Library Cat: The Observations of a Thinking Cat

Overdue

Several days had passed since Library Cat chewed himself 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.

There were some books in his bedroom that belonged to his Human, that was for sure… both Library Cat and his Human possessed a shared interest in the Palladian landscape revival of the early Pre-Raphaelite period. But most of them belonged to the library. The ones that belonged to the library, however, were very easy to identify. They were the ones with little stickers on their spines that displayed a series of numbers and letters. These formed around 90 per cent of the pile, and also bore the crest of Edinburgh University emblazoned on their colophon page.

I suppose I should return them some day, ruminated Library Cat. But then again, he thought, they are very big books. And the library is surely aware that such books will require some time to finish reading, and more time still to study properly. Take this book for instance – the one that has “HUB RESERVE” written on its spine. It’s called Marxism and Literary Criticismby a Human called Terry Eagleton. That is an enormous topic, and no doubt numerous scholars and thinking cats have devoted their entire lives to studying Marxism in literature alone. I mean, it’s not as if I could feasibly read Marxism and Literary Criticism in – say – three hours, is it? That would be utterly ridiculous.

And so Library Cat, confident in his conjectures, and putting off the return of his books for another week, or month, or year, rose from his bed, walked over to an open book, and sat on it as a throne upon which to commence his morning preening regime. Once completed, he sneezed on another book that had “SPECIAL ARTEFACT” written on its spine, sicked up a fur ball on another that had “HANDLE ONLY WITH GLOVES” on its side, and finally sharpened his paws on the papyrus-like ancient pages of a third book stating “DO NOT REMOVE FROM LIBRARY”. He gazed down at the gouges made in the yellowing paper in the wake of his paws.

This completed, he finally tucked into a breakfast of woodlice and catnip. Presently, it was reading time and Library Cat nosed his way towards the cat flap that already swung open and closed in the wind.

The air outside was glacial. Everywhere, hands were shoved down pockets and necks were thickly embossed with coloured scarfs. Above, an aeroplane droned crisply through the air. Library Cat watched as it banked towards the Firth of Forth, and then left towards Edinburgh Airport, its landing gear lowering like a gently unfolding popup book.

Weird bird, he thought, eyeing it suspiciously as it disappeared from view, his pupils dilating with curiosity.

I must seek out its nest one day.

Just as Library Cat began to ponder how a bird could fly so steadily, with no flap of the wings, and what such a bird’s nest would look like and how best to hunt it, there came through the air the clap-clap-clap-clap sound of running shoes. Library Cat looked to his left. A student was darting along the perimeter of the square towards the library. In his left arm, he cradled a precarious stack of books; in his right he held a telephone up to his ear into which he yelled frantically.

“Yah, I, like, totally forgot I had two HUB Reserve books overnight, they’re, like, hours overdue. I’m going to have a massive fine, and not be able to graduate until it’s paid off, yah? They charge you £2 for each minute…?”

Hmmmm, thought Library Cat, his mind turning to the thousands of library books he kept in his bedroom. The image sat comfortably in his head for about two and a half seconds before a thick panic began to gloop through muscles like mantle. A few hours overdue… and yet this Human seems very worried.

Then it struck Library Cat like a rock. How could he have been so stupid?

A FINE!

And so it was, that at that very moment, Library Cat was introduced to that heinous mix of feelings that all stalwart-yet-tardy library users are familiar with: financial anxiety, shame, guilt and, of course, loneliness resulting from lifelong ostracism from the library in question. His name would be denounced. No more Towsery. No more bacon rind! No more warmth! A cat in the doghouse…

Every minute! Every MINUTE!? (Library Cat turned the word over and over in his head like a fluffy catnip ball.)

So I’ve been charged £2 for every minute The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche was not returned to the HUB Reserve? Dating back all the way to 30th October 2012? But that’s… £4,261,120! thought Library Cat, beads of sweat now beginning to seep through the underside of his paws and onto the clammy tarmac.

And that’s just ONE BOOK! I have over 150 books out at present, so that’s…(!)

Library Cat’s mind folded in at the figure. He had nothing to compare it with. He’d once overheard that seventy-five million Humans had read his thoughts on the Internet, but this figure far exceeded that. It was a figure only comparable to those that astrophysicists use to describe the distance to the outermost satellite of the outermost planet orbiting the outermost star in the outermost solar system known to Humankind… stated in millimetres.

