Library Cat

by Alex Howard

  Voraciously, Library Cat tucked in until his hunger and the drama of the day before was little more than a memory. Happily he purred, smacked his lips, and thought about how he could never think ill of his cousin again, and that he must write to him and say “je suis désolé” and invite him back again, until he finally dozed off for a delicious mid-morning nap fatefully forgetting all about the Human’s peculiar behaviour earlier and the broken vase.

  The next thing Library Cat knew he was in a box. A grilled door had slammed shut and he was being carried. I must’ve been cornered in the laundry room! The box lumbered haphazardly with the gait and enormous strides of the Human carrying it, and Library Cat felt as if he were a cormorant riding the great waves of an Atlantic storm. Now he was outside and in one of the great machines that regularly parked along the perimeters of the square as it whirred and clanged, and seemed to speed up, faster and faster… When it was moving, it vibrated like a washing machine, and when it was still, it purred softly like a great cat. Sometimes, when it was still, Library Cat managed to peer through the grilled box door at his Human who was just ahead of him. The Human sat drumming his fingers on a big circular wheel as if waiting for something, while a little velvety click-click-click-click sounded in unison with a tiny green arrow that flashed either left or right in a panel behind a great wheel. Then, all would be a fury of motion again, and the machine would turn a sharp corner forcing Library Cat to raise his paw perpendicular to himself in order that he might save himself rolling over and over, like a speck of dirt in a cyclone-separator or a ball in a raffle machine.

  Stop! Stop! Stop! thought Library Cat. But his thoughts licked like silent red flames through his head; a tiny brain-box, inside his carrying-box, which was inside the big Human machine-box. A Russian doll of boxes. And Library Cat’s screaming brain was like the smallest doll in the very centre – hidden, yet blaring with the colour and symbolism of a million pogroms.

  Maybe I’m going to London? speculated Library Cat suddenly as he recalled Saaf Landan Tom’s description of something called “The London Underground”. Apparently, where Tom lived, there were large buildings that smelt of shoe polish and inside them there were things called escalators – great, endlessly lapping tongues of steel – that carried the Humans deep underground into a stomach of sinister noises and smells. A veritable cat hell. And if that wasn’t enough, the Humans then packed themselves, often thousands of them in one go, onto these long, narrow pieces of concrete called “platforms” that were only a few feet wide while awaiting the arrival of a massive, terrifying piston to scream towards them, plunging a fug of filthy air into their eyes. They would then climb into the piston, and disappear to another shoe-polishy-smelling building where they would re-emerge. Saaf Landan Tom’s description had haunted Library Cat ever since.

  “This torture-prison… How long do they remain there? Until they confess their crime?” Library Cat had asked.

  “Nah, nah, nah, nah mate… The ’umans go dahn there outa choice.”

  “Choice?!”

  “Yeah, mate. They go dahn there to get uva places in Landan, innit.”

  “Other places?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But, why?”

  “Coz loadza people liv’ in Landan. The roads are too full so they ’av to move people abaht unda’ the ground.”

  “But we have plenty of space up here. Why do they cram themselves in down there?”

  “Sumfin’ called ‘The Economy’.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Well it must be great, whatever it is, to make all those horrors worthwhile. Tell me, Tom, do the Humans live especially well in London? I assume they have plenty of time to read, muse, eat and relax to make up for this ‘Underground’ torture?”

  “Nah. The opposite, mate. My last owna’ paid £600 a monf, to live under some stairs, and eats only sumfin’ called ‘pasta’.”

  “Then can we agree, Tom, that this is the definitive proof of the insanity of Humankind?”

  “Totally, mate.”

  Library Cat sniffed the air. As far as he could tell he couldn’t pick up any traces of shoe polish.

  So long as it’s not London, I should be fine, thought Library Cat.

