• Part 1, "Passing Shadow..."
• Part 2, "Passing Shadow..."
• Part 4, "Passing Shadow..." (A Miscellany of Skins)

Muffin moved like smoke over the windowsill and out on to the roof. The big gray tabby's yellow eyes flicked from rooftop to chimney to the thick branches of the oak tree that had yet to be trimmed away from the eaves of the house.

Muffin was 12, a senior citizen by kitty standards, but he wasn't a stupid animal, and his senses were still sharp. He felt a twinge in his hind legs now after he woke from a nap and he napped a lot more, even by feline standards - but he could still stalk and bring home good catches - mice, moles, squirrels.

His pets never seemed appreciative, though. The big one who talked to Muffin in the strangely high voice, who sometimes rubbed his fur the wrong way, the male - he'd thrown up the first time Muffin brought some food back to the lair.

Muffin had eaten the crumbly dry stuff the smaller pet put in Muffin's bowl, but he was rarely able to tolerate that food for long before he began seeing the beady eyes of squirrels or chipmunks and feeling truly hungry.

Now it was night, and the air was wet and rich with scents that further stoked the cat's hunger.

Muffin silently padded down the slope of the roof and without pause he launched himself into the topmost limbs of the oak tree. The hunt was on.

Muffin had just scented a rat when he felt the Bad Thing.

One moment he could see the prey - it's scent told him the size, gave him a sense of how long the meal would last. It told him that the rat was large, but not old. It would be a challenge.

The next moment the scent of the Bad Thing, the dangerous thing was nearby, and hunger for the rodent vanished.

Muffin froze, belly low to the ground. He was near the big water, in the place where the trees smelled sweet. It was dark, but Muffin could see, smell, hear his way around the forest as if it were broad daylight.

Warily, Muffin's eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the trees. His eyes were the weakest of all his senses, but he still could see better at night than most creatures.

His ears were the most sensitive of all, and it was the sound of the Bad Thing's breathing that alerted him to It's presence. The Bad Thing was behind him, behind a tree. It could stand as still as any cat, in spite of it's size - It was as large as Muffin's large pet - but It couldn't conceal the sound of it's breath from Muffin, and nothing could conceal It's scent.

The scent of many bloods.

Some blood Muffin recognized. The dog from the house behind Muffin's house, the one that liked to chase Muffin when the cat dared even come near the fence that separated the dog's yard. The white cat Muffin once took in the mating fever.

Other bloods were strange.

And the scent of it all, combined with the sound of the Bat Thing's breath, sent Muffin into a panic.

The gray and black striped cat took off at a run towards the big water. Muffin did not know where to go. He could not get lost, but he could run out onto the rock path where the monsters with sun-eyes ran and end up a flat stamp of fur like many other cats from Muffin's neighborhood.

All Muffin knew to do at that moment was run.

The water through spaces between the trees. The heady scent of fish, a smell that normally thrilled Muffin, sent him into a fit of hunger.

The sound of the big Bad Thing behind him, running on it's two long legs. The Bad Thing that looked like a pet, but was deadlier than the sun-eyed creatures, meaner than any dog.

The Bad Thing that smelled of bloods, and death.

Muffin was old, but fear kept the cat moving towards the space between the big water and trees.

The scent of the Bad Thing and it's sound began to fade a little as Muffin neared the rocky space between where the trees ended and the water began. Muffin didn't slow. As he ran he began to look for a place to hide, to hole up and be still, wait and watch for the Bad Thing. He would do that, and when he was sure the Bad Thing had passed, Muffin would get back to his lair as quickly as he could. He would settle for the crumbly dry food and the troublesome pets. The pets were loud and smelled bad, but they felt so nice and warm when he slept on their soft laps.

Muffin broke out of the tree line at a full run, heart pounding, and realizing he was going to run straight into the water he made a sharp turn and proceeded along the treeline.

Now he couldn't smell the Bad Thing at all.

He began to slow down, ears perked, heart still thumping, all his faculties alert for the bigger predator, the Thing of Many Bloods.

It seemed as if he'd eluded the Bad Thing after all.

Muffin was settling down to rest for a moment on a long slab of stone, the cool breeze from the big water washing over him, gentle through his short fur, carrying the scent of fish, sweet fish, when he felt the Bad Thing's hand seize him roughly by the scruff.

The last things Muffin smelled were that sweet fishy smell, the big pointed trees, and many, many bloods, new and old.

The last thing he saw were eyes. Eyes a little like the large eyes of Muffin's pets, but empty of affection.

Then Muffin saw red, heard cracking.

Then, nothing.

Two days later Muffin's picture was on a blue sheet of paper, on the rec center bulletin board.