The Library Cat

by Philip Ardagh

  She found the tables with the daily newspapers on them, with a few comfy chairs dotted around them where people could sit and read.

  She found a room with a row of computers on desks against a wall.

  She discovered a small reference section, an area with lots of leaflets, and an area with books about local history, and huge bound copies of local newspapers. (They were copies of the Gothport Chronicle going back almost two hundred years.) On the wall was a large framed brown-and-white photograph showing people dressed in old-fashioned clothes standing on a brown-and-white-tiled floor, and next to that hung an old map of the county.

  Then she discovered a children’s section through an open archway. It was bright and colourful and instantly inviting. There were huge multicoloured cushions on the floor in one corner, some wooden boxes shaped like a train and train carriages filled with picture books and – all along one wall, above the rows of shelves – were pictures and drawings done by children. And each and every one was of her!

  Every picture, whether drawn with felt-tip pens, wax crayons, poster paints or watercolours, was of Furry Purry Beancat! Written in cut-out letters above them was FURRY, THE LIBRARY CAT.

  She was a superstar!

  Furry Purry Beancat gave SUCH a loud PURR that Marcia came out from behind the counter and stuck her head through the archway to see what was happening.

  ‘Oh, it’s YOU, Furry!’ she laughed. ‘I thought something was wrong with the boiler you’s purring so LOUD!’

  Furry Purry Beancat trotted over, tail held high and rubbed herself round Marcia’s legs.

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been admirin’ them pictures of yourself again!’

  That’s precisely what I have been doing, thought Beancat.

  Marcia looked at her watch. ‘Some of your fans should be here any minute! I don’t know what they’ll do if this library does close down.’

  Furry Purry Beancat stopped purring and looked up at her. Is there something you’re not telling the others? she wondered. Are you worried that this may be one of the libraries they close down?

  Beancat’s thoughts were interrupted a few minutes later when a class of small children came swarming in. They headed straight for the children’s library and straight for Furry Purry Beancat.

  They had obviously been given VERY good instructions for how to treat her and followed them well. No one pushed and shoved or tried to pull her tail. After they had given her plenty of loving attention, their teacher called them together.

  ‘Okay, Orange Class. Everyone choose one book and take it up to the counter. Don’t forget to tell the librarians your last name, so they can find your library card and stamp your book for you. And what will the stamp tell you?’

  ‘When to bring it back by!’ the children chorused.

  ‘Good,’ said the teacher. ‘Now, get choosing.’

  Soon, all of Orange Class were eagerly scanning the shelves for books. All except one boy who was looking at Furry Purry Beancat. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Beancat strolled over, her beautifully fluffy tail held high.

  He put out a small hand and touched her. Hello, Beancat, he said.

  Hello, Timmy, she said. Then… Wow!

  It took Beancat a moment to realize that the boy hadn’t spoken out loud. How could she have heard him speak inside her head? And how had she known his name was Timmy? Beancat needed to process the information to make sense of what had just happened.

  There is a very rare group of people who can talk to cats. And by that I mean have an actual proper conversation: hearing and understanding the cat’s response. This may come as a surprise to you, unless you’re one of them yourself or know someone who is.

  Some children have the gift but, for whatever reason, when they grow older, they lose it. They will always love cats and have a special relationship with them but can no longer speak to them directly.

  And this direct communication is a strange experience for the cat too.

  You look very beautiful today, Furry Purry Beancat, Timmy’s voice said inside Beancat’s head.

  Thank you, replied Beancat. She purred.

  Timmy laughed. I can feel that through your fur!

  A woman came over and stood in front of Timmy. ‘Time to choose your book now, Timmy,’ she said with a smile, her hands dancing in front of her as she spoke.

  And off he went!

  Beancat thought about the woman with the dancing hands. Why had she done that? Timmy had certainly been watching them – her fingers forming different shapes – as she spoke.

  Beancat jumped up on to a table with a display of books about dinosaurs. She weaved between the upright books without so much as touching one. An excellent catty skill. She could do it without thinking but it always seemed to impress people!

