The library was run by three librarians, and was watched over by one elderly cat.

The cat, with ragged black fur and one working eye, was usually found sleeping on the front desk, and like all cats, had no owner but itself. No one knew where it came from or even how old it was; the older librarian, whose family were all librarians, said her grandmother had worked with it.

Every so often it would disappear and the librarians would believe it dead, but it always returned. It had survived many things already. It would survive many things to come.

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