Profile of a Cat Killer.

I knew this guy. He lived down the hall from me when I lived in this rat infested tenement building in Minneapolis. He was an odd bird this guy. Had two cats. They made that mean old bastard feel at ease. Ironically, I suspect they made him feel a bit more in touch with the world too. Only damn thing on this earth he truly loved.

Sometimes I’d pick up cat food for him, drop it off, he’d pay me, then the door would shut without a word. A few dimes in the karma bank never hurt anyone.

One morning, one mean motherfuckin Minnesota winter morning, I awoke to some commotion down the hall. Got up, threw on some long johns and peaked out my front door. The man was being hauled away by two burly cops, firmly handcuffed, pissed off as ever. Was strange. Mean as he was, I never figured him for a felon or a sex offender. And that was the last I ever saw of him.

That Friday I was down at the front desk paying my rent and I asked the landlord what was up. I’ll never forget the look that came over her face, as she put her hand over her eyes and told me the story. She said that he had been in the building for decades. She suspected that as the years passed the cats had become his only friends. He never left his place, never attempted to.

She said she'd done her best to fit the pieces together, and from it all this is what she'd observed. Despite his love for those cats, every 6 or 7 years he began to secretly look forward to the death of one. As he perpetually had two, there was always another to keep him company...


He enjoyed the trip to the humane society, the way the hostess greeted him, thanked him for his generosity, sheltering a stray and the like. It made him feel grounded and human. He enjoyed bringing a new member into his family, and watching them grow up and take on a personality all their own. Always unique, always fascinating. But without fail this fascination would always wear off. Slowly erode away until all that was left was contempt, as the cats would grow into those aloof, independant hunters that they are. So eventually he found himself slipping tiny amounts of arsenic into his cats meals. Just a very tiny amount, enough to have them slowly get sick, so he could once enjoy the feeling of their dependance on him, shaving a few years off their life. He enjoyed the last few months especially, that feeling of being desperately needed by him, in those final weeks before their death. And eventually…his cats were dieing every two weeks.

The girl from the front desk had been doing grocery runs for him. She became suspicious when for two years straight he ordered nothing but kitten food, and she noticed the cats that met her at the door were different every time. She gave into her curiosity, and being the landlord, demanded that she be let inside his apartment for an impromptu inspeciton. And when he let her in, she saw it. There. In the corner it stood.

What it was…I’m not really sure. Cause over the past few sentences I ran out of steam. So fuck you. Go read some pro bloggers bloggery about political scandals, or the war, or how “Survivor” Guam is wrapping up. I got nothing on those guys. Lower your expectations of me. You watch too much damn TV as it is. Reading more would do you good. I’m tired. Good night.

And god speed.