  She watched the class excitedly looking through the books, some showing each other what they had chosen, others showing the teacher. She watched Timmy and the woman with the dancing hands.

  He can’t hear, Beancat realized. Timmy can’t hear. The woman is speaking to him with her hands. He hears with his eyes.

  Having a young friend who could speak Cat was something VERY special indeed.

  CHAPTER 3 ‘MAKING PLANS!’

  Reenie was a wiry woman: small, thin but tough, and she was a demon with a duster! She sprayed, she polished, she dusted, she wiped. Her hair was completely white but for a single streak of blue like a go-faster stripe on a racing car. She wore a nylon housecoat of a lighter blue than the streak in her hair. On it was proudly pinned an enamel brooch of a thistle: the emblem of Scotland.

  Reenie wiped shelves, book spines, windowsills, countertops… Her job seemed never-ending. She had a little carpet sweeper – like a vacuum cleaner without the electrics – which she’d push around to sweep up the odd muddy footprint. Her eyes scoured the carpet like a bird of prey looking down on the landscape for its next meal… but her victims were sweet papers or anything else that shouldn’t be there.

  Now and again she’d stop and chat to someone she obviously knew who had come to use the library. She had a soft Scottish accent that, to Beancat’s ears, sounded beautiful. Some of the people she chatted with were the same sort of age as Reenie – Beancat thought of that as ‘granny age’ – and some of them were teenagers. Everyone spoke quietly and, nine times out of ten, the conversation would take place with Reenie clutching a cloth or a yellow feather duster.

  She greeted Mr Pasternak by name with a polite nod, but let him be. He had made himself very comfortable in a corner with a desk and chair. He had a pile of library books next to him and was writing things down with an old-fashioned fountain pen on to a pad of lined paper.

  He seems a busy, thought Beancat. Reenie must know not to disturb him.

  Reenie also said ‘Good morning!’ to the polite young man who’d asked Marcia if he could use the library even though he didn’t have a card. He had a newspaper open and Beancat noticed that he was reading a section headed APPOINTMENTS.

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ he responded politely.

  Reenie grinned. It was obvious that she didn’t get called ‘madam’ very often, and she clearly LIKED it!

  Furry Purry Beancat decided to get to know this newcomer a little better. With grace and elegance she jumped up on to the small low table on which a number of papers were displayed. The young man’s face was behind the newspaper and he was obviously engrossed in what he was reading.

  She reached out her front right paw and tapped her side of the newspaper. All four of her paws were white, which made it look as though she was wearing socks (all knee-length except for the one on her front left paw, which appeared to have slipped down to her ankle).

  The man didn’t respond.

  Beancat tapped it again.

  It made rather a satisfying noise.

  So she bopped it again.

  Bop! Bop! Bop! Bop! – pause – Bop!

  This got the desired result, but Beany’s c
at instincts took over – most cats DO like bopping things – and she carried on bopping a little longer than was strictly necessary.

  The young man lowered his paper. ‘I saw you when I first arrived, Mistress Cat,’ he said. ‘That was most welcoming. Everyone – everything – is most welcoming here. I feel most welcome. Is this your home?’ He began stroking her. Beancat purred. ‘You are most beautiful. Back home, I have a beautiful cat. Her name is Iishraq. It means “Sunshine”. Sadly, I could not bring her with me.’ He paused mid-stroke, halfway along Furry Purry Beancat’s back.

  He’s thinking of his cat, she thought. Good job he didn’t bring her to the library with him. There’s a no-pets rule… Hang on! How do I know that? Then she caught a glimpse of the man’s dark brown eyes. And she understood.

  ‘Home’ didn’t mean the house or flat or room or wherever it was the man was living now. ‘Home’ didn’t even mean this country. ‘Home’ meant his country; whatever country it was that he’d come from. A place he’d had to leave without bringing his beloved cat Iishraq with him. He’d had to leave his Sunshine behind.

  ‘I see you made friends with Furry,’ said Marcia, who was passing with a pile of books. ‘She’s our most popular member of staff, which we don’t mind because she’s our most popular co-worker too. As for me, I’m Marcia, the librarian.’

