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 scruff 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.