A Serial Killer Among Us

For generations, Hollywood has plastered movie screens with stories of serial killers. They live among us, hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce on their next victim.

I suppose on some level we like to be frightened by the images of terrified teenagers hiding under a bunk in the last cabin at some desolate summer camp; their hushed sobs and streaming tears sending chills up our spines as we see the scene from the viewpoint of the homicidal maniac.

But homicidal maniacs are adorable too. I live with one. I even love one.

Today when we walked in the door from skating, Gus immediately asked, "Why are there feathers everywhere?" The answer was found motionless on the laundry room floor: Apollo had killed a bird. 

Remember, Apollo is a domesticated house cat. He has 24/7 access to food. He kills for sport. Just like any other serial killer. In fact, other than the gash down its side and the carpet of feathers, the poor bird looked like it was sleeping...uncomfortably, but still sleeping. 

 This is the second bird he's gotten. His first dastardly attempt failed when the boys and I interrupted him - growling at us as I pried the sparrow free, Apollo's teeth still gripping the traumatized bird's tail feathers.


Today's murder serves as a reminder to me, that this killer living among us could turn on me and my family at any time.