That's Fishy...

Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional and not meant to disturb the reader. There are mentions of murder and carnivore activity.

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Opening the door to my shared residence I am immediately met by an eery silence.

Typically the place is alive with ruckus and many voices of greeting as my feet hit the tile of the entryway. But that isn’t the case today. Something isn’t right.

As I slip off my shoes and enter the living room I suddenly find one of my socks damp with a suspicious substance. Looking down I see a trail of the questionable liquid which leads me to the next room.

My stomach drops as my eyes follow the trail out of sight and I have no choice but to pursue it. Slowly, I put one foot in front of the other as I avoid stepping in the liquid once more. Peering around the corner I gasp as I see Carissa’s residence in disarray.

Her bed is completely upended and other furnishings are strewn about haphazardly. It looked like a hurricane ran through her living space and left it in an unrecognizable state.

I step further into the room and allow my eyes to follow the trail of liquid once more until it ends at the large puddle in the middle of the room. My stomach turns itself in knots as I realize Carissa is nowhere to be seen, not a trace of her is left, other than the fluid on the floor.

My hands clasp on my mouth in horror and shock as I turn away, unable to look at the horrific scene any longer.

But as I do, I see the other three residents of my shared dwelling lounging on the couch. Each with a look of guilt as they avoid eye contact and feign interest in the crime scene behind me.

“Who did this?” I shout, pointing to the mess behind me as I charge at my three suspects.

But I am met with ear-ringing silence. Not one of them even looks me in the eye as they continue to act indifferent to my presence.

My jaw clenches as I let out a deep sigh in growing anger. I feel my nostrils flare as I place my hands on my hips. I imagine I look something like my grandmother did when she scolded us for playing in the garden.

I then fix each of my suspects in my gaze, narrowing my eyes as I observe them in conjecture.

Starting with Rickie, the youngest of the bunch and most mischievous.

Just the other day he ripped apart everyone’s shared treehouse during one of his classic tantrums because it’s too cold to play outside. The structural integrity hasn’t been the same since and no one else has been able to enjoy it. 

Not to mention his crazed nighttime habits of singing to the moon and running around causing as much noise as it takes to wake the whole household.

I chew my lip in thought as I consider if he’d be diabolical enough not only to harm Carissa but be able to dispose of the body on top of it. Then I recall that time a mouse came in our backyard and he ran from it in a fit of overexcitement.

No, he couldn’t possibly be the culprit. Even if he cornered Carissa, I don’t think he’d have been able to finish the job. I’m fairly certain he’s not the perpetrator I’m looking for. So I shift my gaze to the next suspect.

Carter, the oldest of the bunch. Pot-bellied and always hungry, has never passed up a meal in life and I doubt this would have been any different. He might be a fair hunter but he’s not as quick as he used to be so my suspicion of him is short-lived.

I think of when I introduced him to my hedgehog and he practically ran out of the room screaming. Never mind consider touching it, he couldn’t even handle something like that and Carissa was an entirely different beast. By my judgement a lot more intimidating of an opponent.

No, he’s most certainly not the culprit.

Then I look to my last suspect.

Faye is the only other female in the house.

She’s never been one to pass up a challenge, has always been eager to investigate and is a very proficient hunter.

I recall watching her sit just outside Carissa’s residence this morning, observing her in suspicious analysis. Even licking her lips when Carissa wasn’t looking. Which only reminded me that her favourite protein is fish and not once have I seen her pass up on such a meal.

I know that Carissa is long gone at this point and the chances of me knowing for sure whodunit are slim. But I still can’t shake the feeling that I need to at least to try to solve the mystery of what happened to her or who did it.

The best idea I have is to smell each of my suspects, to try to figure out who my culprit is. I think they might smell like Carissa if anything, since that would be the one piece of evidence they wouldn't be able to dispose of so easily.

Trying to act casual I walk up to each of my suspects, giving them a pat on the head and looking them in the eyes as I smell each of their awful breath. But am disappointed to discover no smell of the victim or anything suspicious even in the slightest.

Finally, I get mad and ask, “Who did it? Who ate the fish?”

But my three feline companions simply stare at me with bliss-filled smiles as they look at me in expectation of more pets.

Sighing I sink into the couch alongside my suspects, knowing one was a murderer but am too tired to care.

I should have known better than to get a goldfish when I live in a house with three cats. Never mind let Carissa live in an open-top fishbowl on the kitchen counter. So really, if anyone was to blame for the death of our beloved goldfish, it was me.