The Mystery of Mischief

As soon as we arrived at Marisol, a jungly condo clinging to the hills above Dominicalito, Costa Rica, we had a cat. She arrived like a gusty day, when all is balmy except for the occasional swirly wind that steals your hat and whips your shirt over your belly button. I named her Mischief because she knocked over our garbage to eat the chicken bones I’d discarded after making soup. Maybe that’s why she loved us immediately. We smelled too darn good. Mischief was clean and healthy and around six months old. Skinny and full of vinegar. She’d lie cuddled by my side, and if I weren’t petting her head and chin, she’d slap my fingers while they massaged a keyboard. We had to put her out at night, and for three mornings, she’d run back in like her tail was on fire as soon as we slid open the doors. But on the fourth morning, Mischief didn’t come running.

Later, my husband saw her curled up on someone else’s patio where a food and water bowl lingered. We never saw mischief again. And we’d already fallen in love. It will remain a mystery whether she belonged to one of the guests all along or if someone else fell in love with her and took her home.

The Mystery of Mischief for Mosaic Monday.

I love this! I’m sure you’ve seen it.

The count down to launch is on!

“A slow burn, supernatural delight that seeps into your soul and sinks its claws in.” ~ Desiree Horton author of Midnight Mother