This is Diane,* a domestic cat of Gambier. Because of the sensitive nature of this story, she requested a certain amount of anonymity, but graciously agreed to give us an account of her experience with this feral cat mafia. Read the bone-chilling account after the jump.

Diane was spending her evening as she always did: chewing the grass in the front yard that she would inevitably vomit back up on a sweater. She was just about to retire back through her cat flap when she saw something move in a bush. She barely had time to puff up her tail before three cats pounced on her from all directions, taking one of her remaining eight lives. (The other was lost in a freak elliptical machine accident. We asked her to elaborate further but apparently we “had to be there.”)

After waking up in a parking lot, disoriented and nauseous, the feral mafia lured Diane into a back alley with the sound of a jingly ball. To her dismay, however, she was not met with a fabric mouse or a little pinch of tuna (to which she was accustomed), but rather a large, rugged tomcat missing a significant portion of one ear.

He had in his paw a bottle of Zyrtec, which Diane recognized from her owner’s bathroom drawers (she often liked to bat it around the tile floor while he was sleeping). The cat threatened to destroy it unless Diane cooperated. Due to both felines being almost entirely ignorant to the field of human medicine, this threat was taken very seriously, and Diane promised to do whatever possible to keep her owner alive and well. The mafia leader had Diane right where he wanted her, and she was now solely responsible for feeding the entire gang using the pet food from her kitchen cabinet.

We tried to explain to Diane that the medicine was actually very inconsequential, that the worst that could result from its absence was her owner sneezing, but this apparently triggered a very frightening flashback to May of last year, and Diane scurried off without another word.

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent.