And his response? The same as that of any other cat when faced with something alarming and inexplicable: to glare at the nearest Human, with a mixture of distain and fear, as if they are solely to blame… on this occasion, a parking attendant in the middle of George Square.
But the parking attendant merely walked by, busy issuing a fine to a man whose ticket had expired 23 seconds ago and who, at this very moment, was sprinting over the cobbles clutching a coffee yelling, “You b*****d! I was only in ****ing Sainsbury’s, you ********!”
Perfectly horrendous, thought Library Cat. Maybe it isn’t the Humans that make me “Ffffffft” after all. He recalled having once before asked Biblio Chat about who was to blame for the strange “ffffffft” phenomenon.
“Ah oui, le ‘Fffffffft!’” responded Biblio Chat. “Je ‘Ffffffftt’ beaucoup en été! Le cause? Un mystère…”
“A mystery,” thought Library Cat, disappointed. “But surely everything has a cause? A reason? A purpose? A function?”
“Non, de temps en temps, les chats – on ne sait pas toutes les réponses. On doit l’accepter, et tourner la page…”
“Sometimes we just have to accept things and move on?”
“Oui.”
“Like the Human folly, and the laws of love?”
“Oui, exactement, comme la folie des humains et les lois de l’amour.”
Library Cat yawned. This was far too much. Too much activity for one day. Too many null-achievements. It was time to sleep.
Recommended Reading
Submarine by Joe Dunthorne.
Food consumed
Cinnamon.
Mood
Curious, startled.
Discovery about Humans
Sometimes cats accuse them falsely.
Symbiosis
The next morning, snow was falling outside and Library Cat found himself thinking about all the things he’d discovered about Humans over the last three months. He thought about how cats definitely had some things sussed like relaxing, savouring food, a respect for nature and a disinclination to stand for nonsense. But then he thought about how the Humans had sussed things that cats hadn’t, like machines that move, healthcare, buildings and how to fix roads. But then there were things that the Humans thought they had sussed but were actually embodiments of a kind of madness, like politics and wars and firework night and academic essay writing.
And finally there were feelings and emotions. Humans tended to conceal their emotions and hide them behind silence or equivocal language. Cats expressed their emotions viscerally on their faces and in the movement of their tails, and used written language purely for learning and enjoyment. They relished its folly, its dance of meanings and sounds. They understood its limitations. It was a shame that there was no feasible way for Human and cat to speak to each other, but then Library Cat got the overwhelming impression that Humans were sometimes so oblivious to the world around them that they were beyond learning from cats.
Maybe they like us so much because they can imbue us with their own emotions, mused Library Cat smacking his lips and washing his face. We provide a sort of reciprocity for their feelings. At least that would explain their stupid cooing and sudden fits of sentimentality around anything with fur and four legs.
He thought back at how contentment is the most important feeling for a cat and how undervalued it seemed at present for Humans. Instead, it was often usurped by its evil twin sister: desire. Humans thought that certain objects or people would make them suddenly happy, like chocolate or a partner with money, whereas really their discontentment rested within themselves, and these other things were a kind of smokescreen to divert their attention away from the truth – a self-deception in which they were all too adept at upholding.
But then he thought how cats and Humans were similar. Their emotions were the same, and would eternally remain so. Shame would always be shame, happiness would always be happiness, and jealousy always jealousy. They both had intelligence and he noticed how, for thinking cats at least, the two species had a choice: they could either think life or live life. Thinking life had many pleasures. Thinking was beautiful, after all. Thinking was the loveliness of Puddle Cat, the Towsery in candlelight, literature read in George Square in summer, the Enlightenment, Romanticism, Modernism, the Classics and the entire cornucopia of knowledge that adorns the colourful fruit bowl of our civilised world. But thinking could backfire. It could be frustratingly elusive and never quite reach the kernel. Worse still, it could go dangerously wrong. Despotic regimes. The slaughter of felines as devil-servants in the Middle Ages. The Black Dog… All were cases of erroneous thinking – little pieces of malware in the computer programming of the mind.
Living life was different. Living life was going hunting or On The Prowl… getting stroked or venturing on ill-advised adventures smelling of cinnamon. Living life gave you experience, and lifted you beyond your own thoughts and into the lives of others. It was palpable. Living was being in the moment. Saaf Landan Tom had it sussed: half thinking cat, half alley cat; half body, and half mind…
Library Cat suddenly listened to his heart. Its thump made the sound: IAMS – IAMS – IAMS – IAMS. (Clearly he was hungry.)
Living life is real, he rejoiced suddenly. Real like my beating heart.
He sniffed his food bowl and ate a big chunk of tuna. He thought about the cute tortoiseshell he’d seen out On The Prowl with Saaf Landan Tom and the wonderful few moments they had shared before she hissed. He recalled the realness of her purr and soft cheek, and how they made him feel alive and blissful. Now he thought of Puddle Cat – her glimmering fur, fine tail and deep blue smile that seemed to conceal a world of secrets. He closed his eyes. The thoughts of her spun sumptuously round in circles like toffee apples at a village fair, each one delicious but as hard to capture as the next. He sighed. They were only thoughts. He found his mind wandering back to the Humans and the disasters that befell them when they overvalued their own thoughts. Politics, wars, the Gunpowder Plot, silly “laws” about the selling of tuna…
I must seek the tortoiseshell again, he determined suddenly, surprised at his own certitude.
She was real. I must find her.
Recommended Reading
‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ by T.S. Eliot.
Food consumed
A cryogenically frozen worm in a snowball.
Mood
Thoughtful, reflective.
Discovery about Humans
They tend not to live in the present.
Noel
A fortnight later, Christmas had well and truly arrived. The square was empty save for the odd car that growled across the cobbles. A few days earlier had been Library Cat’s birthday. He had been given a balloon by his Human with the number 9 on it and the words “Happy Birthday!!!” along the top, clearly with little concern for his globophobia.