Chapter 3 My Husband Killed the Cat
After accepting the overseas transfer, my manager gave me a seven–day break.
On the day Sylvie was discharged from the hospital, I was feeding the neighborhood stray cats, a bag of treats in hand.
One cat, a pregnant white one I’d named Snowy, had a belly so large it almost touched the ground, yet she was painfully thin: She reminded me of how Sylvie used to look.
Terrified of people, she wouldn’t let anyone near, except me.
When I came by, she’d dart from the bushes and meow softly.
Just then, Sylvie and Hugo appeared.
Snowy arched her back, her fur standing on end in alarm.
I quickly shielded her, but I still heard Hugo scoff. “So filthy. You play with these dirty animals every day–are you just bitter that Sylvie’s doing better than you?”
I didn’t answer, just picked up Snowy and gently covered her ears. Softly, I whispered, “Don’t be scared, Snowy. You’re not dirty. You’re my absolute favorite
Cats aren’t like people. They don’t shower you with sweet words and lies. They won’t say they love you in the morning and be in someone else’s arms by afternoon.
Curled in my arms, Snowy quietly nibbled a treat. Then Sylvie spoke,
“Hugo, don’t be mad at Rosalie because of me.” She changed her tone and wheeled herself closer.
Snowy leapt from my arms and hissed fiercely at her. She tried to scare her away, but Sylvie just smiled faintly.
“The doctor told me about a folk remedy,” she said, looking at me. “He said if I could get a fresh kitten placenta, maybe there’d be hope for my
illness.”
Realizing Sylvie’s implication, I clutched Snowy tightly, my eyes cold and sharp. “I will never let you hurt her.”
Sensing my emotion, Snowy licked the back of my hand.
Sylvie smiled, her eyes curving. “Rosalie, I was just teasing. I’m not that cruel, am I?”
“Really? Then why do my senses tell me otherwise?” I thought.
After Hugo wheeled Sylvie back home, I took Snowy to a truly safe place.
Before leaving the country, I wanted to find her a good home.
***
I posted online, and several local cat lovers messaged me.
Just as I found a potential adopter with excellent conditions, a faint, weak meow came from the kitchen.
A terrible dread washed over me, and I bolted out the door.
What I saw froze me. Hugo stood in the kitchen, hands dripping with blood, ruthlessly slicing Snowy open with a kitchen knife. Such a tiny
cat, but her white fur was completely soaked red. My heart felt like it had been ripped to shreds.
I ran toward him, only to see Hugo toss Snowy’s body into the trash like garbage. Chunks of bloody flesh fell from his hands.
He frowned in disgust. “Ugh, so gross. You really think this crap can cure Sylvie?”
At the kitchen door, Sylvie sat in her wheelchair, smiling at me with that same innocent, clueless look. “Rosalie, it’s all thanks to you. If you hadn’t fed her so many cans, I never would’ve figured out how to catch
her.”
A ringing filled my ears, my chest heaving. I suddenly remembered Sylvie’s smile as she eyed the large pile of canned food I’d bought.
She must have tampered with them, which is why she was so confident and insisted that I put the cat back.
Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I dropped to my knees, sobbing in anguish, screaming, “Sylvie, do you have to steal everything I care about?!”
Still weak from the elevator incident, staring at Hugo’s bloody hands holding that lifeless kitten was the final blow. My vision went black, and I fainted.
The last thing I saw as my eyelids closed was Hugo rushing toward me in a panic, pulling me into his arms. But I would never again be fooled by that false tenderness.
