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Cat Nap
Cat Nap
Cat Nap
Ebook30 pages14 minutes

Cat Nap

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About this ebook

Triwell doesn't adopt strays. He feels like a stray himself, a man who has lost everything even though he has a house and an antiquarian bookstore in Seavy Village on the Oregon Coast.

But the cat adopted him. And she proves a mystery. A mystery who lives with him. A mystery he will solve one summer in a surprising—and deadly—way.

"Rusch is a great storyteller."—RT Book Reviews

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 30, 2018
ISBN9781386630661
Cat Nap
Author

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

New York Times bestselling author Kristine Kathryn Rusch writes in almost every genre. Generally, she uses her real name (Rusch) for most of her writing. She publishes bestselling science fiction and fantasy, award-winning mysteries, acclaimed mainstream fiction, controversial nonfiction, and the occasional romance. Her novels have made bestseller lists around the world and her short fiction has appeared in eighteen best of the year collections. She has won more than twenty-five awards for her fiction, including the Hugo, Le Prix Imaginales, the Asimov's Readers Choice award, and the Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Readers Choice Award.   

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    Book preview

    Cat Nap - Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    Cat Nap

    Cat Nap

    Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    WMG Publishing Inc.

    Contents

    Cat Nap

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    Also by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

    About the Author

    Cat Nap

    She sleeps in the sun, oblivious to all she has wrought. Her white fur glistens in the light, a stark contrast to the rich wood floor beneath her. Occasionally the breeze blowing in through the open window catches her. She raises her small triangular-shaped head, ears up, and sniffs, delicately, as if the air had a bouquet, like wine, that she could accept or reject.

    Then she puts her head down, sighs heavily, and falls back to sleep. Her body twitches—dreams, I know—but their content remains a mystery. Does she have nightmares about those days she spent roadside, waiting for someone to find her? Does she run from unseen predators? Cower from yelling voices?

    Or are her dreams happy places, filled with hummingbirds and flowers and all the food she can eat?

    I do not know and I do not want to know. I like to pretend she is happy here, even in sleep, untormented by memories that would bother humans until the day they died.

    The first time I saw her, she was chasing sandpipers on the beach. She was fat and sleek and pampered, so fat that she couldn’t catch the birds—probably a good thing, since they would have pecked her to death if she had even come close to them.

    For weeks after that, she haunted the beach like a thinning white wraith. I saw her on my daily walks, flitting in

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