  The man stood up and gave a slight bow of the head. ‘My name is Yusuf, Marcia. You have a most pleasing library and I would very much like to come here often.’

  Marcia beamed. ‘An’ you’ll be very welcome, Yusuf.’

  Furry Purry Beancat heard a loud tutting sound and turned her head to see that Reenie had come upon a cobweb.

  Spiders’ web… Daphne! thought Beancat. She’d been so busy watching Reenie at work and getting to know Yusuf that she’d forgotten about her secret meeting!

  She dashed through the doorway marked PRIVATE and SQUEEEEZED through the gap between the door frame and door into the caretaker’s office.

  It turned out it wasn’t so much an office as the final resting place for broken furniture and a variety of other odds and ends.

  ‘Oh, THERE you are,’ said a gloomy voice. ‘How kind of you to find time in your busy schedule to honour us with your presence, Furry.’

  ‘Hello, Gregory,’ said Beancat. The spider was sitting on a strut between the front legs of an up-turned chair. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘Better late than never, I suppose,’ said Daphne, lowering herself from the ceiling. ‘You can be so forgetful sometimes, Furry. I suppose we should be honoured you turned up at all.’

  You try living nine lives, thought Furry Purry Beancat. Not only not knowing which life you’ll wake up in, but having no memory of it from before. ‘Shall we get started?’ she said.

  ‘Says the one who was late and holding up proceedings,’ grumped Gregory.

  ‘Ignore him, Furry,’ Daphne insisted. ‘We need to plan.’

  ‘Is this about the library being closed down?’ asked Furry Purry Beancat.

  ‘WHAT?’ said Daphne and Gregory as one.

  ‘They’re closing the library?’ said Gregory with a sigh. ‘The first I’ve heard of it but, then again, I’m always the last to know. It’s like the time when—’

  ‘No… I mean, maybe… I mean, I don’t know!’ said Furry Purry Beancat. ‘I thought that’s what YOU were going to TELL me.’

  Daphne fixed Beancat in a stare, which, what with her being a spider and all, involved a LOT of unblinking eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, Beancat?’ she said. ‘Tomorrow is the first Thursday of the month, and the first Thursday of the month is the day Reenie gets her supplies.’

  Furry Purry Beancat had NO idea what Daphne was on about, of course. She had to think fast. Reenie is the cleaner, she thought, so it’s likely that these are cleaning supplies we’re talking about…

  ‘If we can’t think of a way of getting rid of that spray before she has a chance to use it, me and Gregory will be dead before you can say “squirt a spider”,’ said Daphne.

  ‘You make it sound such FUN,’ said Gregory sadly.

  Bug killer? thought Beancat. Reenie has ordered a can of bug spray!

  This was serious. It could be a matter of life and death!

  ‘Remind me why you don’t just move out?’ asked Beancat.

  ‘We’ve been through this, Furry,’ said Daphne, blinking each and every one of her eyes at exactly the same time. ‘This is our home. We’re LIBRARY spiders. Our families have lived here since the library opened. My ancestors grew up hearing the CHER-CHUNK of the date stamp, the SH-SH-SHUFFLING of the brown cards, later replaced with the BLEEP of the card reader. This is OUR land! No one has the right to make us move!’

  ‘No, quite,’ said Beancat. ‘Of course they don’t. But my worry is that even if we can make the bug spray disappear, Reenie will simply order some more for the next delivery.’

  ‘True. But that will give us until the first Thursday of NEXT month to worry about what to do next. The most important thing is to make sure that she doesn’t get this FIRST can,’ said Daphne.

  ‘I saw Reenie take out her cleaning things from the bottom cupboard in the staffroom earlier,’ said Beancat. ‘It’s a sliding door so I might – might – be able to push it open, find the spray and knock it on to the floor… but I’m not sure what we do after that!’

  ‘The sound will probably attract attention and the plan will be doomed to failure,’ said – you guessed it – Gregory. ‘We’ll be dead before nightfall.’

