We cat lovers have all experienced this heartbreak. When a week or more passes and our beloved furballs fail to return. I’ve been through it too. Twice now. And I find it beyond suspicious that in a place as quiet and uneventful as the hilltops something like that still manages to happen. To tell a tale, it didn’t happen just to my cats. Around a dozen cats had disappeared at once from a single family’s garden. Though this isn’t all mystery and secrets, because I have my eye on a certain culprit.

She seems like an old, frail woman. Wrinkly skin, gray hair, hunched back and weak legs merely supported by an old cane. But this hag is anything but an old granny. She is a savage, her frail body a disguise and her helping cane a weapon. She treads the streets of the hilltops at night in search of material for her priceless fur coat. Furs of all colors and combinations all patched together to make one astoundingly fluffy coat, meant to keep one warm even from the coldest wind bites.

And the cane she carries? A cane made of old, rotting wood. The once smooth, warm brown color now faded, and partially replaced with a crusty bronze color, it is the greatest fur harvesting tool crafted by man. With just a swift swing being enough to do the job, this old crone with her cane can never worry about being out of material to patch up her precious fur coat.

No cat is safe with all of their fur so soft, so colorful. She won’t discriminate. But I cannot sue or file a warrant, all I can do is keep my kitty in the warmth of my home, safe from the Catnappers grasp.

Petra Dolovski