Theodore the neighbours.., p.1
Theodore: The Neighbour's Cat, page 1
part #4 of Novel Series
Theodore: The Neighbour’s Cat
Table of Contents
Title Page
Theodore: The Neighbor's Cat
Theodore: The Neighbour’s Cat
Chapter one | Theodore
Chapter Two | Theodore
Chapter Three | Dean
Chapter Four | Theodore
Chapter Five | Dean
Chapter Six | Theodore
Chapter Seven | Dean
Chapter Eight | Theodore
Chapter Nine | Theodore
Chapter Nine | Dean
Chapter Ten | Theodore
Chapter Eleven | Dean
Chapter Twelve | Theodore
Chapter Thirteen | Dean
Chapter Fourteen | Theodore
Chapter Fifteen | Dean
Chapter Sixteen | Dean
Chapter Seventeen | Theodore
Chapter Eighteen | Dean
Chapter Nineteen | Theodore
Chapter Twenty | Dean
Chapter Twenty-One | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Two | Dean
Chapter Twenty-Three | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Four | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Five | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Six | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Dean
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Theodore
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Theodore
Chapter Thirty | Dean
Chapter Thirty-One | Theodore
Chapter Thirty-Two | Theodore
You're perfect, yes, it's true
But without me you're only you
Your menstruating heart
It ain't bleedin' enough for two
-Faith No More
“In ancient times, cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.” – Terry Pratchett
To all animal lovers out there, this is for you.
All copyright © 2020 Joanne Saccasan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way without permission except in the case of quotations or book reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Name, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, locales and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact:
Black Cat Ink Press
https://blackcatinkpress.com/
J.S Ellis
https://www.joannewritesbooks.com
Cover Design by Milbart
Edited by Cecily Meyers Red Pen Editor http://www.editingredpen.com/
Proofread by Gem’s Precise Proofreads
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ISBN: Ebook 978-99957-1-775-9
Paperback: 978-99957-1-774-2
This book is written, edited and proofread in British English
Disclaimer: This book contains scenes that might be sensitive to readers.
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Books by J.S Ellis
In Her Words
The Secret She Kept
Theodore: The Neighbour’s Cat
Chapter one
Theodore
Hello, my name is Theodore. Before I get into my little story of mine, there are a few things you need to know about me; the first thing is that I am a cat. Before you laugh and dismiss me, I would like to tell you my story is quite a mouthful. I’m what humans call a Tuxedo cat, and I’m five years old. Yes, you can imagine how cute I look with my black and white coat and big doe green eyes. I live with Dean Carter. He hurts women. Have I piqued your interest now? In the period I have been his pet, he has killed four women and he’s looking for the next one. Now, here, on this sunny little island called Malta. Dean got fed up with England, with its grey, damp weather, the lifestyle, how the country is being run and everything that goes with it. He decided we needed a little change. He was looking for somewhere different. Somewhere where the sun is warm, the sea is blue and the women are not just beautiful, but Mediterranean. Whatever he meant by that. If he killed before I came into his life, I don’t know, but I suspect that he has.
I have tried to warn the four women he had elected. That’s the word he uses: elected. However, I have failed to warn them. I’m in a bit of a pickle here; I’m limited to how much I can do and I can’t exactly call for help. Humans are more superior when it comes to communication. We cats communicate with our tails and other body language. Cats form a great bond with their humans. Just like dogs do, we just express our affection differently. We are not cold; we’re independent, magnificent and possess great hunting abilities, but we are loving affectionate creatures.
By no means am I subjected to cruelty. I am what one calls a content cat. Dean would never hurt me. I’m the only thing in his life that touches his human side, the soft side in him, so to speak. He feeds me twice daily, always high-quality brands. I drink water from a thing that flows water continuously. I think humans call it a fountain. He supplied it for me and I love it. My bowl of dry food is always full and he buys me toys to play with, although my favourite toy is the rod, and the patch of fluff that I tore off a particular toy. He gives me more treats than I would care to have and my litter is always clean. So, as you can see, I’m a spoiled boy. Despite Dean being who he is, I’m a happy little fellow. He cares about my wellbeing, but I dislike it when he takes me to the vet. He lets me go outside to play. He keeps the flat spotless. We felines are clean and we like our environment to be the same.
Let me tell you about Dean Carter. I often hear humans refer to my kind as sociopaths, but how? We are sensitive, we’re soft, playful and we display emotions. We are not uncaring, neither selfish nor ungrateful. We are introverts who like our space. Dean is the sociopath, not me. Although he displays a lot of affection towards me, I don’t want to think about how ruthless and vicious he can get. Dean is a quiet, reserved man. An ordinary man, living a normal life. At least, as normal as it can get. I’d like to think he’s extremely handsome. I do like the sound of his voice, which is deep and rather husky, and I like his smell. He smells of warmth and comfort, which is the way to describe it. I like to think his looks are of an amiable quality when it comes to females. If only they stop, think and see him for who he truly is—a predator just like me. But a different kind of predator; it’s a disease, he tells me. He likes to have conversations with me; I’m what you call his... confidant. I’m sure if these females would look hard enough, they would see something is not right about him. I think good looks are often conflicted with goodness and ugliness mistook for cruelty.
