AN: So, here this is, short as t is for a first chapter. I'm quite attached to the characters, so I'd love to carry it on, but I can only do that if you give me reviews! Seriously, though, any feedback would be appreciated.

Before reading this, I think it's important to know that I like cats. A lot. A lot meaning I have twelve of them, and counting. Don't get me wrong, though; I don't like them in a crazy old man kind of way…there's just a certain grace about them, that makes them appealing…Maybe it's because I spent the first 8 years of my life in Greece-the place is full of them, I'm telling you. My name's Than, by the way. Thanasis Karpusi to be proper, but if you think of me as anything other than Than, trust me, I will kill you.

So, now that you know I like cats, and you know I have twelve of them, I'm thinking that when I begin with me waking up one morning to find only eleven fur balls curled around my head, you'll understand that I didn't take the revelation so well…Alright, let's be honest: I panicked.

"Where is he!?" It was obvious to me which one of my kittens was missing. For a start, he's the only one who'd even think of trying to go out without asking me first, and for another, I only have one Turkish van cat, them being as rare as they are, "Where's Socrates?" I turned to my other cats, who were, understandably, glaring at me for waking them up by leaping from the bed, knocking several of them over. Most just glared, but Aristotle-he's a real suck up, I swear-rubbed himself against my leg, walking to the bed room door and mewling so that I'd open it.

"Are you going to take me to him?" Mewl, "Now, that's not an answer, really, is it?" Mewl, "Much better." Opening the door, Aristotle took me towards the kitchen, leaping up onto the counter and cheerfully taking me to the sink.

"What have you taken me here for? He can't have-oh, shit. Oh, shittyshit…" and that was when I discovered the kitchen window was open. A window so tiny you can hardly get any comfort from it on a hot day, but just big enough for a bushy tailed kitten to wriggle their way through. A million terrible things rushed through my mind. He was only a kitten, he's not supposed to be outside yet, the woman down the road hates cats, what if…?

"Mrs Anderson! Mrs Anderson!" I dashed out of the door, leaping the fence to my neighbour's garden and yelling through her letterbox frantically. It felt like hours before she came to the door, still in her dressing gown, and even though her eyes widened in shock my mind was too worried to make the connection, and I just put it down to being eight in the morning. She blinked tiredly at me, shocked at my sudden wailing.

"What is it, boy?"

"My cat! Where's my…" the door slammed in my face. Even now, I think that was rude. I'd always thought of Mrs Anderson as a sort of grandma figure. Not since then, though; she must have been another cat hater.

The slam of the door made me finally lose what little control of my emotions I had left, and I proceeded down the street, wailing and screaming for my kitten. I think I was called a pervert twice when I knocked on the door and a girl my age answered, though at the time I really couldn't figure out why. Finally, when I reached the junction, I collapsed, sitting on the pavement and weeping into my knees. A bit stupid, really, and very embarrassing, if anyone who knew me had happened to pass by. Luckily, and even more so now, the only person who did was a little girl, in a pink checked dress with a matching balloon, trying and failing to blow matching pink bubbles with her gum. Sad, don't you think? Anyway, the girl stopped, and when I looked up from my weeping I found a pair of big, blue eyes with light brown eyelashes peering up at me, so close that I couldn't stop myself from yelping.

"What do you want?" I snapped, and she pouted. I'm not normally that bad with kids-they're kind of sweet-she just caught me at a bad time, and I wasn't exactly feeling patient.

"Why're ya cryin'?" Her words were slurred together, and I got the feeling she spent a little too much time watching Hannah Montana instead of out on her bike. My voice lost all of it's venom when she asked me that, though, and I welled up again.

"My…my kitten, Socrates…he ran away and I…" she tugged my sleeve, patting me on the head.

"A white'un wi' a orange tail? A BIG one?" she asked, and I nodded, feeling the hope bubble up in my chest. She pulled me until I stood up, wiping her hands on her dress before nodding enthusiastically, "Ah, he's o'er dere, playin' wi' tha Wolfy." I stopped crying instantly, relief overwhelming me and I followed her happily, scanning the path for any sign of Socrates.

Wait, did she say the 'Wolfy?'

"Dere!" she pointed happily, pleased with herself for stopping me from crying, and I followed her arm in anticipation, only to freeze in horror as I saw my precious kitten, daftly smiling as usual, in the jaws of an animal which seemed way too large and toothy to be a dog. Somewhere inside I nodded; 'Wolfy'.

"S-Socrates…" I whispered in fear as my kitten looked up at me, quite unaware of the danger he was in. I glared at the wolf, "Drop! Drop him! Drop him now!" my voice raised, and, to be honest, I probably was a bit too loud...but I was hysterical, you've got to forgive me for that, haven't you? Apparently not.

"It's probably best if you don't yell at him like that, I should think. I don't really believe it will get you anywhere…" I blinked, the voice coming from behind me, and turned around to see a guy around my age, wearing a parker and thick jumper and with a lead dangling from his hand. His annoyed expression softened as he heard me whimper, "Oh, is that your cat?"

And that moment, I think, is probably where it all began.