The Library Cat Read online

  For librarians everywhere

  Philip Ardagh

  For Deeley and Ballou

  Rob Biddulph

  Furry Purry Beancat found a patch of sunlight, followed her tail round in a circle three times, then settled herself down in a furry ball of purry cat. She yawned, lowered her head to the ground and pulled her beautiful fluffy tail in front of her little pink nose.

  Where will I wake up next? she wondered, slowly closing her big green eyes and drifting off to sleep…

  CHAPTER 1 ON THE SHELF!

  Furry Purry Beancat opened her big green eyes and found herself face to face with a spider snoozing in his web. He had many eyes and all of them were closed. Beancat felt the tickle of dust in her little pink nose and tried not to sneeze. But she couldn’t stop herself.

  It was rather an impressive sneeze, causing some of the strands of the spider’s web to break and the whole thing to wobble like a trampoline. The spider opened all his eyes at once and glared at Furry Purry Beancat. The effect was a bit like someone suddenly turning all the lights on.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that, Furry,’ said the spider gloomily. ‘Nothing like being woken by a sneeze. Gives me such a boost.’ He sighed.

  He’s used my name. My first name, Furry Purry Beancat thought. Which means that we must be friends on first-name terms. Only I don’t know what his name is…

  Now, not knowing the name of one of your friends might seem odd, but the really important thing you need to know about Furry Purry Beancat is that when she falls asleep (which she does rather a lot) she sometimes – only sometimes, mind – wakes up somewhere completely different, in another one of her nine lives! And it ALWAYS ends up being an adventure, which is good because, apart from eating and sleeping, having adventures is what Furry Purry Beancat does best.

  ‘Sorry I sneezed on you,’ she said to the spider. ‘It’s the dust.’

  ‘It’s always the dust,’ said the spider. ‘You can’t expect Reenie to reach all the way up here, can you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ replied Furry Purry Beancat, even though she didn’t have a clue who Reenie was.

  Furry Purry Beancat looked around to take in her surroundings. Hmmm. She appeared to be on top of a bookcase, a very high bookcase, and it was one of many. There were bookcases everywhere. Some were against walls. Some were in the middle of the room with shelves on either side. Every shelf was full of books.

  Is this a bookshop? she wondered. No, I think it’s a public library! That means Reenie must be the library cleaner.

  ‘Are you going to sneeze on me again?’ asked the spider gloomily. ‘It’s just that it would be useful to know if you’re planning to start the day with a fun-packed Let’s-Sneeze-on-Gregory session.’ He said the word ‘fun-packed’ as though it was more depressing than a bag full of custard cream biscuits where someone had licked off all the fillings.

  ‘I did say sorry, Gregory,’ said Furry Purry Beancat, as though she’d known his name all along.

  ‘No time for apologies!’ said Gregory. ‘There are repairs to be made. It never stops!’ He scuttled over to one of the broken threads and set to work.

  ‘See you later!’ said Beancat.

  ‘I expect so,’ said the spider, ‘unless I get vacuumed up or slammed shut in a book.’

  Beancat smiled to herself. She suspected that Gregory the spider was one of those creatures who rather ENJOYED being gloomy!

  ‘Then be careful,’ she said.

  ‘What excellent advice. Thank you, Furry. If you hadn’t suggested that I might have gone swimming in a boiling kettle or—’

  Beancat didn’t wait to hear the rest. She made a graceful leap to the floor, her four white paws landing silently on a rug shaped like an enormous lemon. At that moment a woman appeared through an open door marked STAFF ONLY.

  ‘Good mornin’, Furry!’ she said with a beautiful voice that sounded to Beancat like music. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Meow!’ said Beancat, and rubbed round the woman’s legs. She was wearing fabulously shiny black shoes.

  The woman bent down and gave Furry Purry Beancat a splendid stroke from head to tail a few times and then a VERY professional rub under the chin.

  ‘Ready for breakfast?’ she asked, turning and walking back through the doorway.

  ‘Meow!’ said Beancat, trotting alongside the woman.

  They went past a door marked CARETAKER and into a room with a table and chairs, a kitchen sink, a microwave oven and a few kitchen cabinets. There was a door to the outside, next to which was a row of large old-fashioned coat pegs.

  This must be where the library staff go to relax, thought Beancat. A staffroom.

  The only strange thing about the room – and it WAS very strange indeed – was a large beanstalk, with great big leaves the size of dinner plates growing up the wall. Obviously, it wasn’t a real beanstalk but that wasn’t the point.

  What’s THAT doing here? Beancat wondered.

  The woman opened one of the cupboards and brought out a pouch of cat food and two cat bowls. One had a paw-print pattern circling the other side and, much to her delight, the other one had FURRY PURRY BEANCAT painted on it.

  One of the Rs was a little squished, and she guessed that whoever had painted it must originally have written: FURY PURRY BEANCAT.

  Then they’d realized that they’d left out one of the Rs and had to make a quick correction!

  But Furry Purry Beancat didn’t mind; she was VERY PLEASED that someone had gone to the trouble at all.

  In one swift moment the woman had the bowl on the floor, the food in the bowl and the empty sachet and its torn-off top in the pedal bin. Now she had the fridge door open and, before you could say, ‘Thirsty?’, Beancat found the other bowl filled with full-fat milk.

  The door of the fridge was covered in fridge magnets. Lots of them were of cats. There was also one with a curved palm tree on a patch of very yellow sand on which was written TRINIDAD & TOBAGO and one of a teddy bear reading a book with I LOVE BOOKS on its cover. A few of them held pieces of paper to fridge door. Beancat caught a glimpse of some of the bigger words:

  Save the county’s libraries!

  There was also a takeaway menu for somewhere called THE CHICKEN SHACK.

  But Beancat was FAR more interested in her own food. She purred as she ate.

  The outside door opened and in walked a much younger woman.

  ‘Morning, Marcia!’ she said to the first lady.

  ‘Mornin’, Lizzie,’ replied the lady Furry Purry Beancat now knew to be Marcia.

  The two women looked to Beancat as if they couldn’t be more different. Marcia had a fantastic frizz of thick black hair with a zigzag-patterned scarf tied round it, while Lizzie’s hair was very neat and very ginger and cut very straight at the bottom. Marcia wore a fabulous dress of brilliant colours and Lizzy had simple dark blue jeans and a blue T-shirt.

  Beancat thought Marcia looked like one of those people who was saying to the world, Hello! I’m here and I’m happy! Standing out and outstanding! Lizzie, by contrast, looked like someone who was happy to blend in.

  Lizzie scratched Beancat on the head. ‘Morning, Furry!’ she said.

  Furry Purry Beancat didn’t stop eating – she’d no idea she’d been hungry until she’d smelled the food – but she did some EVEN LOUDER PURRING to show Lizzie some appreciation.

  The next person through the door was very different to the first two.

  He was a he for a start. He was tallish and thinnish and looked youngish. Beancat wasn’t very good at guessing humans’ ages, but she thought this person was more of a boy than a man, even though he towered above everyone and everything in the library staffroom apart from the cupboard on the wall to the right of the sink.

 
That makes him tall not tallish, thought Beancat, adjusting her first impressions.

  He wore brown corduroy trousers – the material that looks like a ploughed field – and a white shirt with a button-down collar and a green tie, which, like him, was long and thin.

  ‘Hi, Dave!’ said Marcia and Lizzie.

  ‘Morning,’ said Dave.

  Furry Purry Beancat stopped eating and looked directly at Dave. Not because he sounded almost as gloomy as Gregory the spider but because, in that one word – the way he’d said it – she knew that Dave didn’t like cats.

  Cats just know, you know. They can tell whether you’re:

  a cat lover

  someone who enjoys fussing over a cat when they see one

  someone who doesn’t really like or dislike them

  someone who does NOT like cats

  And it was obvious to Furry Purry Beancat that Dave was in this final cat-e-gory!

