Massacre(Indre) Massacre
By Indre Jon


Since the beginning we lived in this beautiful medieval castle built in the middle of the lake surrounded by lush greenness of the forests, dark gloom of the hills and pompousness of the mix of French, English and Italian style gardens. Gracefully manicured lawns, vicious black and white swans, greenish fountains full of slimy moss, arcades and labyrinths, artificial waterfalls, unruly bushes of pink, blue and yellow raspberries and trees that always remind me of Little Princess's baobabs.

Summers we spent cuddling on the fresh cut grass, drinking sour summer wine and playing all sorts of games. In winters, wrapped in heavy grandma’s knitted bedspreads by the fireplace, we read fairytales and drank dark red hot sugary wines spiced with cinnamon and clove. Days by the water spying on the birds and nights in the gigantic ancient bed looking at the stars - my cat and I were inseparable.

Greek little kitten followed me to my hotel in Athens, blinded by her sickness and so dirty that I couldn’t name her color. They say that your pet chooses you, not otherwise, and now I am sure it’s true. She is exotic and childish at the same time. She is graceful and clumsy, she is lazy and over energized, she is talking too much and is too picky with her food, just like her mommy.

So the sunny days pass and the rainy ones too in our little and though huge world of the stone castle, lake, blossoms and swans. I grew up and I felt passionate love, but this one with my cat was something different. One moment I could scoundrel her as a naughty child, another cry on her furry back for the lost love, then I could cuddle her as someone sweet and innocent and completely loyal to me, and then I could run chasing her through the gardens. But basically she is here, always lawyer, always loving, always glowing and eager to kiss and hug. Maybe she is my slave and has no choice, maybe she does it for the food, it doesn’t matter, I always have someone warm to hug and cuddle.

So since the beginning we lived here happy in the sun and dreamy in the rain believing that each of us found a true friend, never feeling lonely. And then one day, while cooking our favorite pumpkin soup with chunks of fat brie cheese, polishing silverware and water stained crystal wine glasses, I looked into the yard still wet after last nights rains and glistering in the pale morning sun. As far as I could see were bodies. There were grey white mice with their pink noses and pink ears laying upside down, their little paws dangling lifelessly. There were dark little mice, maybe four or five, their thin fur tussled and wet. There were newborns, still blind with their pink thin skin smeared with blood.
I stood there for a while looking at my cat sitting on the window, licking her glossy white fur with her eyes closed, enjoying wind in the trees and warmed by sun patch of windowsill. She looked so innocent and peaceful. When our eyes eventually met, she jumped as always faithful and ran up to my naked feet, rubbed her shiny fur and purred. She seemed as sweet as always and yet tonight she massacred whole family of innocent field mice and brought them to the yard as a gift to me.

I stood there for a while trying to calm down, trying not to judge or feel disappointed and angry. I locked myself in the bedroom and lay in my bed for hours staring at the ceiling, listening to sad scratching and murmuring at my doors. And just like in real life, I had to admit that my best friend can’t be perfect, can’t be the way I want her to be and definitely can’t help herself. Looking at all those pictures of my little companion, remembering her loyalty and love she gave me every day, I could only accept her the way she is, open the door and look into those clear green eyes, hug her and forget that my little girl can be such a monster.

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