I think good-looking people take advantage of their position just like my human does. So, yes, Dean’s looks might be a blessing, which makes this all too easy for him and more devastating for me.
In his defence, he doesn’t kill each woman that comes to his path. He doesn’t kill often, but he is a serial killer. He chooses his victims carefully: ladies who fit a certain profile. Dean studies them. Gets to know about their lives, their habits. He doesn’t get close to them or start a relationship with them or anything like that. He studies them from afar, and once he sees they have nothing else to offer or he gets bored with them, he kills them.
He had long-term relationships with the opposite sex and women have no idea what lies beneath his facade. Not that I blame them; he carries himself with them as he does with me, compliments them and gives them attention. How could they tell when he’s so attentive, romantic, a gentleman and so good looking? He even fools me sometimes and I live with him. He’s a cunning one, my Dean.
He had been married before, but the marriage ended in divorce; I don’t know why it didn’t last.
He draws a lot. He made a comic book based on me. Theodore The Magnificent, he called it. He hasn’t published it; I’d be mortified if he does.
I didn’t have a good start in life. I was born in England. I have six brothers and sisters. However, two months after our mum gave birth to us, the people she was living with didn’t know what to do with us, so they found an easy solution to their problem by shoving us in boxes and dumping us in different locations around the area. It was raining and cold that night. I meowed and meowed, hoping my mum would come for me. Everything around me was dark. Footsteps approached, the box rattled a little before it opened, and a pair of blue eyes peered at me.
‘Hello, there little fellow,’ the man said. ‘What happened to you?’
I meowed in response. He picked me up, put me inside his jacket and took me with him as if I belonged to him. He took me to his house and dried me with a towel. I was shaking and so he gave me water and food, which I didn’t touch. The atmosphere was new to me and I didn’t know this man. I was terrified. I wanted my mum, brothers and sisters.
I stared at him, at this man who rescued me and called himself Dean. I didn’t think he intended to keep me. The next day, he picked me up - I was so small back then, I could fit in the palm of his hand. He gave me a long, hard look. I meowed and Dean smiled warmly at me. I would never have guessed this man could do such despicable things, not when he had such a sweet smile and a gentle face.
‘Now, let’s see what we’re going to name you.’ He went on inspecting me and his eyes widened.
‘Theodore,’ he s aid. ‘You know your name has a biblical term.’ he went on, holding me close to his heart. ‘It means God’s Gift.”
Maybe I might not be such a thing, but I can be a gift to the next lady Dean set his eyes on.
Cat Fact: The oldest pet cat existed 9,500 years ago.
Chapter Two
Theodore
I’m going to tell my tale as simply as humanly possible and everything I’m about to say, I have witnessed myself and some parts are what I’ve heard. Other parts are what Dean has told me. As I said before, Dean likes to talk to me. I presume since I don’t talk back and I can’t repeat anything he says, it makes it more convenient for him. We recently moved here, five months ago. I didn’t like this change. Everything looks so peculiar. Cats do not take lightly to change. We’re territorial animals, but I’m adjusting now, little by little. We live in a town called Hal-Balzan. It’s August, and I like to bask under the sun, but in this heat, I’ll be burned to a crisp. It can go up to 40 to 45 Celsius here and that is too hot. Dean finds it almost unbearable; he keeps applying a sort of cream on his fair skin. Last month, his skin went red as a lobster. Not even he knew how vicious the sun can be over here. He had been here before when he was a child, he told me. But the climate had changed, he had said. When we’re inside, he switches on that white box on the wall and I hate it when the room gets cold, so I try to find a warm place away from that thing that spits cool air. Dean is on his laptop, designing something, or he’s on the lookout. I can’t tell which. He hasn’t killed anyone on the island as of yet, but I don’t know how long it’s going to last.
Dean smiles down at me 'I'm going to run an errand. I’ll be back soon okay, sausage?’
I go to the balcony. Clothes are hanging on the lines. In Malta, they hang clothes on the roof or balconies. A church bell is ringing in the distance. It’s peaceful and quiet here and two women are on the pavement talking a bit loudly as if they are arguing, but that is how the Maltese talk—like they are fighting when they’re just having a normal conversation. The bombastic women stop their loud chatter and their heads follow the tall, handsome young man walking past them. Dean smiles at them and greets them with a “good morning,” all very civil and polite.
He puts on his sunglasses and the women turn pink as they say good morning back. They keep watching him until he disappears into a corner. Meanwhile, I lay down on the floor between the sun and the shadow and admire a house sparrow in one of the open vents.
