Fiesta the Omen

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I have an evil kitten.

Oh sure, she’s adorable.  But looks can be deceiving.

She’s like Rebecca DeMornay in “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle”:  Beautiful and seemingly innocent, but harboring a secret, evil plan.

Fiesta is a pretty gray and white calico with white paws and bright yellow eyes.  She was easily the prettiest of the litter, but somehow ended up being the only one that no one else wanted.    We hadn’t even named her like we had the others, and had to scramble for a name when we realized she was ours to keep.

Before Fiesta, we were a happy three-pet home.  There was Snickers, the neurotic Blue Heeler suffering from PTSD.   Callie was a beautiful orange/black/white calico who would come running like a dog when she was called.  She was a lady, dignified and gracious to all.  Her brother Melvin was a big orange tomcat with a bit of a personality disorder and a definite sense of entitlement.

Then came Fiesta.

Snickers hates her.  Snick has always tolerated other cats, but she snaps and snarls at Fiesta.  My husband and I scold her for it, but I think she’s just listening to her animal instincts and warning us of a threat in our presence.

One by one, Fiesta is eliminating her competition.  Oh, she’s sneaky about it.  Makes it look like coincidence.  But I know better.

Callie vanished first, late last fall.  In the four years leading up to that night, she rarely strayed farther than the woods behind our house.  She might cross the road, but for the most part she was a true homebody.  One of our neighbors informed us that Callie often crossed the street to nap in his yard on sunny days.

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When she disappeared, we searched up and down our street but found no sign of her.  We ruled out her having been hit by a car because we would have found her body if that had happened.  We questioned our neighbor, but he hadn’t seen her.

We finally decided that she had either been snatched up by coyotes, or taken by one of our neighbors returning to Illinois at the end of the summer.   Either way, she was gone and we comforted ourselves by spreading our love among the remaining pets.

Melvin was next.

We didn’t notice right away, because Melvin often vanished for days at a time.  I began to get nervous after four days, because Melvin was my cat, my special baby.  He was a grumpy old grouch, but he was mine.

Just like Callie, he was gone without a trace.  No body to be found, which means he wasn’t hit by a car.  We’ve asked all of our neighbors if they’ve discovered an extra orange cat prowling their land, but no luck.

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He’s just gone.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried over Melvin.  Fiesta jumped into my lap and coyly licked my face as if to dry my tears.  She went prrrt and then curled up into a smug little ball and dozed off.

I swear she was smiling.

I felt the first cold fingers of suspicion invade my mind at that point.  She was just a little too accepting of things, if you ask me.  I know she’s an animal and all, but she seemed awfully ready to move on.

Snickers had an “accident” in the living room last night, her first in the five years we have had her.  I think Fiesta is behind it.  I don’t know how, but I am sure that sweet little cat is framing the dog so that we’ll get rid of her, leaving Fiesta to have the family to herself.

I just hope she doesn’t feel threatened by the children.

Or me.

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