  Eventually, the noisy box slowed, reversed slightly, and then came to a standstill. Soon Library Cat felt himself being hoisted out. The Weetabixy smell of Edinburgh hit his nostrils once more and he felt calmer. He was still in the same city. Through the slatted mesh of his box he could see Humans everywhere, but they didn’t look like students. Instead they walked quickly, and wore impressive clothes. The ladies had button-noses and grouted faces, and the men had shiny, ebony-coloured shoes and suits. Beneath his box, Library Cat saw the gum-freckled pavement flash past, along with bright coloured sweet wrappers and cardboard cups. Now the air was thick with the braided din of sirens and buses, interspersed with the odd “Ding! – Ding! – Ding!” as a long snake-like vehicle on rails glided across the road as if by magic.

  Seems perfectly horrendous. Maybe I am in London? postulated Library Cat to himself as his owner rounded a corner and pushed open a door.

  Suddenly there was a waft of antiseptic and the squelchy sound of rubber floors. Library Cat froze.

  The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!! The Vet!!!

  Library Cat cried, and began writhing like a snared fox. His Human raised him up and stared in through the gauze at his face.

  “There, there, Library Cat!”

  Don’t you “there-there” me, you ***!@^&$%!** TRAITOR!! LET ME OUT NOW! Not here, not here, not here. PLEASE NOT HERE. Anywhere BUT HERE! Traitor, YOU BLASTED TRAITOR! Bath, The Rain, The Black Dog, Collars, Fireworks… London. Anything BUT HERE! You said NEVER AGAIN. DAMN YOU, HUMAN! You ************* TRAITOR, DAMN YOU.

  “Library Cat, calm yourself! It will be OK!”

  “Sir, would you like to place Library Cat on the table? Do you want to be present for the procedure?”

  Not The Green Human, not The Green Human!

  “Er, yes, I’ll stay and talk to him, if that’s OK. Um… any chance of a cup of tea?”

  CUP OF TEA? Who do you think you are, the Queen of Sheba, you TRAITOR, you…

  “Of course, black or white, sir?”

  “Um, black please?”

  Huh, yeah!! Black: the colour of your SOUL, treacherous Human!! Doesn’t surprise me Human…!

  “OK. Karen, would you get the gentleman a black tea?”

  Yes, feel free to spike it from ME, Karen!

  “Right just pop his box on the table. How long did you say he’s been suffering for?”

  About ten minutes now, you cretins?

  “Um… about two weeks?”

  Two Weeks? Do you live in a world of fiction…?!

  “OK, it’s quite a simple procedure. The X-ray shows there’s three stones in his bladder, but there might be a couple more now. They often form during periods of anxiety. Did you keep him in on fireworks night?”

  Err… yes I was INCARCERATED, since you must know…

  “Yes I did, he seemed fine, but he was in a fight a couple of weeks ago…”

  “Ah OK, it could very well be that. Oh come, come, none of that hissing, Library Cat! I think we might need to calm you down! (I think we better give him a shot first just to settle his nerves).”

  Um… I think NOT, you slithering bolus of snakes…

  “OK, if you think that’s best.”

  And what about what I think?!

  Library Cat felt the door of his box swing open and the fingers of The Green Human clench around the scr
uff of his neck. Then he felt the fur by his waist being pinched thickly and firmly as if it were caught in a door. His whiskers trembled. Resisting, he mustered all his strength to drag himself along the table. A thin film of sweat had coated the underside of his paws, and the table was plastic and slippery. As a result, Library Cat’s paws skidded across it as if it were an icy paving slab white with a winter hoarfrost. And then Library Cat’s mind blacked out… numbed into darkness by pain and the smell of antiseptic.

  The next thing he knew, all thoughts had ceased. In one corner, he saw a screen with green worms on it that writhed rhythmically to the sound of “bibb-bibb-bibb-bibb”. In the other corner, he saw a second Green Human preparing a strange mixture. Normally, at times like this, Library Cat would devise a plot – a manipulation, a machination, but whenever he attempted to engage his brain in the grip of the Green Human, his mind yelled back in a long, spiralling loop of nouns, strung together like a summer bunting: pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!-SURVIVAL-pain!

  Library Cat’s eyes blurred as he saw the second Green Human pour the strange mixture into a thing that vaguely resembled a mouse with a long, straight and extremely sharp tail. He watched the last drop bungee from the end of the container like honey from a spoon. Then they inverted the mouse thing, and pushed the end, sending a little spurt of liquid high into the air.

  “You feeling better, Library Cat?”