In the evenings, Dean likes to sit outside to the balcony, to draw, and I’ll keep him company. He’s drinking from a can of local beer. Tonight, the air is humid, but there is a cool breeze tonight. Music is coming from the distance: trumpets and saxophones, which makes my sensitive ears go mad. I don’t know why they do this over here, have these bands playing and parades in the street. I notice that it’s only in the summer that there all of this noise. There is a clunk of a lobby door from across the street and a woman comes out. She’s wearing a dress, but I can’t say what colour; we’re not blessed with the same colour schemes that humans have. She’s tall and slim. Her hair is wavy and dark. Dean's eyes lift from the pad. He’s about to go back to his work, but does a double-take. I stand on alert. He places the pencil down and drinks the woman in. She’s standing right across from us with her hands folded across her chest, tapping her feet impatiently as if she’s waiting for someone. The lobby door does another clunk and a man follows. Dean’s full attention is on them now as the woman says something to the man in a raspy voice. I meow to distract Dean, but he lifts his hand as if to tell me to be quiet. I go cold. The couple walks on as the woman links her arm through her partner’s. There is a content smile on her face, as if she’s in her right happy place, and Dean's eyes have penetrated through her.
‘What do you think, Theodore?’ Dean asks after the couple disappear out of sight.
I stare at him.
‘I have to find out who she is.’
There she is: the next victim he’s about to prey on. He’s about to get to work and I have to do the same.
The women Dean has elected before didn’t have companions, but this one does. This will be a bit more difficult for him as this requires more work. That is good news for me; it gives me more time. Someone worries about her and misses her. He has a special kind of criteria for the women he elects, Dean has told me they need to have dark hair, have successful careers, who strictly do not have companions, who strictly do not have too many friends, who strictly do not post a lot on that place people post photos or share their thoughts. I think I heard Dean refer to it as social media. Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. I like the last name best; it sounds like a bird.
If this woman is Dean’s next target, I have to act or else her life would end tragically like the rest.
Dean and I are out on the balcony (I’m basking under the sun and he’s drinking from a bottle of cold beer) when her companion arrives home. He carries a black case with him. Dean’s eyes are set on the man. He has a cold look on his face. Does he have something planned already? Is her companion a potential target? I don’t want this lady to die. I don’t want her companion to die either. Why can’t Dean stop? Why can’t he put an end to it? I hate that he hurts other people.
The lady is out on the balcony sneaking a cigarette. When she sees her companion open the lobby door, she throws the cigarette out and goes inside, sliding the door behind her. Dean slides our door closed and looks down at me.
‘You know what I found today, little fellow? Her name is Jane, she’s a crime writer and that man is her husband... for now.’
What does he mean by for now? He gets on with his work. His work—that’s what he likes to call it—involves lots of time and patience. He has both.
I like writers; they create things and lift people’s imagination. Jane doesn’t have the slightest notion she’s starring in one of her own stories as the would-be main murder victim.
‘Her husband name is Matthew, apparently. She mentioned him in one of her Instagram posts.”
Dean bought all of Jane’s books. I think he’s trying to discover more about her by reading her stuff. Jane sounds too good to be true. How has Dean found someone so amazing? It’s like she dropped from the sky to our street especially for him. Dean is working on something major, and this fills me with so much dread.
As my human has a plan, so do I. I have to get close to her. I’m the only friend she has without knowing, her only ally of what’s about to come, and I have to find a way to warn her somehow. The how, I’m not sure I have established yet. It’s not like I can knock on her door and tell her. She goes out - not sure where, and Dean sometimes follows her. To learn more about her, of course. To get an idea of how she spends her day. Since she’s so interesting, he might give her more time, unlike the rest. Maybe I should go on those adventures myself and see where she goes, to know more about her, but I can’t risk Dean seeing me. Although, I have an advantage when it comes to hiding. I don’t think he’ll mind; he knows I can’t do much in this situation. He might find the whole prospect of me following her as well amusing. But unlike Dean, I’ll do it for the greater good.
One day, as part of my daily stroll, I go near the block of flats she lives in. There are other cats in the neighbourhood. There is a lady who owns eight cats and a few strays are lurking about. I do not interact with these cats. I keep myself to myself. I’m reserved, like Dean. The lobby door opens and Jane comes out. She’s wearing large sunglasses with frames so black I can hardly see her eyes. She’s dressed in a baggy dress and her hair is up in a bun, which makes me want to play with it. Jane stops dead in her tracks and slaps her hand against her cheeks. I’m licking my paw but stop and look at her, then I go on with my grooming session as if I can’t be bothered, as if she holds no importance to me.
‘What a dumpling! You’re wearing socks!’ she squeals, pointing at my white paws.
I blink at her. Dean is not the only handsome fellow in this neighbourhood. I glance at her.
‘Hello there, potato,’ she says waving her hand at me as if I can wave back. She checks her watch.
