It hides beneath the washer and dryer. But Annie has food, and it hasn’t eaten all day. There’s no way it can say no. And sure enough, the dumb beast moves forward the moment Annie pushes the Fancy Feast over to it, lapping up its last supper with swift wet smacking sounds.

The delight of food makes the cat slow. And Annie has gloves and strength on her side, so when she grabs the cat by the scruff of its neck and carries it out the doorway, it doesn’t know what hit it. A vitriolic growl begins low in its belly and moves upward toward its throat. It starts thrashing, almost getting out of Annie’s grip, but she’s strong. She’s determined.

She kicks open the back door and stomps into the freezing night, the cat clawing at air, screeching, but the sound is no match against the wind. Nature masks Annie well as she plods through the snow down to the lake, both gloved hands holding the cat’s matted scruff now.

She knows it’ll be resilient. It’ll kick and scream for its life the moment it hits the water. Which means she’ll have to hurt herself a little in the process, but she’s ready. She’s never been more ready, the wind searing the little bits of exposed skin she has around her eyes and wrists, reddening them. The world is so dark, the moon gone to sleep, too. But Annie knows this land, knows this water. It’s in her bones.

She wades in, feels the water shrivel up the many layers of socks and long underwear she’s put on underneath the waterproof ski pants. Her feet break ice, and she squats, so her butt is just above the water. And in the gaping darkness, she dunks the cat in, still screaming, still fighting for its pathetic, evil life, and holds its head there. The thrashing, the bubbling, tips of her fingers about to break off. It’s all worth it.

Annie closes her eyes, moves one hand up its spine, toward its head, and clamps down on it, her fingers finding where she believes the eyes to be, gripping the head, squeezing. The other hand is at its torso, which is too big for her to get all the way around, but the water is shallow enough that she just needs pressure to hold both ends down.

She thinks about bringing down her booted foot, smashing its head that way. But that would be messy. Potential fur and brains and teeth getting stuck in the soles of her boots. Boots she’ll have to clean herself before going to bed. And she does want to sleep tonight. She has to wake up in a few hours.