Using an old staplegun she'd borrowed from her elderly neighbour, the girl in the duffle coat fixed the picture of her cat, Fermat, to the post. As the wind threatened to snatch Fermat's dark eyes from her grasp, she cried, but she didn't stop to wipe away the tears until the sad message with its paltry reward was firmly attached: eight shiny new staples gleaming amidst a forest of rusting pins and tattered pleas for help.

It had been difficult to find a space on the old wooden telegraph pole. Her cheaply printed "Missing Cat" poster covered several older pictures of lost moggies, their colours fading in the sun or turning into multi-hued papiér maché in poorly sealed bags and plastic sleeves.

Her gloved fingers traced the memory of the missing cat's cheek, the plastic cover fluttering in the chill wind and she placed the stapler back in her bag alongside the remaining few pamphlets. Snow crunched under her boots, her exposed cheeks raw in the cold from several miles of walking the streets.

Her breath clouded the air around her and she spoke into the dark eyes of the picture. "Oh Ferm, where are you baby?"

She turned and sank down onto the bench at the foot of the post, her back resting against the wood, hooded head titled back against Fermat's picture. "I can't do this without you Ferm," she said softly, the wind whipping away the cloud of her breath as fresh tears froze on her eyelashes.

~

"Hello, Control, this is Officer Pierce."

"Control receiving. Officer Pierce, please go ahead."

"Thanks Control. I'm just finishing my patrol. There's not much going on out here, it's too damn cold for most people at the moment. The only thing I've seen all morning is a girl crying on a bench by the public notice board on the corner of College and Yonge, and some poor old guy dumpster diving nearby: other than that, it's pretty dead out here.

"Commander Kelly had said something about pets being snatched in the area, and to keep an eye out, but I've seen nothing that looks odd."

"Okay Pierce, head back in and grab a hot drink, thanks for the update."

"Thanks Control, see you soon."

~

She lost track of how long she sat there, tears freezing on her cheeks, the sun dappling the woods of the park. The shadow of the post moved on the snow, and she was brought back to herself as her cellphone buzzed. Removing a glove, she reached stiffly into a pocket, her hands numb with cold, and looked at the screen.

"Feeding time," noted the daily diary entry she'd programmed to jolt her out of whatever daydream she was in at the time. As she stood, joints protesting, she dropped her phone back into the copious pocket of her duffle coat and pushed her glasses back up her nose. Her hand lifted once again to the picture of her cat, one finger tracing his face.

"I'll find you Ferm, I promise."

As she turned to go, she slipped on the icy pavement and grabbed instinctively at the post for support, her bare hand raking painfully down the rusting pins and staples on the noticeboard. She staggered back in shock and pain, as words slammed into her mind.

"... reward offered..."

"... answers to the name Tilly..."

"... last Thursday in Kensington District..."

"... please ring Terry..."

"Missing Cat."

"Missing Cat."

"Missing Cat."

"Missing Cat."

"Please help me find..."

"Missing Cat."

"Last seen on Sunday..."

"Missing Cat."

Gasping, she steadied herself with her gloved hand and looked at the scratched palm of her other hand. "What the hell was that?" she muttered.

~

The old man pulled out a half-finished bottle of coke from the bin and grinned as it fizzed when he twisted the cap. He took a swig and glanced over to the pale-faced girl standing by the notices. She'd been crying again and seemed to have injured herself as one hand was bare and bloody. He shook his head, pulling his coat tighter around his frame as the wind bit into him, popped the remains of the drink into a pocket and walked slowly over to her.

"Um, miss, are you okay?" he asked as he approached.

She turned to look at him, a curious expression of puzzlement, pain and anger on her face.

"Miss, your hand," said the old man pointing at the blood standing stark against her pale skin. "Perhaps put a bit of snow on it?" he suggested.

"Um, yes, thank you."

"You lost your cat miss?" As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't as her eyes once more filled with tears. "Ah damn, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's not your fault," the girl looked at him. "You look cold."

"I'm usually cold miss, I'm used to it. But so do you if you don't mind me saying, you oughta be inside after sitting there for so long."

