She could not remember when, exactly, that she decided to kill the cat. She remembered well the last time it had marked its favorite spot in the corner and how she had, in a fit of rage, flung her favorite Gussi shoe at the wretched thing. Bitsy, that was the feline's stupid name, had leaped into the air and scampered off, but not without giving her an evil, piercing glare as it rounded the corner leading down the hall.

Sheila despised the cat, not so much for its disregard for her china white carpet and leather furniture, but because her husband, now ex-husband, had given it to her. It served no good purpose. The cat lay around the house and licked itself for hours at a time. Sheila made sure the beast had food, water, and trips to get groomed and see the veterinarian, often at great expense. And for what, so it could rub up against her leg while she tried to carry the groceries in, or perhaps to purr next to her ear and keep her up half the night?

So today would be the day to get rid of the vile thing, once and for all, and regain a sense of normalcy in her dull life.

Sheila was already wearing her favorite workout clothes, the ones that showed her firm rear end and ample bosom, when she decided to take the necessary step toward a pet free life. She tiptoed, as silently as possible, toward the hall closet where she kept her personal protection, a baseball bat. She picked it up and wrapped her hands around the handle, twisting and grinding her palms into the soft rubber. It felt so wonderful, so balanced.

As Sheila began to glide down the hallway, she imagined what it would sound like when the hollow aluminum of the bat connected with the bone and cartilage of the cat's furry head. What would it feel like? She could feel her body getting excited at the mere thought of smashing its pea sized brain into oblivion. Her heart pounded and her nerves tingled as she eased open each bedroom door, trying to anticipate where the cat might be hiding.

As she approached the hall bathroom, she caught a glimpse of the disgusting creature. Its leg brushed the edge of the bathroom door leaving several course, three inch long hairs stuck in the wood fiber. Sheila was immediately reminded of another reason to loath this awful animal; all that hair. It was all over the furniture, buried deep in the carpet, and clinging to anything that had the slightest bit of electrical charge.

She slowly pushed open the door and scanned the room. The pussycat was nowhere in sight. Raising the bat over her head, she stepped in front of the tub, grabbed the corner of the shower curtain, and yanked.

Suddenly there was a blur of hair, claws, and fangs, as the cat leapt out at her. Imagined or not, the animal seemed to have grown a foot in length and was as tall as a Doberman. It lunged at her with a wild cry like a possessed demon, raking and clawing at her. Sheila had time to turn her face just enough to keep the flailing claws from removing her right eye. As the cat flew by, its claws dug deep into her right cheek and ripped it to the bone. Chunks of skin and droplets of blood splattered the ivory walls like crimson tears.
Sheila staggered backward as the beast fled the room. She grabbed at the towel bar, groping for something to balance against as tears of pain, mixed with blood, rolled down her cheek.

'You want war, cat? She screamed, spraying spit and more blood on the walls. 'You got it!'�

She staggered out of the bathroom, giving up the silent approach, and stormed down the hall, furious with rage. She slammed open every door and swung wildly at anything and everything. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and sheetrock exploded as she stalked the four legged devil.
By the time she reached the end of the hall, Sheila resembled the crazed beast she was chasing. Her hair stood straight up, frizzy and wild. Blood created rivers of red running down the front of her Nike tank top, with several spots looking like bull's-eyes below her heaving chest.

Her eyes were wild and fierce, the pupils wide and full of fire. Every muscle on her firm body was rigid and ready for action. Where was that darn cat?
She entered the last bedroom, her bedroom, the one that was off limits to anyone or anything but her, and found the cat lying on her bed. It had grown to the size of a tiger, only it didn't look like a tiger, it looked like something from hell.

The beast had fangs the size of shark's teeth, brown and numerous, obviously razor sharp. Slobber and decaying flesh dripped on Sheila's four-hundred dollar designer bed spread. The animals fur was the color of night, black swirled with gray. Claws large enough to take a persons head off jutted out from paws the size of boxing gloves, each with droplets of blood decorating the tip like a whore's finger nail polish.

It glared at her with hungry, needy, eyes. The beasts tongue darted out and licked a small squirming bug off the top of its snout. Something inside of it rumbled, deep and low, like thunder from a distant storm.

Sheila never hesitated as she charged the creature with her Louisville Slugger held high above her head. She screamed a bone chilling cry as she swung for the fence. The instant she charged, the cat snarled, bared its teeth, and lunged off the bed straight at her. With cat like reflexes, she swung the bat and hit the thing with a solid blow. The beast hardly noticed. It was like hitting solid concrete.

Sheila put her arm up in front of her, hoping to ward off the attack, and had it quickly removed by the things sharp teeth. Nothing but a nub of bone, protruding from her shoulder, remained of her arm. Shock and horror overcame her, followed by complete madness.
The crazed feline disposed of her arm in a matter of seconds, chewing it then licking its bloody lips, appearing to savor every drop. The crunching sound of her own bones drove Sheila deeper into her madness. Before Sheila could regroup, the animal made another charge at its delicious meal, this time biting into the calf of her right leg. With the force of a crocodile, the devil thing shook her leg back and forth, trying to tear it loose at the knee.

To Sheila, the indignation of being beaten by this useless creature was worse than any pain it could inflict. Stubbornly, she willed herself to pull together the last of her fleeting strength and stand before the beast from hell. With a wicked, even hideous smile, she swung the bat down across the back of the cat. She heard the crack of bones as the animal groaned and dropped to the floor.

With a triumphant smirk, she raised the bat over her head, intent on finishing the job. Before she could strike the final blow, the cat pounced on her and sank his teeth into her face. The last thing she remembered before the beast tore her face off was the smell of death on its breath and the sting of it slobber running into her open eye socket.

Sheila woke with a start, sweat pouring down her face. Taking a moment to collect herself, she finally leaned back on the couch and let out a long sigh. Bitsy, her cat, lay sprawled out next to her, too fat to curl up like a normal cat. Sheila barely fit on the couch herself, her three hundred pound girth overhanging the side.
With a lot of effort and loud groans from the couch springs, she turned over, passed a little gas left over from lunch, and stroked Bitsy's double, fir-lined chin.

'I think I'll have a big fat steak for supper tonight. Rare! Maybe with a baked potato loaded with goodies,'� she said. Her mouth started to salivate, drool running down her chin.
'Maybe I'll even share with Bitsy,'� she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

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