  So, what did she do?

  What any cat would do.

  She went straight over to him and rubbed the bottom of his brown trousers.

  ‘Good morning, cat,’ he said.

  Please don’t think that Furry Purry Beancat was giving Dave special attention because she wanted him to like her. No. Beancat is not a dog.

  Dogs spend most of their lives trying to please their humans and thinking, Love me, love me, love me, love meeeeeeee! They dream about their humans and, when they wake up, the first thing they think about is MAKING SURE THEIR HUMANS LOVE THEM.

  I hate to tell you this… but Beancat thinks that dogs aren’t the shiniest tins on the pet-food shelf.

  Cats know that it’s a real PRIVILEGE for you to be in the company of a cat and may give you the HONOUR of their sitting in your lap once in a while! But cats are drawn to people who don’t like them like rabbits to a supermarket with a special offer on carrots. They want to get cat hair all over their clothes for starters…

  Soon Marcia, Lizzie and Dave were sitting round the staffroom table, each with a hot drink. Beancat’s little pink nose was filled with the smells of tea and coffee. It soon became obvious to her – because there’s no denying that she’s a very clever cat – that Marcia was the librarian in charge, Lizzie was a librarian too and that Dave the Cat-Hater was some kind of library assistant.

  They were talking about the weekend. Lizzie and Dave had both been on a SAVE THE COUNTY’S LIBRARIES march in town. From what Beancat could gather there had been balloons and bands and speeches and lots of people carrying banners arguing for the importance of local libraries.

  ‘Do you think there may be plans to close this library?’ Liz asked Marcia.

  ‘I’ve heard whispers,’ said Marcia, ‘but, then again, most librarians are worried that it’s THEIR library that might be closed down… But enough of this. Time to plan the day ahead!’ said Marcia. ‘We’ve got three classes in this mornin’, haven’t we?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Don’t forget to tell ’em about the Summer Fun activities for the holidays, righ’? And give their teachers them leaflets.’

  ‘Right,’ said Lizzie. ‘Will do.’

  The more Furry Purry Beancat heard Marcia speak, the more she LOVED Marcia’s voice. It made her want to sing!

  Beancat fancies herself as a bit of a singer. All cats do.

  Now, Beany thinks she’s beautiful.

  And she is.

  Beany also thinks she deserves all the loving and the stroking she gets.

  And she does.

  But when it comes to her singing, Beany is plain WRONG.

  In her head she sounds like a professional opera singer mimicking the song of the skylark.

  But to anyone in earshot what she actually sounds like is someone having a fight with a set of bagpipes, or a howler monkey with a slow puncture.

  If you’ve ever heard a cat wailing at night, then you’ll know what Furry Purry Beancat’s singing sounds like…

  …and cat-wailing is NOT a good sound.

  It doesn’t encourage people to leap to their feet, throw flowers and shout, ‘Encore!’ (which is a posh way of saying, ‘More!’).

  No. It encourages people to leap to their feet, throw open a window and then throw an old boot in the direction of the noise.

  But, blissfully unaware of this sad truth, Beancat was beginning to daydream about her and Marcia singing duets together.

  Being a library cat is going to be a nice, peaceful life, thought Beany. A chance to relax and unwind.

  Furry Purry Beancat was about as wrong as it was possible to be.

  CHAPTER 2 OPENING TIME

  The clock showed fifteen minutes to nine o’clock. The three human staff round the table got to their feet and left the room. The fourth member of staff – a particularly furry, purry member of staff – trotted out after them, glancing at the huge beanstalk as she went.

  She watched Marcia and Lizzie go behind a counter and do whatever it was that they needed to do before opening for the day.

  Eventually, Marcia called out, ‘Doors, please, Dave!’

  Dave, who had been pushing around a wooden trolley of books that he was putting on the shelves one at a time, walked briskly through the foyer, then unlocked and opened the two huge front doors.

  Beancat followed him across the black-and-white-tiled floor and stuck her nose outside. There was a small car park and then some fields. She breathed in the morning air, her super-sensitive cat nose sucking up useful information about the area. Beancat uses her nose a bit like the internet, accessing information and storing it away.