  “M-wah,” said Library Cat weakly, his eyes half closed.

  Now the first Green Human tightened their grip as the second Green Human walked purposely towards him and then disappeared beyond him. The last thing Library Cat remembered was the pain of a red-hot, sharp fang pushing thickly into his ruched-up fur.

  Silence.

  “Library Cat! Can you hear me?”

  I can indeed, thought Library Cat.

  “Look, a treat! You’ve been such a good boy!”

  Kindly don’t patronise me. I’ve been no different to usual. Where am I?

  Library Cat looked around him. He was in a waiting room, but was unsure why. Gradually the neurons in his brain started to warm up and flicker with memories, like a cantankerous photocopier receiving its first user of the day. The vet. The Green Human. The gratuitous and sudden cruelty. Tentatively he stood up. He saw, in front of him, a parcel of blooded dressing. Looking at it made him feel suddenly light and faint like a delicate papier-mâché lampshade. Then he remembered. He sat down again. Numerous Humans were stroking him gently. He heard himself purr. This shocked him, because the moment he heard himself purr, he knew that he couldn’t conceal his hostility any longer. He felt relaxed, and grateful for the Humans’ company. A pressure had been released somewhere near his rear end. Gradually he lifted himself upon all four paws once again. The Humans fell suddenly, respectfully quiet as if half-expecting him to break into an exemplary recital of Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ at the pianoforte. He edged to the side of the table and leapt off.

  “M-wahhhh!”

  Library Cat had landed with a splat on the floor, all four paws splayed outwards like tent poles, and his aerial image resembling the flayed skin of a Scottish Wildcat, pinned barbarically upon the living room of some nobleman’s mansion.

  “Too much too soon, Library Cat,” the Green Human said between laughs. “He’ll be a bit woozy for the next hours. Make sure he remains hydrated, and refrain from giving him salty treats for the next forty-eight hours. Oh and ensure he keeps the cone on.”

  Cone? What cone? Why are you talking about a cone? mused Library Cat, mildly perturbed.

  And then he noticed. Cutting in along the radius of his peripheral vision was a large plastic circle.

  The Cone of Shame! wept Library Cat inwardly as he envisaged how ridiculous he must look with an enormous satellite dish for a head.

  If they wanted me to not scratch, they’ve only to ask politely. Oh not the Cone of Shame. Anything but the Cone of Shame!

  Later that day Library Cat began feeling his way around the chaplaincy with a massive plastic cone on his head obscuring his view and mocking his spatial awareness. He tried to conceal his humiliation by hiding in the gap between the fridge and the boiler. It was one of his favourite spaces. But the Cone of Shame stopped him. He tried diverting his sorrow by riffling through books, but the Cone of Shame snagged the pages. He tried eating, but the Cone of Shame scooped up his biscuits and flung them in the air. Giving up and feeling sorry for himself, he decided to go for a walk… but the Cone of Shame snagged on the cat flap. Finally, he discovered that the Cone of Shame was much like the barb on a fishing line, and that if he reversed into the necessary spaces, he could get himself into them. So he reversed out the cat flap, reversed through the railings of George Square, and reversed through the glass gates of the library, and up into the stairs to the Towsery.

  Sheepishly, Library Cat skulked along the rafters to the Towsery where the warmth of the fire was already circling down the cone and onto his fur. The Head Towser of Edinburgh University Library! Wearing the Cone of Shame. Oh the Humiliation.

  As he turned the corner to this evenings gaggle of thinking cats – all either high-tailed among the stacks, nibbling at mice between the rafters, or flicking through ancient tomes by the orange firelight – Library Cat paused, awaiting the inevitable rumble of jeering purrs. Indeed they came, but subsided quickly also. After all, most cats face the Cone of Shame at some point in their lives, and while especially humiliating for a thinking cat, it never need stand in the way of a cat’s character. Promptly the other Towsers jumped up and set to work nibbling the tight meshed plastic around Library Cat’s neck. Library Cat was moved at the sudden act of camaraderie, and felt his humiliation begin to dissolve.

  Eventually he was free, and he stretched with plentiful purrs of gratitude, nuzzling the faces of his faithful saviours.

