephole, but nobody was there.

It must have been the wind—wind doesn’t gouge at the wood!

More clawing. I felt the door vibrating against my palm.

I opened the door and saw white. I was taken aback by how much snow was falling. It was beautiful. The soft, impeccably white kind of snow that drifted and spiraled, taking the long way down.

“AH!”

A sharp pain in my leg jolted me backwards. I felt blood dripping down to my ankle.

I looked down. Sitting at my doorstep was the largest cat I have ever seen. By miles. It must have been 60, maybe 70 pounds. Impossibly massive. Solid dark grey coat, with glowing yellow eyes that ensnared your attention and never let go.

A rat’s severed head fell from the cat’s mouth and plopped to the ground.

Luckily, I knew all about this gesture. I’ve had many cats in my life. Severed heads are a common “gift” from cats to humans. Of course, cats don’t know how repulsive this is. In the feline world, severed rat heads are generous gifts. Like a $500 gift card to Bloomingdales.

But still, I shrieked at the decapitated rat head. It was a reflex.

The cat tilted its head as if to say “you don’t like it? I put a lot of effort into getting that rat head.”

“No I love it,” I responded. “I just wasn’t expecting rat cranium today, that’s all. But now that it’s here on my doorstep, I am ecstatic!”

It would be rude to say anything otherwise and this was not a cat you wanted to insult. One aggravating gesture from me and I was pretty sure this cat would leap up and claw my face off. And I’ve seen the damage this cat can do with its claws…

In return, I left out some old cat food that I had leftover from my previous cats. I shouldn’t have done that.

###

At 3am the next morning I woke up to more clawing at my front door. Louder this time and higher pitched, creating a screeching noise like nails on a chalkboard, attacking my consciousness. I opened the door. I had to. I couldn’t listen to that clawing anymore.

The creaking door revealed my feline friend, once again, with another gift. Out of his mouth dropped a finger.

A human finger! A Rolex in the feline world.

“I appreciate these gifts,” I said to the cat, “I really do, but you’re overdoing it. This is too much…”

She hissed at me. I’m calling her a “she,” but really I have no idea and I have no intention of getting close enough to find out.

She was not happy with my rejection of the finger. She kept hissing and hissing and it terrified me.

“Okay, okay, I’m taking the finger...” I picked up the finger and the hissing stopped. “Thank you so much…”

The monstrous cat scurried off.

What was I supposed to do with this finger? In hindsight, yes, I probably should have called the police, but at the time, that didn’t seem like a good idea. What was I supposed to say, “hey, a cat just left a human finger on my doorstep, maybe you should go door-to-door and see if anyone is missing an appendage…” What good would that do? I’m not a surgeon, but I’m fairly confident that you can’t reconnect this finger, it’s been gnawed on at the base.

And besides, it’s just a pinky. Easily the least important of all fingers. Even if I did find out the owner of this pinky, and called them up I feel like they’d throw up their nine-fingered-hands and say “ah, forget it, just keep it.”

So I placed the finger in a jar and placed it on my mantel.

I refilled the empty cat bowl outside and went back to sleep.

###

That very night I opened the door to the bloody entrails of a human spleen. A 2022 used Cadillac with under 30k miles in the feline world.

“Okay enough is enough, cat! A spleen is where I draw the line! The owner would actually want this back!”

If they’re even alive.

I Googled, “can you live if a monster cat rips out your spleen?” and the AI overview was not good. Not good at all.

Shit. Now what do I do?

I considered calling the police again. But if I called the police then I would have to start from the beginning. I would have to tell them about the jar on my mantel labeled “finger.” Yes, I labeled it. I have a very nice label maker that I really enjoy so of course I’m going to use it. But yeah, I would have to explain why I didn’t report the finger and after re-visiting my reasoning, I’m not sure my logic would suffice. In fact, I think it would make me look suspicious.

What to do with the spleen…

If I threw it in the garbage, it could be traced back to me. With a serial killer on the loose and a spleen gone amiss, I was certain detectives would be searching the trash and then I would have to explain why I didn’t report the finger or the spleen, and that’s certainly not going to go over well.

I concluded that the best thing to do was put this spleen in a jar in my freezer. Not only would that preserve the spleen in case the person with the missing spleen shows up (imagine if they showed up and I’m like “oh sorry I threw it out…”), it’s also another reason to use my label maker. It’s such a neat label maker, I’m telling you. It has a full keyboard, with these mushy keys that are delightful and satisfying to push. I’m ashamed to admit this, I really am, but sometimes I press the keys for fun without any intent of printing a label.

I refilled the empty cat bowl outside and went back to sleep.

###

Today’s present was a human heart. A Hamptons summer house in the feline world.

“Okay I’m calling it quits, Tracy!,” I call her Tracy, I have to call her something. “Not only do I not want any more gifts from you, I want you to never come back again!

“Then why do you keep leaving food out?,” asked Tracy. I could have had a heart attack again. This wasn’t extrapolated from a head-tilt. This actually came out of her mouth. I heard the cat speak!

But I couldn’t argue with Tracy all day, I had things to do! A new label to make! A new jar to open, place a heart inside, close and then put on my mantel! God, I was so excited to make this label.

Why did I keep leaving food out?

I refilled the empty cat bowl outside and went back to sleep.

###

The next morning I woke up to a texture, not a sound. Wetness. Blood. I propped myself up on my pillows to get a better look.

Scattered around my bed were human body parts - the remaining ones. Legs, eyes, feet, hands, a head and organs I couldn’t name, but looked important. A buffet of body.

What a haul! Well my day just filled up… It’s nice to have things to do instead of just sitting on my butt all day watching TV. I had to clear freezer space for the legs and feet, go to the store to buy more jars, including a larger one for the head, I have to replace the cartridge for my label maker, and lastly, change my sheets.

So many labels, so many labels to make. So much fun.

I refilled the empty cat bowl outside and went back to sleep.

###

That very night I woke up to pounding on the door. Aggressive, urgent.

I wonder what the cat dragged in today… Ha! I make myself laugh.

Today must be a new body and we get to do the process all over again. An intestine? A head perhaps? I hoped it was an intestine, that would require more keys to be pushed on the label maker. No, I hoped it was a butt, then I’d get to type gluteus maximus. No, even better, I just Googled this and there’s something called a Sternocleidomastoid muscle. I hoped it was that.

Don’t get greedy, Olivia, you get what you get and you don’t get upset!

On my way down the steps I felt 50 years younger. It was Christmas morning and my giddy excitement brought me back to my childhood. I was just as excited for my presents then, as I am now.

I opened the door and men in uniforms burst in, tackling me to the ground.

I immediately knew what this was about. A dreadful mixup has taken place.

“No! It’s the cat you want! The cat did it! Tracy! Ask her yourself, she’ll tell you! She can talk!”

I pleaded and pleaded, but they wouldn’t listen. They ignored me like I was crazy. A man in a uniform quickly spotted the jars on my mantel. The head, eyes, spleen, fingers etc. There were more jars than I remembered. Another officer checked my freezer.

“The cat brought those! The cat brought those! I just labeled them. Is it a crime to label things?! I think not!”

They dragged me outside. I was struck by the snow. Impeccably white snow.

There was a crowd of onlookers on both sides of my driveway. Reporters too, taking pictures and filming.

“If we all work together we can find Tracy she must be around somewhere!” Nobody moved.

An officer lowered my head and shoved me into the police car. Through the window, I noticed the strangest thing by my front door.

An overflowing cat bowl. Five meals worth, at least.