"Bengal's dead :(", was a text message I got today from my little brother.
Moments later, he followed that with, "I think skye got her."
I expressed my deepest sympathy (and masked my secret being-okay-with-her-passing) and told him that I really didn't think it was Skye for multiple reasons: 1) they were never together that long and 2) Skye never had blood on her.
When Skye's killed something, she's proud. She'd much rathre run up to me, blood covered, with her tongue lolling out of her mouth and the most proud expression on her face than discreetly lick away the evidence.
As it turns out, Bengal died as a result of eating poinsettia leaves, which apparently are poisonous to cats.
I did feel bad, in all actuality.
But not bad enough to replace the kitten that turned our house upside down.