The first thing I noticed was how its bones jutted through the patches of rot in the skins that covered it, none of which were its own. It shambled across the footpath in front of my house, setting my cameras off, but when I played the footage back the screen was utterly black.
It caught the sound though. All those bones rattling together, rubbing against the skin and further wearing it away, the heavy breathing of something struggling under its own weight. In my mind I called it a poor thing and felt pity for the way it was suffering.
Then it turned down the alley next to my house, its looming spine jutting over the fence and triggering my garden camera just in time to record its unfortunate meeting with a cat. It was over quickly and violently and after a few seconds of quiet crunching, a gnarled hand gently placed a chewed-up little cat skull on top of a half broken femur on its back.
I haven't seen it since but I have noticed an alarming increase in missing cat posters around the area.
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