"Yes, I will." She glanced back at the picture of her cat. "But there's something I've got to sort out first." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her purse. "May I buy you a hot drink and a meal, sir?"

"Thank you miss, that would be most welcome. Do you need a hand putting up any more of your posters?"

"No, thank you. I think I know what I need to do now." The girl was studying the post, a curious expression on her face.

The old man clasped his hand around the twenty-dollar bill she had placed carefully on his palm, then watched as she turned back to the pole.

~

Fermat's dark eyes stared at her from the picture.

She raised her naked hand and placed it firmly on the noticeboard, blood running freely from her palm as she closed her eyes.

Information pounded into her mind and she groaned in pain: so much loss, anger and suffering, but the streets remembered, and underneath all the panic and loss was a thread...

... many long seconds later, she staggered back from the post, her face pale, and eyes wide. Her expression hardened, and she turned a full circle, putting her glove back on over her frozen fingers.

"Where is Paris Street?" she growled at the old man. He staggered back a couple of paces, his eyes wide as his gaze met the slit pupils of a cat, then wordlessly pointed to the south, other hand clenched white-knuckled around the twenty dollar bill in fear.

~

Fermat was hungry and afraid. The place he was in was not home, and the man who had taken him smelled wrong. But worst of all, 'she' was not there.

The cage he was in was small, and the room stank of fear, blood and loss. Skeletons of various creatures hung all around him in the dank cellar, and he shrank back against the bars of the cage, his fur bristling.

The man was singing softly to himself, his arms bloody to the elbow as he butchered the carcass of an Alsatian. The paring knife made quick work of the dog, and he paused only to slice a thin sliver of the animal's liver. The gobbling noise he made as he ate it raw made Fermat's skin crawl and the cat hissed in distress. Pale blue eyes turned on him.

"I'll get to you shortly puss, don't worry." Pasty white skin gleamed sickly in the anaemic light of the single bulb in the ceiling, and the man's powerful upper body worked under a thin vest as the dog was stripped to its bones.

"Now then," he said as he walked over, wiping his bloody hands on a filthy towel. "Shall we do you before or after lunch?"

Fermat hissed again, then paused, his head tilting to one side as he heard something outside.

Steps sounded, and a shadow passed the window. There was a knock at the door, and the man frowned, moving to the spyhole to see who was there.

As he leaned forward to peer through the lens at his visitor, the door exploded inwards, and Fermat curled into a protective ball as splinters flew across the room. The man, standing immediately behind it was thrown across the room, and an inhuman shriek filled the air, a keening sound of loss and agony, animalistic and primal.

And then 'she' was there.

Her diminutive figure stalked into the room, and Fermat recognised the stance of a hunter. She had found her prey. He watched, cowering away from her as she sped across the room. Gloved hands shaped like claws, she repeatedly struck the man, hands slamming into his face, his chest and his arms, all the while keening like a wounded lion.

~

She came back to herself when she heard the cat meow.

Blood dripped from her gloved hands and the sodden pulp of what had once been a human being sagged indistinctly on the floor at her feet.

In the far corner of the room was a small cage, and dark eyes looked back at her from the shadows.

"Ferm?" she whispered, and ran across the room, ignoring the wreckage around her. "Oh God, Ferm. You're alive." Crying, she opened the cage and hugged the cat tight as he purred into her neck, closing her eyes as tears soaked the cat's fur. "I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost you. I was so scared."

The cat rubbed against her face and she opened her eyes, taking in the horror of the room she found herself in: the blood, the jars of disembodied organs and body parts, the skeletons, the unconscious, bloody, and grossly misshapen figure, the wreck of what had once been a powerfully built man.

"Time to go Ferm." The cat purred and nuzzled her neck.

She walked out of the basement, her hood raised, and made a call at the phone booth on the corner.

~

"Hello, Control, this is Officer Pierce. I've just arrived at the property reported in from the pay phone. I've... I've never seen so much blood. Can I have some backup please? You're not going to believe this one..."