Library Cat: The Observations of a Thinking Cat

Freshers

Library Cat peered into the library and saw many things. For a non-thinking cat, it would have seemed a perilous place to be sure.

Firstly, there were sliding glass doors which, when closed, were the perfect width apart for cat decapitation. Then there was a staircase that zigzagged high up into the roof that reminded him of an Escher painting. At this early hour in the morning, the foyer was still quiet; only the television screens buzzed softly displaying their images of books and artefacts, while upon the ceiling a large projector hummed as it shone a dust-sparkled ray of light upon a white screen that bore the heading “Information for Students”. To the right, there was a desk of Humans that looked important. On busier days, these Humans sounded a bell and barked in incandescent rage at every fourth or fifth Human attempting to leave, barring them from freedom and jabbing their fingers accusingly at the student Humans’ rucksacks.

It’s much easier being a cat, thought Library Cat as he slipped under the glass doors and into the foyer and immediately into the cooing welcome of a beaming librarian.

“Morning, Library Cat! Here’s some bacon. D’aw, aren’t you cute!”

Indeed, thought Library Cat, his fur bristling at the condescension. Kindly don’t judge me on my looks alone.

Curving his back under the Human’s stroke, Library Cat quickly devoured the bacon and slinked away to head for the Towsery.

There are Towseries in libraries all over the world. Many Humans would have it that the only reason cats are attracted to libraries is for comfort. They are, after all, warm with many slow-moving, unthreatening Humans who are happy to offer tickles and provide titbits. In reality, this is only half the reason why thinking cats like Library Cat are irresistibly attracted to libraries. What Humans fail to realise is that, for a thinking cat, a library plays much the same role as it does for a thinking Human: it is a receptacle of knowledge, a bricked container of a thousand thoughts and ideas. Generations of thinking cats, much like Library Cat, have tried to position themselves among the ranks of the Human readers, and have headed directly for the stacks of books and boxes of books, only to be shooed away by spectacle-wearing, broom-brandishing, lilac-donning librarians.

Just because we don’t speak doesn’t mean we’re incapable of thought, Library Cat had mused on such occasions, his eyes glowering.

As a result, at some point during the last century, and around the time of T. S. Eliot’s seminal work on cats, there had been a kind of feline uprising. Thinking cats began to revolt. Unbeknownst to Humans, they began to pioneer their own, unlimited, underground access to literature. Their method? Well, that’s magical and a closely guarded secret. But rest assured that in every library frequented by a cat across the globe, there is a secret stack of books hidden out of sight, known only as ‘the Towsery’.

The Towsery is warm. It is often located high up in the eves of a library, where cobwebs, wooden beams and joists criss-cross above the cats’ heads. It is bright, with stunning views. Often, there are windows that are small and low to the ground, so that the thinking cat may gaze out, if he wishes, in order that he may more thoroughly ruminate upon the particular book he is currently engrossed in. Library Cat loved these windows. The Towsery in the Edinburgh University Library had wonderful views: in winter, there are the snow-covered Pentland Hills, breaking thickly like waves across the horizon. In May and June, there are the Meadows directly beneath and the Humans having barbecues, the very smoke from which seeming to christen the onset of summer’s lease. In spring there’s pink blossom in the gutters, and quick-paced Humans heading to the library to revise, while right now – autumn – everything becomes amber as leaves start to fall unveiling the criss-cross of paths in the Meadows and the Humans upon them scurrying to and fro like tiny little mice. And at a cat’s eye line, at all times of the year, were the chimneypots, extended out in all directions like blond fields of newly sliced wheat. A good Towsery has a decent supply of bugs and birdlife, and the Towsery at Edinburgh University Library boasted a plentiful supply of these things, and was particularly famed for its pigeon and spider. A good Towsery would have a good alpha – a Towser, as he or she is known – to ensure plentiful supplies of catnip, regular supervision against overwork and protection against Human interference.

It may not come as a surprise, Human, that Library Cat was the incumbent Towser at Edinburgh University Library.

“But where do the books come from?” you may ask.

Well, to answer that question, we must turn to the librarians! For centuries, librarians have been plagued by mysteries: disappearing books, curiously accrued fines, unlabelled books, books with pages missing, books positioned in odd places, books with things written in the margins… On many such occasions, students have been wrongly blamed, and had their accounts locked and their graduations postponed until the book has been returned, replaced, cleaned, repositioned or reordered. How little both parties know! How much false blame has been issued! How little they know that pernicious thinking cats have been at work, prodding books off the return trolleys and dragging them under the stacks, and that the curiously “mislaid” item has instead ended up in the dustiest, furriest, most hidden corner of the library’s Towsery, perused by clandestine groups of incognito thinking cats.

