"Whitley Strieber - Cat Magic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strieber Whitley)

The black torn began his progress across Maywell, intent only on one goal; Animal Room Two,
Terrarium D-22, Wolff Biology Building. He hurried down the sidewalk on the right side of Bartlett
Street, past the tall homes that had housed the same Maywell families for generations, the Haspells and
the Lohses and the Coxons, families whose ancestors had seen the Revolution from those leaded-glass
windows, who had leaped in the springtime fields and left mandrakes for the fairy.

The torn passed a red Mustang convertible beneath which an elderly and very arthritic tabby hid.

The torn heard its wheezing breath, saw the pain in its eyes. Frightened of the enormous spirit it saw
stalking down the walk, the tabby yowled miserably.

The torn stopped. He lowered his head, concentrated on the neglected, dying animal before him. A
sensitive paw reached out and touched the cowering tabby. I give you the gift of death, old cat. You have
earned it. Instantly the tabby's body slumped. The torn watched its soul leap up like smoke into the starry
sky.

None of the tabby's fleas crossed to the torn. They chose rather to risk the cold autumn ground.

The torn continued on its way, and everything sensitive to it took notice as they might the transit of a
wendigo. As it passed the Coxon house, it brought a vision to the innocently open mind of little Kirn, the
eleven-month-old baby. She began to wail in her crib. She didn't know words, but in a painful, true flash
from the enormous mind that was passing, she had seen her own end, far from now in a sleek blue thing
she did not yet know was called a car, in the bellowing water of a flooded river, on another autumn night.
And in the prime of youth.

Hearing the desolation in her cries, Kim's mother came into the nursery, picked her up, and clucked and
sang and patted. тАЬOh, had a burp,тАЭ her mother said. тАЬSuch a big burp!тАЭ When the wailing passed, she
put Kirn down.

The frog found fat, lovely flies skimming along the surface of the water. It caught them, aiming with its
keen eyes, darting its tongue.

Something the frog might have called a goddess, had if known of such things, marched the water, raining
desire down on the feeding bull, making it forget its feeding and follow.

тАЬMonitor the blood flow in die extremities. We'll wait until it stops completely before we bring our baby
back.тАЭ

The frog was jumping and leaping for the green goddess, wanting to show that it was the greatest bull, the
bull of bulls, huge and strong and thunder-voiced. It dove deep, shot to the surface, dove again.

тАЬThat's the last of it, George. No more blood flow.тАЭ

тАЬSo we can confirm one absolutely dead Rana catesbewna. . . [1] тАЭ

тАЬBy any definition. Even the Stohlmeyer Foundation's.тАЭ тАЬThis time. Doctor, they'll accept our protocols.
For sure.тАЭ тАЬThanks, Bonnie.тАЭ George Walker kissed her straw-sweet twenty-year-old hair. He stood to
his full height, six feet of slim but fiftyish male. God, he thought, the beauty of her youth! тАЬI have ninety
seconds of null readings, Doctor.тАЭ тАЬGood, dark. I think we'll convince 'em this time.тАЭ тАЬFor sure,тАЭ Bonnie