Troll Kitten

I was seconds away from drifting off to a well-earned deep sleep when I heard the sounds of bones being chewed, coming from under my bed.

My studio has been a kill-zone for the past couple months. Grasshopper, my sweet little girl kitty has gotten out of control. Usually it's just lizards and tree frogs. She brings them in, lets them loose, and then plays catch-and-release until they die. Most dry out, and so all I have to clean up is a mummified husk. Some ... ahem ... plump up and ripen in the heat.

Last night it was birds. Three, by my count. I had already found one corpse by the computer, and thought that was it. But at a few minutes to midnight I realized that she had kept a few on reserve for late-night snacking. I peeled back the corner of my futon, looked down, and it was feathers and bones and drops of blood everywhere.

I'll start calling her Gollum. She's so sweet when daddy's looking, and so blood-thirsty when he's not.