He thought fast.

Missing, I have to go missing!

Library Cat had always been reluctant to go missing. Biblio Chat often played the Chat Perdu card whenever he’d vomited on the carpet. Biblio Chat would then vainly admire the pictures of himself pasted up on the local boulangerie window, before clawing them down by the veil of night and storing them as valedictory talismans for his already hugely inflated ego. He’d then return home to cuddles and a veritable bounty of sweetmeats in his basket. All in all, it made the self-induced vomiting thoroughly worthwhile.

But to Library Cat, going missing always seemed like the coward’s way out somehow – effective in garnering contrition among Humans, but never really resolving any issues. It’d be a short-term solution. He’d still be a cat on the run…

How can I pay up? I don’t have any money! A bird perhaps?

Library Cat had attempted to offer his thanks by delivering a bird to the library staff once, but the act of generosity had dramatically backfired. Hearing the shrieks of disgust as he placed the bird at the feet of one particular librarian as she enjoyed a sandwich on her break, Library Cat assumed that the bird was not satisfactory to her taste. Consequently he went back out on the hunt the next night and caught an even bigger bird as well as a rat. This cannot fail to delight, he’d thought, but the response the next day was even worse.

So I cannot get a bird. Umm… ummm… ummm…

Library Cat found himself pacing up and down on the spot. A lion locked in the cage of his own anxiety. Despite his books being overdue now for several years, and despite having never once been reprimanded or called to account over his crime, Library Cat nevertheless felt utterly sure that at this very moment, he was being watched by scores of surveillance computers, tracking his every move from space, each one poised to intervene at a moment’s notice sending a gaggle of baying Humans looking for him. All this time he’d been at peace when he should’ve been fraught with worry! All this time he’s been holding the gaze of myriad CCTV cameras, all latched onto him, swivelling sinisterly on their necks like a flock of malevolent barn owls. There were probably a host of computers all packed high with details of his book theft. By night, he was an infrared blob seen from above, a glowing tumour darting under bushes on the Meadows and George Square, seen even despite the thick, luminous alveoli that made up Edinburgh’s patchwork of streets and cul-de-sacs when viewed from the night sky.

Purring. Surely I can just purr. Purring solves everything. I shall purr all debts clean. It’s scientifically proven to have a manipulative effect upon Humans.

With a game plan, Library Cat felt a little better. Convinced that ostracism from the library loomed ever closer, he took a deep breath and walked over to the library, ducked under the glass doors, and marched high of head and straight of tail over to the Help Desk counter.

“Evenin’ Library Cat.”

“Purr purr purr purr.”

“Okay, Okay, I’ll get ye some bacon… jus’ wait there…”

Job’s a good’un, thought Library Cat, this seems to be going well.

As he waited for the librarian to return with the promised bacon, the same student he’d seen running earlier with the books arrived at the counter next to him. He watched as he unloaded the ungainly stack of monographs on the desk in front while the librarian scanned them one by one. When the librarian reached the final book, she looked interrogatingly back at her computer screen.

“Honestly, that’s, like all the books I have? I don’t, like, have any more?”

“According to our records,” the librarian said weightily, “we’re still due back The Complete Works of Friedrich Nietzsche…”

A cold sweat ran through Library Cat down to his paws.

“No, I swear I returned that years ago, I swear.”

“Hmmm.”

Waaaaait a minute, thought Library Cat suddenly, a relief starting to tingle across his fur like a warm duvet. The fine isn’t mine at all. The fine belongs to the Human that the library THINKS has the books.

Library Cat looked back at the student Human. His head was bowed in embarrassment, and the palms of his hands were ever-so-slightly sweaty.

Is this fair? Library Cat wondered to himself, with a sudden twinge of guilt. Is it fair that this man is being punished in my place? Is it fair that I roam a free cat, and this Human goes to judgement in my stead?

Suddenly the librarian turned towards Library Cat, her spectacles balanced at the end of a pointed, unyielding nose. Their eyes met, but that was enough. Library Cat could take no more. The pressure was too much. He took to his heels and galloped out of the library, and towards the Meadows park, his guilt two feet behind him at all times like an autumn wasp, just as the first librarian re-entered smiling with steaming hot crispy bacon.

Recommended Reading

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo.

Food consumed

Woodlice, catnip.

Mood

Guilty, fearful.

Discovery about Humans

Their rules take the pleasure out of things.