  Here, for example are just ten of the things she could smell the second the doors were opened:

  Fields – grass, mud, bark, flowers, trees

  People – different scents, materials, shampoo

  Cowpats – some fresher than others

  Car exhausts – nasty, strong and unhealthy

  Dog wee – typical dogs, marking what they wished was their territory

  Birds – different types and sizes, the strongest smell being of pigeon

  Wet paint – colour unknown!

  Car park – tarmac, oil leaks, petrol, plastic upholstery

  Bins – very SMELLY indeed

  What do you mean that’s only nine smells?

  One, two, three, four… Okay, you’re right. But some of the smells were made up of lots of other smells!

  Three people were waiting just outside for the doors of the library to open.

  The first was an elderly gentleman, wearing an old suit with a frayed blue shirt and carrying a worn leather briefcase tucked under one arm. He smelled of shaving foam, though his razor had missed a few patches of bristle on his chin and there were a few nicks where he’d cut himself.

  ‘Good morning, Furry Purry Beancat!’ he said. ‘Another beautiful day!’ He had a thick accent that made his English a little harder to understand. It came out as: Good mornink, Vurry Purry Bincat. Anuzzer beautiful day!

  Beancat purrrrrred.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Pasternak,’ said Dave.

  ‘Good morning, Dave,’ said the elderly gentleman. ‘Good to see you at the Save Libraries march on Saturday.’

  ‘You too, Mr Pasternak,’ said Dave.

  Next, there was a lady with snow-white hair who was pulling a tartan wheelie-trolley behind her. She wore glasses with such thick lenses that they made her eyes look big and googly!

  ‘Hello puss-puss,’ she said to Beancat in a voice that people often seem to use when talking to cats. ‘Morning, Dave!’

  ‘Good morning, Joan,’ said Dave.

  Beancat was rather pleased that Joan had greeted her before she had greeted Dave. This was a woman who got her priorities right!

  The third person looked to Beancat to be about the same age as Dave. He smiled down at Beancat. It was the look of someone looking at Beancat for the first time. He was wearing grey trousers, a white shirt and an autumn-brown sweater. He seemed a little nervous.

  He said nothing t
o Dave but walked up to the counter.

  ‘Good mornin’,’ said Marcia. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning, madam,’ said the young man. ‘Do I need a library card to read in the library?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Marcia. ‘Everyone’s welcome to use the library. You only need a card if you wantta take some books away with you.’

  ‘So I may just sit and read?’

  ‘ ’Course! That’s what libraries are here for. An’ if you needs help with anything, please ask me or one of the staff. You’ll recognize us from these.’ She held up the badge hanging round her neck.

  ‘Thank you, most kindly,’ said the young man. He went to look round.

  I think I’d better explore too, thought Furry Purry Beancat, as I’m SUPPOSED to know my way around here already.

  In the historical romance section, she saw a spider dropping on a thread from above.

  ‘Hello, Gregory!’ she said.

  ‘WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?’ asked a very INDIGNANT spider. Her eyes – all of them – narrowing in annoyance. ‘It’s me. Daphne!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Beancat. ‘Sorry, Daphne… From a distance I thought you were Gregory.’

  ‘I don’t look anything like the old gloombag,’ snapped Daphne. ‘I’m FAR more beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, well, sorry about that,’ said Furry Purry Beancat.

  ‘You haven’t FORGOTTEN about our secret meeting, have you?’ asked Daphne. Her many eyes narrowed again.

  ‘No. Of course not. No,’ said Beancat. What secret meeting? she wondered. What do me and a spider have to discuss?

  ‘Good,’ said Daphne. ‘See you in the caretaker’s office in about half an hour.’

  I don’t know about cats in general, but luckily Beancat is very good at telling the time without needing a clock. (And not just mealtimes, which, if she had her way, would be most of the time.)

  So, for the next half hour, Beancat went on patrol.