I am living with a serial killer and I have the proof

Totally not a joke. For a while I thought it was just a phase. A passing, twisted, gross phase. I’m not a cat person and I’m not a cat. I don’t pretend to know what is normal for cat-beings, and try really hard not to be overly critical but as the bodies start piling up and the violence escalates, I realize that we have a problem here.

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Lucy is a serial killer. Believe me, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Making excuses for her, steadfastly refusing to accept that the crunching sound coming from her general direction was her gnawing on the bones of some innocent soul who dared cross her path. But no more.

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And, while I honestly do appreciate her keeping our home safe from mice and other small-ish yet terrifying creatures (because I’m not a rodent-y person either), being basically a pacifist at heart means that I cannot accept or stomach violence of any kind. This includes mouse-a-cide, bird-a-cide, bat-a-cide and vole-a-cide.

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But now that she’s had the taste of blood, as far as I can tell, she-lion is HUNGRY for more. Our cat food bill drops to almost zero in the summer and it’s not because she’s fasting to fit into her bikini. She’s eating up a storm. She’s just hunting for her breakfast, lunch and dinner. Honestly, at this point, I’m expecting her to drag a deer up the driveway one day soon. She accepts no guidance, acknowledges no limits and refuses all reason.

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Paxton tried to talk her out of her murderous ways when he was three. She had taken down a huge butterfly or moth and Pax happened to be there when it happened:
“Looooocy! Why you hurt dat butterfly? You not a-pposed to hurt  da butterflies! Don’t eat da butterflies! You don’t do dat again. ‘K, Looocy? Pax was very cross with Lucy, sitting in front of her, nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, giving her hell. What he didn’t realize was that this was not Lucy’s first rodeo and it was unlikely to be her last, and that really we should just count our lucky stars that she didn’t have a hankering for toddler boy that day.

Last summer was her ‘best’ hunting summer. This summer, either she’s slowing down or taking her murder spree underground. Either way, not having to step over and around mouse organs when I’m half-asleep in the morning and just want to get the bins to the roadside, is a nice change, but I still watch my step and always have something on my feet when I step out the door. ‘Cause I would just DIE, I tell you.

Well I thought that she had slowed down until I found this:

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