More than a book, it's a portal to the impossible. The cat who wove spells with threads of sugar stolen from the new moon and other impossible tales is not just a collection of tales: it's a music box on legs, a map of universes where cats are witches, quantum castaways, and accomplices of your most intimate secrets. In this book, I indulged myself by not writing: I wove realities with words that smell like basil in the rain and sugar stolen from dreams. Each story is a spell. In one, a cat purrs sapphires that are doors to forgotten seas; in another, a feline forks your life into two tails; there's one that lives among mirrors and another that is just an echo of light. Reading it is feeling a whisker's brush against your soul, as if the book were watching you from the shelf, waiting for you to realize that you could be the cat. If you have ever felt a purr at the nape of your neck when no one was there, if you found paw prints in a book you swore you hadn't read, this text has already chosen you. Because quantum cats don't have readers: they have accomplices

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