Library Cat: The Observations of a Thinking Cat

Crepuscular

Night had fallen as the two cats nosed their way surreptitiously out of the Towsery and down the long web of narrow, hidden corridors to the library foyer. They were hungry, having only consumed the odd insect all afternoon, and their lust for snoozing and reading had worn thin, as hunger started to replace it, irritating their tummies and diverting their imaginations. Library Cat craved the saltiness of dried food, while Biblio Chat stated his intention for bird, perhaps pigeon – at any rate something un peu plus délicate than rodent.

As they nosed their way into the centre of the foyer, however, a sight of horror met their eyes. Students were everywhere in a blur with motion. Some were dropping big fat highlighter pens and papers which fanned out into great carpets of white on the floor; others were dodging each other to get to large grey machines which whirred and spat out yet more papers. The sheer sight of the motion made Library Cat feel queasy. Indeed, everyone was so preoccupied about the business of submitting essays that they hardly noticed Library Cat and Biblio Cat, weaving their double helix among various ankles and shoes, in their irrevocable progression towards the exit. As the cats neared the front door, Library Cat’s curiosity got the better of him and he paused to eavesdrop on a telephone conversation.

“Yah, I’m screwed… I’m, like, so screwed. I’m really, really screwed. I was out until, like, four, and then, like, I forgot I had this second deadline for this other essay and, like, now I’ve got the deadline in, like, TEN minutes. Now I just need to quickly print it. But if I miss the deadline, like, I’m going to be, like, so screwed for this course that I mightaswelljustlike, drop out of uni.”

Library Cat was appalled, on many levels, but most markedly at the student’s unrefined rhetoric. He was so appalled in fact that he had to organise his responses to the overheard conversation into the following list:

Before Library Cat could think any more there was a tap on the back by another student, this time a man, with a friendly face. Behind him, the door swung shut, and the door in front, where the girl had been standing, swung shut as well. All at once one of Library Cat’s greatest fears had befallen him: entrapment. With the doors immediately ahead and behind closed, he was trapped in a kind of liminal foyer space that served no purpose. And to make matters worse, now this male student was attempting to initiate conversation with him, except he was going about it in a deeply strange manner. Instead of addressing him as a brainless animal in the condescending manner that most Humans do, this student was instead attempting to “talk” in a series of meows and mews and purrs as if this might somehow dissolve the communicative barrier that has endured between cat and Human since the time of the Egyptians, and suddenly prompt Library Cat into a great mellifluous outpouring of reassurance and wisdom that would appease the Human’s guilt at having started her essay so late in the day.

“Caticus Domesticus! You don’t have to worry about the atomic properties of caesium and all-nighters do you? Lucky wee b*****d. Here, puss, puss, puss, puss! Look at me! Puss, puss, puss. Meow, meeeeow, meeeeeow. Hey UP HERE. Puss, puss, puss, puss, puss…”

Oh jog on, thought Library Cat, seizing the opportunity offered by a Human walking through the main door to make a dash for the square.

Outside, the bitter evening hit Library Cat like a train. An iciness encircled his whiskers making them ridged like little frosted twigs. He scanned the square for Biblio Chat. It wasn’t long before he spied his cousin. A little way off, between the black railings, Biblio Chat was enveloped in a cloud of blue-grey features as a scuffle between him and a pigeon ground ever closer to a conclusion. Presently, much to Library Cat’s surprise, the pigeon wriggled free, running a feathery zigzag along the grass, until finally lumbering up into the air like a perilously overweight cargo aircraft. Library Cat sniggered inwardly as he watched the very tip of his cousin’s tail switch with annoyance. He walked over…

“Meow?”

“Miaou,” replied Biblio Chat despondently.

Library Cat’s heart softened. He was at once sadistically pleased that his cousin had been outsmarted by a bird, while at the same time sympathetic towards his frustration and defeat. He’d been there after all. All cats had been there. He nuzzled his cousin’s coat in an act of kinship. As the two cats walked silently back across the square, both hungry and with the cold cobbles nipping the undersides of their paws, Library Cat thought back to the students and wondered if they ever found time to relax. He had heard it said that students do nothing but relax, but then again, the sight he had just seen thoroughly disproved such an assertion. Is it that they don’t pace themselves? Or oscillate wildly from one extreme to the other? Do they go back to their flats and breathe clear air, free from the demons of anxiety, loneliness and despair that so often unsheathe their invisible daggers in the hideous echoes of silence? Are their homes warm? Are they greeted by nice flatmates? Or are they met with a blaze of ice, slamming doors and passive-aggressiveness? A closed-room culture of segregated fridge compartments and alienation?