  Later, Library Cat headed back to the chaplaincy. He knew that at some point he’d have to confront his Human again. A bubble of panic curdled in his belly. He wondered whether he could trust his Human any more after he’d taken him along to the Vet without asking his permission. He went into his room and hid.

  “Library Cat? Oh, Library Cat, come out from under there! All right, all right, I’ll take off my green coat. There. Happy now? Oh Library Cat, please come out from under there. It’s OKAY, Library Cat, trust me. Ahhh… There! You see? I told you…”

  Mmm, good stroke.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that earlier, Library Cat. But it was for your own good.”

  Please don’t bring up the Green Human. I’ll forgive you in time.

  “Don’t give me that look, it was for your own good, Library Cat. Trust me.”

  Trust you? Mmmm… agreeable ear-tickle… mmm…

  “There, there. Oh no, Library Cat, what have you done with your Cone?”

  Run!

  Library Cat bolted between the fridge and the boiler. As the evening drew on, he gave himself a good preen. He was sweaty and matted, and it does a thinking cat’s pride no good when he or she looks like they’ve been dragged up from the Union Canal. He thought about the day with delicious detachment.

  I guess when someone says things aren’t right, you have to trust them, even if it does hurt, and everyone around you does seem mad, he thought, as he crossed his paws and dozed with the warm, blue glow of the boiler flickering next to him.

  Recommended Reading

  ‘Ambulances’ by Philip Larkin.

  Food consumed

  1 cat treat, 2 tiny bits of plastic (from Cone of Shame).

  Mood

  Fearful (morning), humiliated (early afternoon), touched (early evening), emboldened (late evening).

  Discovery about Humans

  They sometimes shield the truth for fear of being judged.

  …in which our hero

  discovers the meaning of the word “fine”

  Several days had passed since Library Cat chewed himse
lf free of the Cone of Shame, and he had settled quite comfortably back into his usual routine. Morning: rise at 9.30 am, doze for an hour. Mid-Morning: breakfast, head to turquoise chair for snooze. Early Afternoon: disappear to the Towsery for reading. Early evening: hunting, supper and bed.

  This particular morning, Library Cat had roused from his slumber and spent a good half an hour simply admiring the piles of books in his bedroom in the chaplaincy. They scattered around him almost as far as the eye could see, and when his Human came down to change his food, he often took some time to negotiate carefully between the various piles, slurping his fresh bowl of water in the process. Some piles were only a couple of books deep, others towered haphazardly up like a three-year-old’s early attempts at civil engineering, and seen together at their various heights, they seemed to resemble the dancing bars of a graphics equaliser on a nineties stereo system, each one a different colour and height, shimmying up and down as if to some hidden symphony of knowledge.

  I really should sort through them, thought Library Cat, yawning.

  Although Library Cat conducted most of his reading in the Towsery itself (if nothing else, the Towsery was a constant source of warmth), there was sometimes nothing better than smelling a book, sitting with a book, and – indeed – reading a book in the comfort of your own bed. The street lamp from the square would glimmer in through the window, and by his radiator-heated sleeping and reading station, Library Cat could devour several books in one evening, purring dulcetly over the half-lit pages in sublime pleasure. And so, by a certain magic stealth, Library Cat had obtained transit of numerous books from the library back to his own bedroom. Over the years their numbers increased as his reading tastes diversified, leading him to forget how long he’d had each one of them. Little did he grieve over the countless students who were, the whole time, being wrongly accused of stealing library books after he had intercepted them halfway along the Returns conveyor belt, biffing them off with his pernicious paw. Indeed, when he settled down to The Cambridge Companion to Charles Dickens of an evening, he hardly twitched a whisker at the thought that Matriculation Number S0791986 had been frozen and attached with several stratospheric fines, and that a High Court Order had been issued against a certain Mr Andrew Butterfield of Flat 2/2 Marchmont Crescent, who spent evenings pacing his room with trembling hands, and whose friends said he’d “developed a persecution complex of late”. No. Library Cat was blissfully ignorant of such things, and nor is it in the nature of a thinking cat – nor any cat for that matter – to spend valuable reading and sleeping time delving into the minutiae of a library’s lending policy.