Chapter 2 - The Case of the Would-be Assassin
Let me tell you a little about Siren. He was a huge kitten when he decided to adopt us. Afterwards, he became the Lord of the Back Door of the House. Siren and I shared a love-hate relationship; I did all the loving and he did the hating.
His favourite gesture of affection was to hook his claws into human flesh. Any flesh that came into his direct zone of attack. I'll say one thing for him, he wasn't particular. This meant that 3 grown women (and two of them substantially built) would indulge in peculiar acrobatics to step over the threshold where Siren held sway. It wasn't a pretty sight. Feeding him every day turned into a deadly game of Dodge and Retreat. My grandmother made vague crooning noises from a safe distance.
I should explain that Atchamma is bed-ridden now.
I don't know if you've heard the story of the king who saw a sweeper's face first thing in the morning and caught a cold. He put the sweeper to death. So the clever minister pointed out that the sweeper who saw the king's face first thing in the morning caught a death sentence which when you look at it, is worse than a cold (although that point is debatable).
A few months ago, Atchamma went out at dawn for her customary walk around the front yard. Siren had evidently decided she had not been receiving enough of his loving attention. Either that or he had some darker purpose, we'll never know.
He jumped in front of her. Ninja-kitty style. Achamma fell down and broke her crown, er, hip bone. Which is why she's bed-ridden now, but she's healing fast. Siren died a week later, under suspicious circumstances. There was no way that Achamma could have had a hand in it, of course, but I wonder...