A series of lost-cat flyers gleaned by the photographer over eight years: weathered, scarred posters on crumbling walls, whose cats we sense more as an aura than as a figure, one eye more than an expression. Each image of a seemingly crumbling piece of wall tells a story, leading the viewer into a territory on the margins, travelled by stealthy creatures familiar with survival, like those in seventies films of resilience and nostalgia. A paradox: cats, so individualistic and independent, are suddenly deeply missed. Once gone, they cease to stand for triumphant freedom and, painstakingly put on record in a few ingenuous lines on a more or less average photo, embody the anguish of love lost and a quest for an unlikely reunion. The posters become ex-votos, little spectres worn by seasons and damp, spiritistic visuals that retain the spirit of these phantasmal homecomings.