For a while, I continued to live in New York. I liked my job here, and liked my underground hideout in the former underground garage—living there made me feel like a supervillain. Plus, it was rather amusing to have Jill try to console my broken heart, when actually, this time it wasn't broken at all. It wasn't even disappointed, really. Another part of me, below the waist, might be feeling some disappointment after parting ways with Elliot and Zack, but the advice of that particular body part was probably not a good basis for a stable relationship.

Finally, though, I began to feel restless. There was nothing really to anchor me to the Big Apple anymore. Sure, there was Jill, and work, but... I still felt that pull inside me to go find love. And I didn't think I would find it in a city so full of memories that belonged firmly in the past.

Plus, if I stayed, problems lurked in the future, too: the police were sniffing everywhere for signs of me more eagerly than ever. There were rumors on the internet that they were even thinking about setting up a special task force, dedicated specifically to the task of hunting down sweet little me.

I could easily believe it. No less than twice in one week I saw my poster on a public wall. Neither of the two posters bore the caption "Winner of the Annual New York Police Department Beauty Contest." What if, one day, Jill saw one of those posters? I didn't even want to think about it.

I had to leave. But where could I go? Where in America would I be safe from the FBI?

I was just pouring milk into Lucky's bowl, with her looking on, impatient for the silly human to be finished, when the idea struck me: I wouldn't be safe anywhere in the USA. But I would be overseas.

Oh dear.

Leave America?

You might have gained a different impression, but I wasn't really a very adventurous girl. I had always been a small town girl, shy, sensitive and happy to stay home and cuddle up with my pet, a good book and a bag of gummy bears. All this moving to New York and slaughtering a couple of husbands had happened more or less accidentally.

Oh? And the striptease and sandwich sex last week? Did that happen accidentally, too?

All right, maybe I had changed a bit since Hilly Springs. A tiny little bit.

Still, the idea of living outside the US of A frightened me a little. How empty would I feel if I didn't see the star spangled banner fluttering from every corner? How would I cope with not being able to buy any guns and knives and other everyday serial killer equipment at Walmart? And were there gummy bears outside of the US?

"Meow!"

Startled by the protesting noise, I looked down and saw that the milk was flowing over the rim of Lucky's bowl. She was glaring at me, as if she were saying "Now look what a mess you've made in my own personal kingdom!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Really, I am!" Grabbing an old towel hanging over a nearby chair, I hurriedly started to mop up the flood. "I'll clean this up away."

"Meow."

"By the way, since we are talking—how would you like living in a foreign country?"

"Meeeeow!"

"No, not to Peru! I know they eat cats there. I would never do that to you."

"Meeow?"

"I don't know if they have good cat food where we're going. I haven't decided on a destination yet."

"Meow!"

"You're right. I'd better start. There you go." Rising from the floor, I watched, smiling, as Lucky began to slurp away at her milk. After depositing the milk-soaked towel in the wash, I went to my computer and typed "English-speaking countries" into the search engine. A number of images popped up on the screen, one of which was a map with all the English-speaking world.

I was disappointed at the lack of choices. I thought English was a global language! But the only places where it seemed to be really widespread except for the US were Canada and Australia. I didn't want to freeze to death, and I didn't particularly relish the thought of celebrating Christmas in summer, either. So, short of learning Spanish and moving to Mexico, what choices were left to me?

Suddenly, I noticed, among all the grey areas a little, hopeful speck of blue. Zooming closer, I took a look at the little island, and started looking for the caption.

"'UK'?"

Hm...Didn't that stand for "United Kingdom"? But United Kingdom of what, exactly? Kingdoms weren't exactly my area of expertise, the animal one excepted.

Still, I seemed to remember something about Britain being part of it. Or was it England? Or both?

A half hour more internet research revealed the following information: Britain was indeed part of the United Kingdom, which was divided into Great Britain in the east and Northern Ireland in the west (the rest of Ireland having apparently decided to start their own merry little state). Great Britain again was divided into England, Scotland, and Wales, a place where the meadows were full of sheep and there were towns with charming names like Ysbyty Ystwyth and Llanfairpwllgwyngyll.

Okay. I wasn't going to move to Wales.

But the other options?

Scotland's climate would probably be a little rough and windy for my taste. In Northern Ireland, I had heard there were already plenty of crazy killers on the loose, and I didn't really like to infringe on the market of my colleagues. That left England.

Without delay, I started digging up information about that country. And what I found was simply amazing. Not a single state in England had a law that carried the death penalty for murder! You could get gummy bears and decent coffee! And, most interesting of all: their police force was called Scotland Yard! It was probably too much to hope that this literally meant they had stored their police force safely away in Scotland, hundreds of miles away from their own country — but still, this place sounded like heaven on earth!

Two days later, I had packed up my stuff, quit my job and purchased a sticker for my suitcase saying DANGER! RADICAL ANGLOPHILE! Jill came to say goodbye to me at the airport.

"I still can't believe you're leaving!" she hissed at me. When Jill gets upset, she doesn't cry like normal people—she hisses, growls and punches poor, innocent walls.

"I know, I know," I soothed her, hugging her close and burying my face in her glittering blue hair. "I don't want to leave you behind, either, Jill! You're the best friend I've ever had. It's just... I need a change, that's all."

"But to England? Those people drive on the wrong side of the road, and eat baked beans for breakfast and celebrate the fact that they nearly managed to blow up their own congress with fireworks!"

I managed a weak smile. "Do you think Canada would be any better? Do you want me to freeze my toes off?"

"At least it would have been closer! Oh, damn you! Come here! I need to hug you again!"

