12/16/2024
No cats were harmed in the making of this book đ¤
âWhat would you do if a three-and-a-half-pawed, no-eyed cat with a bloody squirrelâs tail hanging from its mouth turned up at your apartment one day, and when you opened the door it dropped the tail at your feet and scooted between your legs and over to your wool sweaterâthe corn-like one with a ring of grey triangles around the middle that was knit special for you by the shopkeeper of the hardware store down the street, because of all of the business youâd provided her over the years in the form of key-cuttingâand began pulling up the fibres with the real claws of one paw and the imaginary claws of the other, until it decided the garment was good enough for lying down upon, and curled itself into a circle, and didnât close its eyes, because it couldnât, and gave its own tail a few rough licks, and then, presumably, fell asleep?
I named him Scoot.â
So begins R.I.P. SCOOT, a hilarious, heart-wrenching literary mystery in which Sara Flemington blends stories of both nonsense and profound truthâthe kind we use to make sense of love and loss in an uncertain world.
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