Well at least they seem to be having fun, thought Library Cat, upping his pace to the warm chaplaincy.
Inside, Biblio Chat was still sleeping peacefully on the couch and, as Library Cat curled up in his bed, the door of his basement room was promptly locked behind him.
I never did catch any mice, thought Library Cat sullenly as he dozed off to sleep, the bangs and pops slowly muting with the veil of night.
Recommended Reading
Fireworks: Nine Profane Pieces by Angela Carter.
Food consumed
2mg of gunpowder (later sicked up).
Mood
Ambassadorial, poised.
Discovery about Humans
Flashing lights and celebrations seem to make them happy.
“There, there, Library Cat!”
The next morning, Library Cat was awoken with a rumble of the tummy. Hunger. Last night’s commotion had left him feeling edgy and wide-eyed, but now his stomach was singing whale music to get his attention. He rolled over and over in his bed to try and settle it. The need to rise for food fell just short of a greater need to sleep more. From upstairs there came the sound of running water and the scrub-a-dub-dub sound of a Human thoroughly cleansing their nether regions.
Why must they make such a poppy show of it? thought Library Cat burying his head under his blanket from the noise. And why are they up so early anyhow?
He sank his head deeper under his blanket, but that was a little bit too hot. He rose and kneaded his blanket and turned a few times on the spot and attempted to settle again, but that was too cold. He picked up his blanket and dragged it into the room and away from the radiator, but there was a slight draft across his face. He buried his head once more, this time into his paws, and curled up tightly like an ammonite shell and tried his old tactic of counting sheep.
One, and indeed, Two, and indeed Three, and indeed, Four, and indeed, Five, and indeed, Six, and indeed…
All of a sudden from upstairs came the bellowing voice of a Human, muffled through the floorboards above.
“Library Cat? Oh, Library Cat? Where are you? It’s OK, there’s nothing to be scared of Library Cat…!”
Fine! thought Library Cat, opening his eyes and surrendering himself to the day. Sluggishly he rose and stretched, uttering a little “prrrrrp” with all the effort. Nosing out from his blanket, he sniffed the crumb-ridden carpet for a few morsels of cat food that had been scattered there. He followed this up by snapping at a couple of non-existent insects in the air above him. His tummy made a rumble once again.
“Library Cat! It’s OK, you’ll be all right, Library Cat!”
Waaaaaaaaaait a minute… thought Library Cat, his pupils suddenly dilating. What do you mean “I’ll be all right”? What are you planning to do to me?! Something was awry: the Human was plotting. Up early, shower, pacing around looking for him while offering faux-reassurance in a disingenuously lilting voice? Something was wrong. Library Cat thought quickly. With the stealth of a panther, he slinked up the stairs into the hallway of the chaplaincy and into the living room. He could see the silhouette of the Human in the kitchen beyond, crouched down hunting for him behind the boiler.
Annnd… Distraction! thought Library Cat, biffing over a large vase with his paw sending it plummeting to an unearthly crash on the flagstones beneath, before bolting back down to his basement room for a post-match paw lick and scratch. Above he could hear his Human voicing yells of anger and incredulity.
That’ll see him busy for the next twenty minutes, asserted Library Cat to himself contentedly.
In the calm that settled, Library Cat began to prepare for the day. He soon became acutely aware of a most glorious smell. His mouth began to water. Following his nose, he found his way to the cat flap. There, spread out on the laundry room floor, was the most delicious hamper of freshly slayed prey he had ever beheld. It teemed with blues, browns, greys and violets… all the variety a cat could ever want. Firstly, beneath his forepaws, was a stout trout recently caught from Duddingston Loch. It glimmered green and silver in the midday sun. Then there was a prime Grassmarket rat, long of tail and plump of belly. Beneath this lay an Arthur’s Seat rabbit, muscular of leg and pert of ear. And finally there was a spectacular Pentland Pheasant, her rainbow feathers perfectly interlaced, and her downy breast succulent. All this was topped off with a side of assorted beetle, woodlouse and grasshopper.
Next to the dazzling array was a note:
Cher cousin,
Pour l’hiver…
Adieu,
Biblio Chat
How on earth does he do it? Library Cat thought to himself, open-mouthed with awe at the breath-taking finesse with which his cousin caught, prepared and arranged the food. The hunting ability alone was something Library Cat could only marvel at, forcing him to bow down at the altar of true and timeless art.
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.