Serves the Humans right for their carelessness, thought Library Cat this morning, as he slinked quietly behind the helpdesk and headed for the Towsery.

Half an hour later, he emerged back into the foyer, having primed his mind for a good few hours of Human-watching. This morning, the first thing he noticed was the speed with which they were all moving. Darting in all directions across the foyer were frantic, fresh-faced students, earnestly heading up stairs and clutching books, some of them tripping, some of them speaking quickly in lilting voices with an especial fondness for the word “like”. Library Cat eavesdropped on one particular conversion:

“Yeah, like, I was like sooo hung-over after Hive last night? Like, I was in my lecture and like so wanted to chunder, but like couldn’t…?”

Are they speaking another language? thought Library Cat, confused. And why are they ending every sentence with a strange inflection, as if everything’s a question? And what’s this about a “Hive”?

Irritated, Library Cat slinked through the crowd, many of whom didn’t even notice him, and trod terrifyingly close to his tail. Then, disaster struck. As he turned the corner towards his turquoise chair in the foyer, he found it occupied by a student Human, who cavalierly sat in it while chewing gum, utterly ignorant to the fact that it was his, was covered in his hair, and was reserved indefinitely for his furry posterior alone. Library Cat became enraged. Wide-eyed and pursed-up, he ventured out into the fresh cold autumn air. And then it hit him.

They’ve arrived, he thought. The Freshers are here; that’s one sitting on my turquoise chair.

Over the years, Library Cat had grown quite accustomed to recognising a Fresher. Since his reading habits eschewed all knowledge of the university’s academic timetable, Library Cat was forced to find other means of recognising Freshers. This wasn’t too difficult, as the typical Edinburgh University Fresher usually betrayed themselves relatively quickly through certain mispronunciations that could not go unnoticed by a fastidious, all-listening-and-thinking cat such as himself. Examples of these mispronunciations included:

1. Pronouncing Teviot as “Tevv-i-yot”.

2. Pronouncing Buccleuch Street as “Buck-Looch Street”.

3. Pronouncing Ceilidh as “Ker-lye-der”.

4. Pronouncing Potterrow as “Potter-rowe”.

Other giveaways were:

5. Wandering into the library and asking “Is this ‘The Advice Place’?”

6. Tedious displays of machismo.

7. References to Harry Potter while gazing up wide-eyed at buildings.

8. Laughter at the fact some buses terminate at a place called “Bush”.

(I really don’t see what’s drôle about the word “Bush”, thought Library Cat. A bush is a perfectly charming creation.)

Suddenly, there was a voice:

“Oh my God, is that Library Cat!?”

“What?”

“There’s apparently this thinking cat who lives here called Library Cat!”

“Are you on MDMA?”

“No seriously!”

Library Cat eyed the Humans suspiciously. He felt uncomfortable, and overcrowded, his personal space compromised. He wandered into the long grass of George Square to muse on what he’d seen.

They appear to not understand how a library operates, he thought. Whatever happened to pondering… to learning gently as learning should be undertaken? If only they could see the Towsery. They seem to be subjecting themselves to never-ending psychological torment.

Library Cat knew that the Human libraries used to be much like the Towsery. But then something called ‘Education Reforms’ happened. Universities started to be sausage factories for the middle-class literati – feeder schools for Penguin Books and PricewaterhouseCoopers. And also, they were no longer free: Library Cat could wander into the Towsery whenever he wished, but apparently these student Humans had to pay great sums of money for the privilege of even crossing the library’s threshold! As such, the Humans often had to work several jobs in order to pay for access to university and the library.

They’re doing too much! thought Library Cat. They’ll burn out! And they need to stop using the word “like” unnecessarily.

Then Library Cat had an epiphany: Maybe if they stopped repeating the word “like” unnecessarily, they’ll free up a lot of time. With this time, they can then learn to study properly and take it from there.

And so Library Cat, self-satisfied in the belief that he’d got his quest to better understanding the Human off to a good start, headed back home to the chaplaincy.

Enough for one day, he thought as he kneaded his paws in and out of his bed, lapped up some milk, had a scratch of the skirting board and gently fell off to sleep.

Recommended Reading

Life’s Little Instruction Book by H. Jackson Brown.

Food consumed

1 x piece of bacon; 1 x woodlouse (in the Towsery).

Mood

Very Good, though chequered with irritation.

Discovery about Humans

They’ve forgotten how to be calm, and forgotten how libraries work.