If they made her disappear, she worried most about the cat. The slender young calico, the runt of a litter gone feral, had chosen her rickety front porch to make his home. She’d named him Oliver. She left food for him. Sometimes by the end of the day it remained untouched, other times it was gone by noon. But she always made sure to refill the bowl, to watch out for him, to try to care for him if he’d hurt himself out on a night prowl. She’d pulled out prickers and bought him a collar to ward off pests, and with great patience and care, she got close enough to bring him to the vet. Once because he needed ten stitches in his side. “That’s no cat fight,” the vet had said, looking at her long and hard as if to say trying to domesticate a wild animal was crazy and would only lead to trouble and vet bills.

She was glad to pay the money. Oliver had become her friend. Her only friend, really. She’d sit on the front porch waiting for him, and eventually instead of leaping away he’d stick around. Eyeballing her from a distance, growing closer. She smiled, thinking about the progress of his trust. She always waited for him to come to her. She knew from a flick of his tail, the wideness or narrowing of his sage green eyes, if it was a good day or bad.

Today was a good day. Oliver ate with gusto, groomed himself, then came over and rubbed his cheek against her calf. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached down to offer a hand and he marked that, as well. She frowned. There was a notch missing from his ear, a bloodied crust. “You fighting again, boy?” Oliver looked up, smiled. As if to say “You should see the other guy.”

Tears came to her eyes. Who would take care of him?

Not her neighbors, certainly. They all thought she was nuts. She didn’t trust any of them not to turn around and call animal control.

But it was getting too dangerous to stay. A colleague told her about a safe place, only they didn’t allow pets. It was too much of a risk. Sometimes they’d have to relocate with little if any notice, and there wouldn’t be time for people to get their animals together. It could harm them all.

Two people she used to meet up with in the library basement vanished one day. Just didn’t show up to their meeting, and when she called them, their phones didn’t answer. That’s what happened, some said. You were there one minute, then…gone.

Some said it was too dangerous even having a phone. They were tracking people. But she tried to be careful. She knew about technology, GPS, covering her movements. She’d been very good at her job. Until she got the email that she wasn’t needed anymore. They cut off her access, but she knew the back doors. Because she’d built them.

Then the weird South African man offered her a new position working for the government. “With your talent,” one of his minions had said to her, “you could write your own ticket.”

It would have made for a healthy payday, but the cost was far too high. He didn’t like to be refused. Now it was only a matter of time until his goons came for her. “You can take them, can’t you, Oliver?” She scratched under his chin. He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and purred. She didn’t have his claws to defend herself, but she had a gun. Maybe she’d go feral, too.