One must not think on an empty stomach, considered Library Cat, and with that he looked down at his paws. The gaps between the cobbles were rinded with dirt and moss, but deep within these gaps there lay little treats that only a cat’s eye might see – bugs! After voraciously lapping up some creepy-crawly hors d’oeuvres, Library Cat turned right and headed to Edinburgh University’s Main Library that stood like a cold grey cube in the silent morning air.
Recommended Reading
Ulysses by James Joyce.
Food consumed
1 x fat beetle, and 1 x millipede thing.
Mood
Moderate, rising. Becoming good.
Discovery about Humans
They don’t come out in the early morning.
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: