But along came another almighty band as more poles were thrown into the back of the van.
This is too much, thought Library Cat. I can’t learn from the Humans if they insist on being insane.
And with that, Library Cat wrote the day off and slept for another fourteen hours.
Recommended Reading
‘Digging’ by Seamus Heaney.
Food consumed
Nothing.
Mood
Alarmed.
Discovery about Humans
At times, they show little consideration toward others, with next to no foresight.
Politics
A few days later, Library Cat awoke from under a bush in George Square with quite a start. How he ended up in this spot was rather unclear to him.
As he started to think back over the time that had elapsed since the road incident, he suddenly felt a gentle tickle upon his leg.
Strange, he thought. A tic? There, indeed, on the side of his white leg was a tiny black tic, quite at home in its new fluffy surroundings. But something else was amiss. Another tickle was coming from under his left paw…
Hesitantly, Library Cat raised the paw to lick the underside but instead was given such a shock that he sprung three foot in the air from his supine position only to land, a split second later, back on all four paws his lemon-yellow eyes widened and his fur thickly fluffed and standing on edge.
Directly beneath where his paw had been, was a tiny hole in the soil, much smaller than that which the Humans were digging the other day. From out of the hole there issued a tiny, thin line of jet-black ants, all marching in single file, advancing in a carefully curved line.
Library Cat was utterly confounded. He didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, the line of ants looked like a tiny lace, being tweaked tantalisingly for his delectation, and this made him want to pounce. But on the other hand, at the same time, he knew it wasn’t a lace but was in fact a miniature, super-organised army going about some deeply mysterious business, and this made him wary. He edged closer…
Why can’t I hear them? Now the ants were disappearing into the thick bracken, unperturbed by its lumpy denseness, like a river insisting upon its natural course through a great, teeming city.
Library Cat sniffed them again. They tickled his nose. This time he sprung even higher. How do they know they all want the same thing?
He reversed on his paws, his rear end arching up sharply, not breaking his gaze from the line, feeling quite beaten. This was overwhelming. He hated how nature could be so over-stimulating sometimes! It was so discourteous of it. Nature was there to be eaten or enjoyed, not to bamboozle and sicken like fungus or mysterious ant armies. Time for food; food would help. And milk. And catnip. Yes, catnip would calm him down…
With another inspection of his paw to check it was ant-free, he turned and trotted restlessly out into the street. The pot-hole puddles were beige and muddy with autumn rain, and things smelt damp. But his mood wasn’t improving. Something else inexplicable was happening in Edinburgh this morning, this time at the hands of the Humans. Strewn everywhere, like little white sails, were various bits of blue paper with the word ‘YES!’ written on them. These were joined, in equal amount, with bits of red paper bearing the words, ‘NO THANKS!’ Some were soggy in the muddy puddles, others were glued to lampposts with other smaller versions of themselves encircling them like a picture frame; many more were in windows, going up and down the tenements; some were on the side of cars; some were even pinned onto the jackets of Humans as little badges…
It seems that the Humans have adopted a new method of talking to each other, mused Library Cat, rather baffled.
Library Cat suddenly thought of the ants, and how coordinated they were, and yet they didn’t seem to be talking at all. Instead there was some magical tie between them. It was clear they all wanted the same thing, and they didn’t need to keep reaffirming it. They just got on with the job.
I wonder if there are ever any dissenting ants? pondered Library Cat. Ants that just break from the line because they’re not fussed about nectaring up the greedy Queen Ant? Maverick Ants…?
As he walked along the pavement, his paws ruffling up soggy poster after soggy, and he began to think about how many similar ants in the Amazon might have had their precious homes destroyed and pulped to smithereens to indulge this latest Human fad of mass poster-printing.
Perhaps those ants in George Square were seeking revenge? For all their dispossessed families in the Amazon?
Then it clicked. Big Things must be happening. Biblio Chat had told him all about how étrange et bizarre the Humans in his country get when Big Things are afoot, especially a few hundred years ago during a bloody class war called “The French Revolution”.
Yes, Big Things. Big Things were definitely happening. Even the ants seemed aware of the Big Things. This no doubt explained why the Edinburgh Humans had stopped talking to each other with their voices and adopted a new, highly equivocal signage-based system (Humans often favoured passive-aggressive modes of communication when it comes to Big Things, it seemed.)
Finally, Library Cat saw a clue that might reveal what all the fuss was about, and the very ‘Thing’ which was evidently so ‘Big’. It was a questionnaire, caught up in one of the sharp fangs of the square’s iron railings. He perused it cocking his head to one side:
DO YOU AGREE WITH THE CLOSURE OF THE LIBRARIES?
NO? THEN FOLLOW THE MOVEMENT!
SIGN OUR PETITION!
Forename:
Surname:
Address:
Do You Own Your Property?
Date of Birth:
Ethnic Background:
Orientation:
Closing the libraries! thought Library Cat with alarm, his interest suddenly piqued. Never. This cannot happen. This MUST NOT happen!
Suddenly, to his surprise, Library Cat found himself feeling lighter and more colourful; a Fresher had just stroked him in the correct spot behind the ear, and his ennui had risen and dissipated like smoke in a breeze. He felt energised and impassioned. Yet, as is often the case, he didn’t stop to think about how curious it was that a mood can shift so suddenly, and how the slightest fragment of provocative thought was sufficient to achieve this.
I am going to join the movement! he asserted to himself, followed by a loud and sonorous “Meow!” (which, to a Human, translated as “Hark!”) He bit the questionnaire off its railing skewer, walked over to the library steps, placed it on the ground and manoeuvred himself square in front of it. With a stretch of his paws, a shake of his haunches, and a twist of his whiskers, he poised himself ready to fill it out.
But then he realised he had a problem. Yes, you’ve guessed it, Human. He looked down bemusedly at his paws… he didn’t have a pen.
I’ll “think” the form complete, thought Library Cat, and proceeded to think the form complete as follows.
DO YOU AGREE WITH THE CLOSURE OF THE LIBRARIES?
Having thoroughly considered the adverse effects that library closures would exact upon the serendipitous consumption of discarded bacon rind, I wholeheartedly condemn this move. It would be deleterious. The books? The strokes? The chairs… I mean ARE YOU DAMN MAD?