  ‘Oh, dooooooo be quiet, Gregory!’ said Daphne. ‘If you don’t have anything useful to add—’

  ‘I know,’ said Gregory. ‘Keep quiet. You want me to keep quiet.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daphne.

  ‘Say nothing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Keep schtum.’

  ‘Schtum?’

  ‘Schtum… Zip my lip.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shut my cakehole.’

  ‘Er, Gregory,’ said Furry Purry Beancat.

  ‘Yes, Furry?’

  ‘The plan. Can we get back to the plan?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Gregory gloomily. ‘Please continue.’

  ‘Right,’ said Daphne. ‘The—’

  ‘I won’t say another word.’

  ‘Thank you—’

  ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

  ‘It’s not—’

  ‘I’m here as a spectator not a participant,’ said Gregory.

  ‘THE PROBLEM,’ said Furry Purry Beancat LOUDLY, ‘will be if the sliding door is slid right across. If it’s shut. It’s not designed for cats to open. If there’s a gap, I can wiggle my paw in there –’ she demonstrated in mid-air – ‘and then get my body weight behind it. And, even if I can get the door open and the can out of the cupboard, I still have to find a way to get rid of it.’

  ‘So how do we make sure that it’s kept open?’ said Gregory.

  ‘I have an idea,’ said Beancat, ‘but it may require a distraction that makes Reenie forget to shut it.’

  ‘A distraction?’ asked Daphne. ‘Will that involve us?’

  ‘It might do,’ said Furry Purry Beancat, ‘so it won’t be without danger.’

  ‘Oh, goodie,’ said Gregory with all the enthusiasm of a snowman on a sunbed. ‘I love danger.’

  He didn’t sound like he meant it.

  CHAPTER 4 GOOD NEWS AND BAD

  Ten minutes before closing time, Marcia suddenly called out, ‘The library closes in ten minutes!’ and Beancat nearly jumped out of her furry, purry skin. She had been dreaming about lying in a warm sunny spot and woke up to find that it was true! She had been dozing in the historical romance section on the floor next to a comfy chair Joan was sitting in with a pile of books next to her. ‘Ten minutes!’ Marcia repeated.

  Furry Purry Beancat found herself joining in with a wail. She couldn’t help it. She wanted the library users to enjoy the benefit of her beautiful voice too.

 
; Joan’s face broke into a wrinkly smile. ‘As regular as clockwork!’ she said.

  I must always sing along when Marcia calls out that the library is closing, she thought. What lucky people to hear me every day.

  Joan gave Beancat a scratch under the chin, which made them both very happy and Furry Purry Beancat even purrier.

  Beancat noticed that Joan had one of the books open on her lap and that there was a circle around the page number (which was thirty-five).

  Beancat sniffed the page. It smelled of paper, tea – with milk – and, what was that? Bacon. Yes, bacon. Someone had once read the book while having breakfast!

  What’s the circled page number all about? Beancat wondered.

  ‘Are you looking at my secret code, Furry?’ asked Joan with a cackle, her great big googly eyes peering at her through her glasses. She lowered her voice. ‘I used to keep a list of all the books I’ve read from here, but it got far too long. Now I always check page 35 and if, like this one, I’ve circled it, I know that I’ve read it before… Only in pencil, mind!’

  It’s amazing how many people tell cats their secrets. Perhaps it’s because cats are obviously such intelligent, curious creatures. Or maybe it’s because cats can’t talk Human, so they won’t tell anyone. Besides, even if they could talk Human, there are certain secrets – really important secrets – that cats would never tell anyone else. And, deep down, most people know that.

  There was a giggle as a gaggle of schoolchildren left the computer corner where they’d been doing their homework. Beancat’s ears swivelled into action.

  ‘ ’Night, Marcia!’ one of the girls called out.

  ‘ ’Night, Patricia!’ Marcia called back.

  The last to leave was Mr Pasternak, his worn leather briefcase tucked under his arm. ‘Goodnight, ladies!’ he said, before putting his hat on. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Yusuf had left a few minutes before him, politely wishing everyone – including Beancat – a very nice evening.