Felidae

BASED ON THE EPONYMOUS NOVEL BY AKIF PIRINCCI

If you really want to hear my story,

you'll first have to get used to the idea

that you won't be hearing a pleasant story.

Oh, I beg your pardon. Allow me, I'm Francis.

My species is easily overlooked by humans.

There it is, our new home.

Right, Francis, out you come.

Hop.

One of the things I hate most in life is moving house.

But Gustav, my life partner, usually doesn't make allowances for this.

He's a trained archaeologist specializing on Egyptian deities,

but he earns our living by writing kitschy novels.

Whenever he runs out of ideas, he'll move house.

He thinks that this helps.

This is so heavy. Where is it now?

Thank God.

This is heavenly. Just needs some fresh paint.

Come on now, Francis.

Or do I have to carry you over the threshold?

The stench of mold hit me like a hammer.

I realized immediately

that the unpleasant odor did not arise from the building's foundation,

but that it was creeping down from upstairs.

It was a mix of pharmacy, veterinary office, and toxic waste disposal smells.

And I shouldn't have set a paw in this house.

Francis, isn't it gorgeous?

What a joy. Renovate, modernize, refurbish.

Well, well. Where should I put the books?

Yes... oh, here!

This is a good place.

And the cat litter...

Well, let's see.

Isn't it beautiful?

Look at this, Francis. Old stucco.

Yes, the china, the china. Where should it go?

Well, we'll find a place.

Aha.

What I was seeing there was my welcome present, so to speak.

There he was, my black conspecific, spreadeagled on the ground.

But he wasn't sleeping.

Can opener.

Can opener?

What do you mean?

Well, the damned can openers did it.

They put a special outlet into little Sasha's neck.

Oh, you mean humans. Did you witness it?

Shit, no. But who else would do such a thing other than a shitty can opener?

They're good for nothing but opening cans for us. Shit, yeah.

That's the fourth cold bag already.

You mean he's already the fourth corpse?

You must be new here.

Are you moving into the dump in there?

Nice place. I always go there to pee.

No, it wasn't a can opener who did this.

This guy's neck is totally shredded.

What do they call you...

smart aleck?

Francis.

Francis.

Oh, not him as well. Archie.

Oh, Archie, it's still full.

Yes. Fantastic.

Cheers.

I was fascinated from the start, I really was.

A doctor's office?

Hm. Would explain the chemical smell.

Don't you think parquet is one size too big for me, Archie?

But parquet is the minimum, Gustav. It's an absolute must have.

Carpet is something only homeless people use downtown as a bed base.

As young rebels, we still have our golden ideals,

if you don't have a great place to live.

And when we realize later that we didn't become great rebels...

what's left for us then?

The parquet fetishist was Archibald Philipp Purpur, aka Archie.

A trendsetter by trade.

- Bye, Archie. - My poor can opener Gustav's only friend.

Apart from myself, of course.

I know, it's hard times for you, Francis.

But I brought your favorite music.

Mahler's symphony no. 2. Good night.

Who are you?

Where are you?

Come here, buddy.

Come here and look at the pretty thing I have for you.

Argh!

Wah!

Are you looking for your old pee spot? No more peeing here.

Home decor is created here.

Cold bag?

Hell, how... Yes! Cold bag.

Let me guess.

It's a guy. Am I right? Just like the other four bodies.

Shit, yes.

How the devil do you know?

Well, it's just conjecture.

Anyway, this time it was old Deep Purple who kicked the bucket.

His neck looks like someone tried out their new ice pick.

One question. Had Deep Purple been castrated?

Purple castrated? Oh man.

Purple was beyond such troubles.

He was around the same age as Methusaleh, but he looked much older.

- Hm. - "Hm." Is that all you have to say?

I've had it with you walking out on me.

Where is Deep Purple's body now? Can you lead me there?

Why not?

Hey, what do they call you, smart aleck?

Bluebeard.

However, I've made more kitties happy than Henry VIII.

The longer I had to trot behind this proud invalid and take in all his misery,

the more I was haunted by the question who or what he had fallen victim to.

Ah!

Dead end!

Well, hello. There they are, the typical obnoxious loiterers.

Good grief. Hermann and Hermann.

Don't tell me you'll rave about the advantages of your castration again.

But I believe you, boys.

Without the nut bag, you carry much less weight.

Kong, why do you still hang out with these buffoons?

Bluebeard, you old house cripple.

I see that your forays into the gay scene have been extremely successful.

The little guy behind you is indeed a magnificent specimen.

Does he teach you how they do it?

No, but he wanted to show you personally.

He's got the ideal position for the three of you.

I can see that you're looking for trouble. OK, you can have it.

However, I assume you're more interested in my friend Francis.

In this case you should know that I won't stand idly by such an unfair fight.

So, how do you want it, old slimeball?

Come on down.

I'm about to shit myself, buddy.

And as far as you're concerned, sweetie, you can bet your bottom dollar

that we'll have an interesting conversation,

just the two of us in the not so far future.

One that you won't forget any time soon.

So, see you later, pretty babies.

- Hey, Bluebeard. - Yeah?

I'm afraid you're no longer true to your principles.

You don't say.

And why, if you don't mind my asking?

Well, you told them I was your friend.

Oof.

In my opinion, the last minutes of his life went as follows.

The murderer bit Purple's neck several times. That was outside.

The bloody trails in the garden are proof of that.

Purple managed to drag himself into the garage. Quite a feat for his age.

Didn't you say earlier that Purple was beyond such gay troubles?

You mean sex, yeah?