serial killer

I turned off the living room television where Sheri had apparently dozed off streaming the first few seasons of NCIS. Having background noise (streaming shows on Netflix or Amazon) is normal when either of us are doing chores around the house. But she is dealing with a 24-hour cold and uses the noise to doze off. It might be baking shows or old movies, but that particular crime drama seems to have other aficionados in my household. As I was tending to my spouse, doing morning chores, feeding the critters and gathering dirty laundry, one chore was added to my to-do.

In the garage, a familiar aroma stirred me to look behind the washer. I found remains, the lower half, of a large rat. Our calico cat, the onetime feral gopher-getter, has a habit of bringing her catch from the neighborhood, depositing and the eating them in that particular spot. Her hunting skills I have often praised particularly as it cleared my property of gophers. While she is equally fond of a few spoonfuls of canned tuna, now she seems to bring her kills across the street for garage dining. While I bagged up the remains, I noted several feathers of another recent catch.

I hate dealing with things before I have coffee, like the fictional NCIS Agent Gibbs, when he investigates a crime scene. With a new victim in each episode, I too deal with a killer, a serial killer, though I know her identity. And I need to get more cleaning agents. And coffee.