At last, brilliant—the perfect crime executed! Today he will be gone. I heard them talking last night.

  “Poor thing. He just has to go.”

“Honey, don’t cry. It will be for the best.”

“Oh my heart is breaking… if only there was a solution, but I guess it’s the only way.”

“It’s just not the right time to have two kittens, dear, we’ll get over it.”

Ha! Am I good or what! Au Revoir mon cher Tigger. Tigger! What sort of name is that for such a pathetic member of the Great Cat Family. Were they trying to insinuate that this sickly, fur faded, stripes-gone-awry, mangy creature resembles THE TIGER, burning bright in his magnificence? The little worm has the eyes of a mouse, the courage of an ant, the body of a stunted mole.

Unlike, I, Bear, a real cat,  who am able to live up to my name. My fur shines black and sleek. My yellow eyes are honed to stealth and each rippling muscle poised to pounce and kill. 

The myth persists that animals are pure and innocent, whereas humans suffer from complex and deviant motives. But does not my heart beat with the same desires and passions that cursed the original Adam and Eve? Do I not love and covet and scheme and dream? Under my fur beats a heart wild with the same vagaries and impulses as you, human reader. And do I not collapse into ecstasy when my mother...the female human who feeds, brushes me, cleans my litter box, and clips my nails...then croons, pets, and cradles me saying, “Who is my lover boy? Who do I love? Who is gorgeous and beautiful and the best feline in the whole feline world? This is when I collapse onto my back—my chin, tummy, nether region properly exposed so they can be stroked and rubbed. And my automatic hum shifts into overdrive, as our two voices merge into a crescendo of mutual adoration. 

And do I not slink and pout and seethe with resentment and betrayal as they—and by they I will now include the human male who I don’t really think of as my father as he is so clueless that he barely knows which kibble I prefer and manages to stroke me absentmindedly with his huge awkward hands in the wrong direction! Suddenly, inexplicably, traitorously, they brought home that scrawny, mewing, miserable excuse for a sentient being into the house, saying “He will be such good company for Bear!”

Company! Is it company when all attention is diverted from me 24/7 to that good for nothing scumbag. The sickly thing was always terrified,  wouldn’t eat, and needed special vitamins for his fur.

“Oh, you poor baby,” crooned my mom, “yes, yes, there, there, little twinkle star of my heart, let       your mommy take good care of you. Oh don’t you worry little love button, yes you are the most beautiful, lovely loveliness in the whole feline world.”

“The whole feline world!” Wait a minute. Am a missing something? Can there be two best in-the-world felines? Does that add up? No, that is when a black blob entered my heart. It lay there sticky and stuck, a galling tumor of jealousy—spite spawning pure hatred. There were no two bests in the world. Best is one and that one is me! That rotten little shit-face had to go. And that is when I started to outline my perfect crime.  Perhaps my brain is smaller than a human's, but formed with the most potent strands of evolutionary DNA and perfected by years of scheming, it's as sharp as the tip of my claw.

First, Destruction. Everyday I carefully select one of mom’s favorite items—a shoe, a photo, her lovely embroidery work. Then I bite and tear and pull and mangle it to an almost unrecognizable condition and place it right where the little brat sleeps, and wait for the scream.

“Tigger! No, no! Naughty Baby. Oh dear, it’s totally ruined. Hon…look what Tig did!”

Yes, naughty, naughty indeed. Tigger will just have to learn to control his wild (tee hee) impulses.

Second, Vomit!  Tigger freaks at the sound of plastic bags rustling, a true scaredy-cat. So I wait until Tig has had his dinner and then chase him around and around waving a plastic bag in my mouth until he’s hopelessly sick and dizzy. Then I stop chasing him just when he’s landed on mom’s favorite area rug so he has a marvelous stinky throw-up right on the spot.

“Tigger! Oh dear. Not again. What on earth am I going to do with you. Hon….look what Tig did…

         again!”

Yes, poor baby cakes, what a disgusting habit you’ve (ha ha) developed!

Third, Shit. This was the hardest part as I have always been so fastidious in my habits and have never been known to have an accident. But that was just the point. Who else would deposit little turds in  mom and dad's bed (of all places!) and for good measure a nice spray of piss, leaving them with a humungus laundry problem.

“Tigger! How could you! No! No! Bad kitten, very, very bad. Hon! You’ll never believe

          what Tig did  —the second  time this week!”

Tigger, what a filthy, dirty, disgusting (chuckle, chuckle) creature you are!

So here we are driving the rotten pooper back to the shelter. Of course they had to put me in the car with him, his dear companion, so he wouldn’t be freaked for the car ride. They think I calm him down! Unlike wimpy here I enjoy a robust drive, a slight breeze ruffling through my pet carrier, the scent of life wafting about. If only the little meow-er would quit his sniveling. How’s he going to find a new home with that attitude? Are we there yet? I can't wait to get the pesky scumbag out of my life.

Ah, at last. Ugh, I can smell that clammy shelter. Can’t stand all those dogs barking and that horrible disinfectant stuff stinks. Do they really need to take me in there too? Can’t I just wait in the car? Wait a minute, wait a minute, why are they taking me and leaving the little pisser in the car? And why is mom lifting me out of my carrier, tears in her eyes saying, “Oh Bear, don’t worry, you’ll find a wonderful home. You are charming, bright, gorgeous. No one can resist you.”
 

What is she saying? My god, she’s starting to sob, “It’s because Tigster needs one on one attention. The doctor says his condition could be life threatening. We can’t possibly give him the care he needs with two cats. Bear! Bear! Good Bear! No Scratching!”

No scratching! What does she expect me to do when these big burly hands lift me up. Oh my god! He's leading me to a horrible rusty cage—arhhhh—help! Mom…mom! Where are you going! You've got the wrong ...hissssss….yuk…is that blood on my claws? Mom…come back! It's me. Your precious Bear...your one and only....yeow.....your clever....meo.....ow....fuck off you thug! Mom...don't leave me....it's me...your one and only....supreme, brilliant creator....grrrrrrr...of the ....per......fect....hissssss....yeo---ow.....crime!

2013