The hug lasted for quite a long time. Maybe a bit longer than strictly necessary—but I was not sure whether I was ever going to see Jill again. It was quite possible that I would be arrested at the security gates before I got on the plane, and even if all went well, I had no idea whether it would ever be safe to return to the US. The rumors about the creation of a task force dedicated to my capture hadn't died down so far.

Finally, we separated from each other. I had hardly taken a step back when a sharp fingernail stabbed into my abdomen. It was attached to a threatening forefinger.

"Write to me!" Jill ordered. "Understand? I'll expect daily emails, or I'm flying over there and have you thrown into the tower of London for criminal neglect of a best friend, understood?"

I snapped a salute. "Yes, ma'am! Certainly, ma'am!"

"Do you have my email address? It's—"

"—[email protected]. Yes, Jill, I know. Trust me, I couldn't forget an address like that even if you weren't my best friend."

"Don't you dare! Ever!"

"I promise."

We hugged, one last time, and only parted when the guard at the security gate gave a reproving look. The plane's take-off time was approaching. Quickly, I disentangled myself from Jill and hurried through the security gate. In the departure lounge, I stood up on my tiptoes so I could look over the barrier and waved to her as hard as I could. She waved back like mad, blue hair flying in all directions. Lucky, stuck in a plastic and wire mesh container dangling from my left arm, meowed in protest.

"Take good care of yourself, Cassy!" Jill shouted across the barrier. "Kick some major Brit ass!"

"I will!" I called back. "If I find one that looks cute enough!"

Jill's grin was the last thing I saw before I turned and headed onto the plane.

❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤

The good news: I wasn't arrested on my way into the plane. The bad news: the plane wasn't a private jet. Still, it was business class. I had laid aside a tidy sum and felt that after all the chaos and emotional tumult of the last few months, I owed myself a little peace and quiet, and room to stretch my legs.

Despite what Jill had told me to do, that was exactly what I was looking for: peace and quiet. I wouldn't be going for a cute British ass, or any other parts of Britons that matched my cuteness standards, for that matter.

"You know what we need, don't you?" I cooed, lifting the edge of the cloth covering Lucky's box to keep her delicate nerves from suffering from the strange noises and sights around her. "All we're looking for is a quiet little place in the country where we can settle down and lay low for a while, isn't that right?"

A paw shot out from between the bars of the cage and swiped at me.

"I know, I know. The cage isn't nice. But those nasty, evil airline people wouldn't let me buy you your own seat."

"Meow!"

"I know it's unfair. Downright speciesism! I've written to the director of the airline to complain. Hopefully, they'll change their policy, and in future, other cats won't have to suffer this horrible indignity."

"Meow."

That had sounded a little more conciliatory. Slowly, the cat retracted its claws.

"That's right. All will be all right soon. We'll be in England in no time, girl, don't you worry. Come on, give me a high five!"

We bumped paws—or I guess in my case, it was a hand—and Lucky retreated into her cage, resigned to her fate. Lowering the cloth back over the cage, I looked up to find the passenger next to me, a businessman in suit and tie with a laptop on his knees, staring at me, his mouth open.

"What?" I demanded. "So I support feline equality! Sue me!"

The businessman quickly turned back to studying the statistics on his screen.

This time, I didn't have to fly all the way to India and back. But the plane wasn't nearly as fast as Elliot's jet had been, and with nobody but a surly Lucky and a fingernail-biting businessman for company, the hours stretched long. Hour upon endless hour passed. When finally, we broke through a bank of clouds and I saw land far, far below, I thought for a moment I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. But no! My dreams always had a lot more blood and hot guys in them. Were we already here? Were we in Great Britain?

A moment later, my question was answered.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Captain asks all passengers to return to their seats. We are approaching Heathrow Airport, London."

Quickly, I leaned across towards the window and gazed outside, without paying the least attention to the protesting businessman whose statistics-filled screen I was obscuring. Below, magnificent white cliffs rose out of the roiling sea, and a few lonely, quaint cottages speckled the coast. And I saw a road, with cars driving on the left side. Yes! Yes, we were in Britain, the country who had exported its own police force! Yippee!

A great river cut through the landscape, snaking around the majestic hills like a really big, wet snake without any teeth. And there was another road, with more cars driving on the left side. Not one of them seemed to be tempted to switch over to the right. Really impressive! How were those Brits doing it?

I didn't have long to wonder. More houses appeared in the distance, and then they converged, and before I knew what had happened, there it was: London. My mouth fell open.

"Holy..."

"Um... I'm not sure whether it is, Miss," the businessman dared to venture, trying to catch a peek of his statistics around my shoulder. "It's London. It has a few churches, but no pilgrimage sights, I believe."

I turned to stare at him. "Are you British?"

"Err... yes?"

"How do you people do it?"

The businessman eyed me, cautiously. "Do what?"

"Not go crazy! Or at least get lost—in that!" I gestured down at the streets below. "Just look at that!"

"Um... yes?"

"Not a single one of the streets is at a right angle to another!"

"I don't think so, no."

"Why do you keep it like that? Why don't you tidy it up a bit?"

"I believe it's for historic reasons. And people not wanting to have their houses knocked down might also play a small role."

"Oh." I sagged back into my seat.

"Please remain in your seat, ladies and gentlemen. We are now preparing for touchdown."

"Hold on, Lucky," I told the container beside me. "Great Britain, get ready—here we come!"

"Meow!" the cage concurred—and we started to descend.

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Hello there, my dear Homicidal Maniacs! :)

I hope you look forward to Cassy's adventure's in Old Blightey (aka Britain). Do you think Scotland Yard will be lenient on American serial killers who have cute cats? ;)

Cheers

Sir Rob