Yes, I killed them all. They all had to die, one way or another. I am particularly proud of the number of lives lost because of my murderous intents. Unfortunately, I have since lost count because of this damned dementia.
Some of my fondest memories though still come back to me. There was this one family who were foraging out in the woodlands close by to the house. What perfect opportunity! Their faces when I pounced on them was an absolute picture. Naturally, I went for the parents first, so that the children were almost entirely defenseless. The little buggers scarpered, but I hunted them down like the evil bastard I am. It was all part of the fun.
You see, it all started as a morbid pleasure, but soon it evolved into a sport. It certainly helped keep these ageing bones and joints moving, and my mind active. I was never one to eat the remains though, heavens forbid no! I like my meat cooked to perfection.
Thank goodness that none of my family ever found out about my victims, at least I don’t think they did. I’m almost certain they would have said something. On top of that, I’ve never been linked to any of the murders, so as far as I’m concerned that makes me one of the best killers who ever lived, surely! Perhaps one of the fastest too - a quick snap of the old neck, perhaps followed by disembowelment, but only if I had a few minutes to spare.
My daily routine has always been fairly mundane. It hasn’t changed much over the years. Wake up, have breakfast, watch the day go by, leave the house, commit murder. It almost makes me wish I did more with my life if I had the ability to do so. But no matter, at least I got a lot of love from my family. They always made sure my dinner was ready for when I returned home. They never asked where I had been. Dinner was normally followed by a rewarding stretch on the comfy chair by the open fire in the winter, or the cane chair on the balcony facing the sun in the summer.
Tonight though is different. How careless of me to have run out into the road in the dead of night. My eyes and ears are not what they used to be. The car came out of nowhere, I swear! No, tonight I lie on a white bed, hooked up to all sorts of machinery that beeped in a particular rhythm, while other machinery pumped heavens know what kind of concoction of drugs into my bloodstream.
Surrounded by my loving family, I can feel life ebbing away from me. The internal bleeding is too much for this old body to take. The hunter has become the hunted, and now I have to accept my fate. Soon I will be greeted by all the spirits of those who I have maimed and tortured in some form or another.
At least I won’t have to wear this stupid collar anymore. This infernal bell has pestered me my whole life. And what kind of a name is “Mitsy” anyway? Bloody idiots. Still, I loved them all the same, and have done ever since they took me in. I’m giving my last few ounces of strength to purr for them as they tickled that one particular area under my chin that always made me go soft. I’ve lived a good life. A bloody, gut filled, murderous life, but a good one nonetheless.
© 2018 MattyRasker