Tanya was addicted to adopting strays. Every week, she took in some new dog or kitten or bird. She even had a turtle with a cracked shell living under her bathroom sink.

“I can’t just turn them away!” she said every time I suggested maybe sending this new critter to a rescue. “They need me!”

It sounded to me like it was the other way around, but Tanya was my friend, and I’m not quite enough of an asshole to say something like that.

Tanya was also addicted to traveling. Day trips, road trips, destination weddings—if there was traveling involved, she couldn’t say no. She had a “bucket list” of locations a mile long, and she’d crossed off quite a few of them, too.

One item was backpacking to Machu Picchu. The hike itself was five days, but Tanya took two weeks off just to be safe. I didn’t hear from her much during that time, but that was Tanya—she lived in the moment, and if you didn’t happen to be there, well, out of sight, out of mind.

Even when the two-week mark passed, I wasn’t worried. She’d need a few days to acclimate, go through her mail, all that jazz, you know? I shot her a text asking if she was back, and when she didn’t reply, I just shrugged.

By the three-week mark, I started getting anxious. She wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and she hadn’t posted on social media for a few days. None of our friends could get ahold of her. I even went to her house, but she didn’t answer the door. I called the police.

They had to break down the door. One officer who was there said the smell was horrendous. I guess the pet sitter Tanya had hired never showed, and there were feces and urine everywhere. There were dozens of animal corpses, too, some dead from dehydration, others the victims of the larger pets.

But worst of all was Tanya’s body. Her face was gone and her stomach torn open. She looked like she’d put up a fight, but hunger is a powerful motivator.

Her few living pets were dirty, but well-fed, their muzzles red and sticky.