In the quiet, dust-moted corners of the old library—a place where history was not just written but felt—there lived a cat known simply as Pussy.

In the quiet, dust-moted corners of the old library—a place where history was not just written but felt—there lived a cat known simply as Pussy. She was a creature of shadow and velvet, a feline whose presence was as constant as the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

To the casual observer, she was merely a stray who had found a warm hearth. But to those who knew the ancient, rhythmic pulse of the world, Pussy was the living embodiment of Oris.