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By Nancy Scott Hanway

“Nina! Come down here this instant.”

I felt dizzy, my mouth dry. I composed my face while trudging downstairs.

I had always felt an urge to steal small. When I shoplifted, I thought of the items I stole as abandoned cats in a shelter waiting for an owner. One of them mews at you in a certain way, purrs at just the right moment, or rubs its head against your hand, and you know it has

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