Do any of y'all know if somebody is currently plotting to kill me?

I received an unexpected package in the mail this week.  It was addressed to me, but merely bore the name and address of a retailer I had never heard of in the SENDER area of the padded envelope.
Instead of being delighted by what may yet prove to be no more than a well-intended GIFT, I was immediately suspicious.
I was first concerned that I had not received any instructions whatsoever regarding my expected role in getting the contents of this package to the rightful recipient at the intended destination, and by the appropriate deadline.
Also, no matter how beige and unexciting some of us (Me!) may appear on the surface, we have all cultivated some enemies along the way, am I right?  You don't have to answer- it's rhetorical.  We live in an exciting age of information and communication, as well as an age of fear and violence.  It is wise to take some basic precautions prior to breaking the seal on potentially dangerous packages.  Remember the Anthrax panics?  It doesn't matter, because the lethality of Anthrax, like the lethality of most other weapons of various degrees of destructive capacity, does NOT rely one bit on the memory skills or mental abilities of its target.
I handled the package gingerly, and studied it visually.  I broadened my search and went electronic, but no clues were to be found in any of my email accounts.  I had no memory of being involved in, or informed of, any current missions.  Just what kind of person am I anyway that suddenly finding myself on the receiving end of an assassination attempt, OR the "middleman" in an extremely complicated delivery scheme seems more normal than being the kind of person who might receive an unexpected gift in the mail?  Do I think I'm James (used to be, kind of) Blonde, or something?
After deciding that the contents were most likely benign, I opened the padded envelope and let its contents slide slowly out onto the sturdy wooden table.  I eyed the slick paperback book lying on the table, as I picked up the single sheet of paper by the corner, carefully searching for an explanation.  The only additional information that appeared on the (I guess I would have to call it this) invoice was the amount book's purchase and shipping cost.  I was listed as the customer.  My name was spelled correctly, a feat that even lifelong friends sometimes find difficult.  My mailing address was exact, slightly MORE unusual, considering we've had three different addresses in thirteen months, and complicated by the fact that the moron who was allowed to decide how to spell the name of this street lacked knowledge, respect, or both, towards the civility of American English Phonics.
I didn't appear to OWE any amount for the book, though payment method was not listed anywhere on the lone paper.  I questioned everybody at my house, fearing a young mind had discovered how easy it is to purchase items online with only a few numbers.  My interrogations were met with vehement denials all around, and it was even suggested that perhaps I had ordered this book myownself, IN MY SLEEP.
It also occurred to me that maybe I had been singled out as a reviewer of sorts, because of multiple blog entries regarding the youngest, and black-hearted-est, occupant in our home, a yellow boy cat named Jagger, whose primary agenda seems to be organizing a mutiny, usurping my power and replacing ME as the captain of our family ship.
Thinking about Jagger and his black-black heart led me to thinking about the depths of evil he was capable of.  Was it no longer enough for him to wait for me on the back of the sofa and haul off and PUNCH me as I walk by?   People never believe me when I tell them that this CAT punches me.  Could it be that Jagger himself ordered this book for me as a THREAT?  I mean, he HAS certainly overheard my appraisal of his complete lack of character more than once.
We have another four-legged occupant in our home.  In fact, I was the one pressing to get a cat in the first place, because I suspected the dog was bored and lonely.  I am reminded of my culpability whenever I suggest letting the cat "play outside" for a while. 
Scooter has become GOOD BOY, though I think it is our perception of his behavior that has changed, and not the behavior itself.  I must consider that Good Boy may be responsible for presenting me with the book.  In his relative innocence, he may not realize that I am already of the danger posed to me by Bad Cat.
Thank you, Good Boy.  I will carefully study the book: How to tell if your cat is plotting to kill you.