Amra Sabic-El-Rayess: Hello. I am Amra Sabic-El-Rayess, the author of The Cat I Never Named: A True Story of Love, War, and Survival. The book tells a story of how I survived the Bosnian genocide. From 1992 to 1995, I saw my country torn apart -- Family members slaughtered, friends disappeared. I starved. My house was bombed. I was almost killed and came close to being raped by a Serb soldier.

You may wonder why did these horrible things happen to me? It all happened simply because I was hated and dehumanized for being a Bosniak, a Bosnian Muslim.

Serbs in my old country controlled the army and decided to kill all non-Serbs to create what they called, "greater Serbia", a country just for them. As a Muslim, I was in the way of this imagined and racially-purer nation.

Now your next question is probably why I choose to share this very personal and painful experience with you and why now.

I wrote this book to educate about how destructive hatred and racism can be. I was a teen, just like you. I was a nerd who played guitar, enjoyed volleyball, and competed in math. I was even falling in love with a boy, but who I was didn't matter to those who hated me.

Today, I recognize the same kind of hatred and racism being on the rise in the United States. And I want my book to serve as a warning that hate can, over time, turn into violence and even genocide. But the Cat I Never Named is also a story of love and a reminder the love can happen even in the darkest of times.

You too will fall in love with one of the most important characters in this story, a little calico. She followed the refugees into my city and lost her own family. At first, I didn't want to be bothered with this cat. My family couldn't afford to keep a pet, but this kitty found her way into everyone's heart and helped me survive the most difficult moments during the war.

And now I'm going to read an opening to my book, The Cat I Never Named: A True Story of Love, War, and Survival.

The war didn't spring on me all at once. Instead, like a cat, it stalked me quietly. There might have been a rustle of leaves, a glint of golden eye, but, like a mouse, I didn't believe it was there until it pounced.

1992. Chapter One.

Math, puzzles, logic, ciphers, my brain is still whirling from the battery of tests as I ride the train from Belgrade, Serbia back home to Bihać, Bosnia. The tracks push westward, the setting sun's gilding the hillsides, families, mothers, children, patter and laugh, scold and squeal in a comfortable cacophony that lets me almost doze off.

I am sleepy from a long day of tests and I'll be lucky to get home by 1:00 AM. A few stops later, the families get off, soldiers get on and I realized with a sinking feeling that I will be lucky to get home at all.