Kitty Krunch
by T. G. Roettiger
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
It was a physical sensation. What I mean is that I finally felt the full weight of my actions. For reasons I cannot explain, my cat’s supercilious gaze had pushed me to the full realization of what I had done. Up to that point, I was able to dissociate myself from my actions. Now, I could no longer do that. It may have had nothing to do with my cat, maybe it was just a matter of time until I would have arrived at my reckoning regardless of my cat’s efforts. Still, the coincidence was uncanny.
Either way, I felt sick. I guess everyone has their breaking point, and I had reached mine. The problem was that I had killed two people for no greater reason than they annoyed me at the wrong time. Well, one of them annoyed me. The other had just happened to be with the first. Her greatest crime was that she had really bad taste in men. A few seconds earlier or later, and we would have completely missed each other. When I really thought about it; it was pretty awful.
Later that night, I lay in bed for a long time trying to sort out why I had done what I had done and what to do next. Hypatia had condescended to join me in bed and was curled up between my knees snoring. In the final analysis, there really was not much to think about. I had killed two people without justification, those were the facts. I decided I would turn myself in at the police station tomorrow.
I woke the following morning to Hypatia trying to pull my eyes open with a velvety paw. It was fortunate that I came to consciousness when I did: If the paw to the eye fails, she proceeds to the claw-to-the scalp method.
Rolling out of bed to the accompaniment of her melodic scolding, I began shuffling my way to the kitchen. With a thump, she was on the counter and took up position at her bowl. With no other options available, I again filled her bowl with the offending Kitty Krunch. Once again, I got “the look”, only this time she did not hold it as long. Cat maintenance completed, I headed for the shower. No sense being unkempt when one turns oneself in for committing a major crime.
While I was in the shower, the thought occurred to me that the police should have paid me a visit by now. Granted, Family Ag was an older store and likely did not have security cameras. Regardless, there were several witnesses, most of whom knew me by sight. So why hadn’t the police come for me yet? Were they giving me a chance to turn myself in? It seemed rather strange.
Once I was done showering, I selected some clothes that were a bit nicer than my everyday attire and got dressed. I did not want to be too formal, but I did not want to be too casual, either. Besides, fussing over clothes took my mind off the knot building in my stomach. Eventually I ran out of fuss material and it was time to get moving.
As I made my way through the house, I kept an eye out for Hypatia. She found me as I was crossing the living room. I decided to sit on the couch with her for a while since this was likely to be our last snuggle session. She purred as she settled into my lap. I cried as I stroked her soft fur. I was really going to miss her. She was pretty much all I had in life. I hoped she would find a good home after I was gone. The thought that she might get turned out or killed by some psycho cat-hater tore at me. God, what a mess I had made of things.
Eventually I stood up and placed Hypatia on the couch and said goodbye. She did not stay on the couch, but followed me to the door. I opened the door. Before stepping out, I turned to look at Hypatia. She was sitting, looking up at me with her big, round eyes. I saw love, disappointment, and sadness in those eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said. I left before I started crying again.
As I drove into town, I let the tears flow. What a mess I had made. I had thrown away my life without any thought. I had one moment when I snapped and that changed everything. I was glad my parents weren’t around for this.
I decided to stop at Ray’s Sugar Shack for a soda before going to the police station. As I pulled in, I noticed the parking lot was empty and breathed a sigh of relief. I wiped eyes and composed myself then stepped out of the car and headed for the entrance.
I was filling a large soda at the fountain when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, fancy meeting you here!”
I froze. I recognized the voice; it was Bobby Owen. He must have pulled in after me. I turned slowly to face him. At a loss for words, I nodded by way of greeting.
“So, what about that shooting at Family Ag?” Bobby’s expression was earnest.
I hesitated and looked at my feet. “Yeah, about that. I am just on my way...”
“I am sure you heard all about it,” Bobby cut me off. “But what you haven’t heard, is that some of the witnesses originally said that you did it. Crazy ain’t it?”
But you saw me do it, I thought.
“They were saying how the clothes and the car looked just like yours, but I ran into the shooter just before he did it. He was dressed like you, but he had his hood up and pushed past me without saying anything, so I knew it wasn’t you. He was also taller than you. No offense, but you are no NBA center! Also, later, when he was standing in line, I was just behind him, and noticed he had a bag of Kitty Krunch. That sealed it. There was no way it was you because you never buy that crap for Hypatia. She’d claw your eyes out if you tried to feed her that!”
“Well, I, I—”
Bobby kept going. “Besides, Fred was behind the counter and saw the car the guy left in. It was nothing like yours and had out of state plates.”
What? The parking lot is hardly visible from the counter. Fred could have had only the briefest of glimpses.
“You were lucky Fred and I were there for you, buddy. If we hadn’t been around to set things straight, those other yahoos would have had you in the pokey by now! I am thinking a reward beer is in order?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” My mind was a raging cataract of thought and emotion.
“Still, it is a sad case. I mean, Gordy was a dick and I wish those militia types would just go away, but I hate to see anyone die. And Emily, she was just along for the ride. She was never into that militia crap the way he was. Now, it has gotten them both killed. At least that is what the cops are saying. I guess there was some kind of rivalry between Gordy’s group and some group from Idaho. One thought the other had tipped off the FBI about some gun thing. It was on the radio this morning. I don’t know. It’s all pretty crazy.”
“Well, Gordy never was the smartest guy.” It was a throwaway line. I couldn’t think of anything else.
“No, sir. Well, I got to get going. Good to see you. Stay out of trouble, or should I say jail!” Bobby gave a wave and hustled out the door. Apparently, he had already paid for his coffee.
I finished filling my soda.
I noticed that another customer had entered the store and gone straight to the counter to buy cigarettes. Still in a mental haze, I made my way slowly and deliberately to the counter. I feared my legs might fail at any time or maybe the cops would suddenly burst in, having seen through Billy’s flawed narrative. Neither happened.
By the time I got to the counter, Cigarette man had completed his transaction and headed for the parking lot, all the while clawing desperately at his new acquisition. I placed my soda on the counter.
“Ninety-nine cents,” said the clerk.
I handed her a dollar and waved off the penny.
I went out to the parking lot and sat in my car for a while. I saw that Cigarette man was still fumbling with his smokes. I was not sure what to do. On the one hand, sticking to the plan and turning myself in seemed to be the right thing to do. On the other hand, it appeared that I may have just been handed a real-life “Get out of Jail Free” card. What to do?
I had still not made a decision when I started the engine and backed out of the parking space. Shifting the car into drive, I swung it around and headed for the exit. At the exit I again stopped.
Before me lay the highway. Left was back home. Right was to the police station. I hesitated long enough for the Cigarette man to give me the horn. Apparently, he finally got one lit and was eager to leave.
I made my turn.
* * *
Twenty years have passed since the incident at Family Ag. Hypatia is long gone, though we had many happy years together. I still live in the same house and pretty much do the same things. Tonight, for about the fourth or fifth time since it happened, I am watching a TV special on the still-unsolved mystery of the Family Ag shooting. The host of this particular show is working the old “militia rivalry” angle. He is presenting what he considers to be evidence that the killings were the work of a now deceased white supremacist from Oregon. I must admit, he is quite convincing.
Copyright © 2024 by T. G. Roettiger
