God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

Poor Strangers, They Have So Much To Be Afraid Of.

All Our Land Was Enriched With My Treasures Buried In It, Thickly Inhabited Just Below The Surface With My Marbles And My Teeth And My Colored Stones, All Perhaps Turned To Jewels By Now, Held Together Under The Ground In A Powerful Taut Web Which Never Loosened, But Held Fast To Guard Us.

In The Country Of The Story The Writer Is King.

I Delight In What I Fear.

All Cat Stories Start With This Statement: "my Mother, Who Was The First Cat, Told Me This...