Fabric Softener.

I close my eyes and on the verge of sleep I see a small, chubby black and white cat. With the brightest green yellow eyes I've ever seen. And the meekest, cutest meow ever to come from a cat's tiny mouth. A cat that was still but a kitten in every sense, not yet two years old. A cat that would scale my back, when not given enough attention or to see what I found so interesting, that I must hunch over to examine more closely. A playful kitty who would stalk my feet as I move about waiting only until I stopped to give them a good pounce. A cat that would purr instantly when I called out her name and come running to the icebox door every morning I opened it, knowing full well all she had to do was look up to me with her silly shaped head and I would give her the milk she was so looking forward to. It has been months since I have seen that face. And with each passing day it hits me more and more that I will never see that little face again. Not only can I not see her, every time I try to picture that completely innocent life the image is shattered just as quickly as it came. Not due to an accident, nor unfortunate event. Every time I hear her meow inside my head, I can only imagine the cries she must have let out. Every time I see her furry face, it is replaced by something I can hardly call a cat. Rather a gutted, skinned and tortured body, placed in a sleeping position, her head resting on her front paws. As if she had fallen asleep. No blood, no sign of a crime. Just placed in my front yard for me to find. I would never ask for any of my pets, my family, my kitties and pups to be taken from me. But for her, I can only wish this did not be the way she had to go. The one night she wanted to stay out and play in the grass and trees, was her last. She was probably purring when her killer picked her up and took her away. To kill her so brutally. To torture her. For what reason. To prove you can hurt something you can lift with one hand? I feel nothing but guilt. With the late hours I keep, surely I should have heard something. And why bring her back to me, as if taking her from me in such a cruel way wasn't enough. And I was so mad at her, that morning, I called and called her and she didn't come. She's out playing, being a cat. Of course she wanted to come home. But she couldn't. Someone made sure of that. I have never felt so much fury and wrath as I do for this faceless creature. I cannot think of my gentle companion without clenched teeth or fists. I would show no mercy. When you attack the defenseless you deserve no compassion. And I can't think of anything as defenseless as a six pound cat. No one seems to understand how the death of a cat could hit so hard. But it wasn't just her death. If it was her death it wouldn't be so bad, I think. I'd miss her all the same. But at least there would be comfort in knowing I got to know her and love her for almost two years. Two happy years. Filled with catnip and toys and milk. And don't scratch the furniture! But it wasn't. Someone took her life in their hands and forcefully removed it from her. I have never thoughtfully wished harm to anyone. But I wish that person the worst. All the pain she must have felt and she was powerless to stop it. And for what? Some sick fuck's amusement. I'd tear his throat with my teeth if given the chance. Skin him alive. See how he likes it. And I think what is most disgusting, most disheartening is that Downy, my little fabric softener, is not the only one. There are families, with children, who had their kitty taken and defiled only to find them in the morning. Laid out like some fucking piece of trash. And that creature will never be punished. He will never have to answer for all the innocent lives he took. Even if he were caught, the punishment would not be fitting, I think.  
I shall try to sleep again. And hold my pillow as the comforting lover I've yet to find.