A sudden sadness hit Library Cat. He had a horrible feeling that the Humans had forgotten how to live. He had been to the neighbouring Edinburgh districts of Marchmont and Sciennes on adventures sometimes. They had seemed, superficially at least, quite wonderful. He’d gazed up at ambient rooms where posters of Le Chat Noir hung beneath fairy cake ceiling cornices and thought these student Humans are doing it right. He’d walked along the moss-linted pavement and watched cars quaintly lumber over the street humps, their wheels on the cobbles sounding like waves washing up the seashore. The tenements at night faced each other serenely, some bandaged in scaffolding, others adorned with moulded cornucopia that illuminated ethereally in the moonlight. Everything was tinged with a lovely flavour; it was the flavour of elsewhere.

But sometimes, Library Cat would hear the local cats discuss ownership in their electrically synthed voices and suddenly feel uneasy and out of place. It was not his territory after all. The scents were all different, none of them his. Was that why it could feel so lovely and magical? And did the Humans feel the same way? Or did they only feel the sudden estrangement of the whining cats… the unmistakable feeling that they don’t belong?

Back inside the chaplaincy, Library Cat and Biblio Chat sat down to dinner. Suddenly Puddle Cat came to mind, and Library Cat felt particularly proud that he had gone several hours today without thinking of her, and that he’d eschewed the lovey-dovey mood he’d wallowed in up at the Towsery earlier, having read the inspired, Human-penned ‘Cat sat on the mat’ poem. It made him think again of the student Humans.

I wonder if cats and Humans could ever communicate with each other? he thought. He put the thought to Biblio Chat, who merely looked indifferent. He cast his mind back to the male Human at the foyer who believed that he was trying to talk in ‘cat’ but was in fact just making purring meowing sounds. It suddenly occurred to him. Maybe the Humans think we cannot speak, whereas in fact we can, but just choose not to?

Biblio Chat looked up from his food, momentarily interested. He had once written to Library Cat:

Biblio Chat’s words hit Library Cat’s tender mood hard. He knew these things, of course, but that didn’t stave off his sudden worry for the safety of Humans and especially student-kind. His cousin continued…

But to answer your query, dear cousin: the Humans think we remain silent because we are mute. In fact, we remain silent because we are taciturn. Their philosopher Derrida explains this perfectly clearly – they need to pay more attention.

Library Cat bit his cat biscuit fiercely, his haunches high and his front legs lowered to his food bowl. He thought back to the girl on the phone, and the words she used when she spoke. He thought about other conversations he’d overheard, about the Humans’ desires for each other, as well as things they craved and lamented regularly that they didn’t have. Biblio Chat was right. It seemed that the Humans were forever comparing themselves to each other, or looking at points in the future or the past, or attempting acquisition of something, and feeling that their “present moment” fell short. It was true; knowledge did seem to be subjugated beneath the Humans’ sleepless quest for personal gain.

He wandered away from his food bowl and over to his bed. The radiator behind it was warm, and before settling, he kneaded the sheepskin blanket into just the right shape. As the clock upstairs in the chaplaincy began striking midnight, everything became silent. All but Biblio Chat’s soft purr filled the air as he remained up, sniffing the pages of several books, and rolling his head in catnip.

Then, just as Library Cat was dozing off to sleep, it hit him. Contentment! That’s what the Humans all *really* crave. That’s what us cats have and they don’t! It’s not wealth, fortune, sex and fame that they need, just contentment. And the tragedy is not that they cannot achieve it but rather they don’t know that it is contentment that they are craving. They always assume it’s something else… another thing that needs to be achieved, or bought, or done… yet they’ve lost sight of the end goal. They make happiness an invisible mouse and then spend their entire life chasing it. But they just want contentment. There is no mouse to chase.

Library Cat’s head became heavy. It was all too much thinking for one day. He rested his head down on his sheepskin, and started counting sheep. One, and indeed, Two; and, indeed, Three, and… And then the rest was sleep, and the deep silk of lovely dreams.

Recommended Reading

More Fool Me by Stephen Fry.

Food consumed

Piece of ham sandwich.

Mood

Slightly concerned. Exhausted.

Discovery about Humans

They have forgotten what it is they’re running after.