True story.

He’s a small orange cat that never quite grew into a full-fledged cat’s body and has a bum leg. He was hit by a car before my parents adopted him. He survived the car but probably won’t survive my mother.

My dad said he would perform the act, though admittedly I’ve never had him pegged as the assassin type. Then again, he also wasn’t playing first-person shooter video games when my sisters and I lived in the house as he is now, so maybe he’s been desensitized.

I’m not entirely sure what the plan is, because one thing is sure - first-person shooter video games or not - Labbes don’t own guns. We are not second amendment advocates and we don’t hunt for sport. Or food. The thought of it makes all of us - my parents, my sisters and me - cringe. Who could hurt a defenseless animal?

This cat pees, though. Anyone who’s had a peeing cat knows the torture of it. You know the feeling of stalking your cat around the house as he digs in blankets and smells around clothes. And you know the fear that strikes you when someone stops in for a visit. Do they smell it? Are they going to go back to the office and tell all your coworkers that you live in filth? That your living room reeks of - *gasp* - cat piss?

Come to think of it, my mom has been down this road before. She had another cat, an old one (and a converted pee-er). She thought about giving her a tranquilizer pill but she couldn’t do it without knowing the end result. I know the first thought I had was of a cat spontaneously combusting, and, at that point, you have to weigh the choice between the smell of cat pee and the smell of burnt cat. My mom chose the former.

So she continued her research until nature ran its course and the old queen passed away. But this orange cat is still fairly young, and my mom is again planning to kill, only this time she’s getting my dad to do it. Although he’ll only do it if the cat is asleep, meaning sleeping pills have now entered the equation and, well, spontaneously combusting cat.

Whatever the choice, I’ve been a bit more careful when I’ve been visiting. Always use a coaster. Leave my wet shoes by the front door. And when my mom starts looking at me funny and disappears into the kitchen for a while, that’s usually a good sign that it’s time to get going.