Cats and Libraries

I know a lot of people consider it a cliche for librarians to have cats, but what these people don't realize is that it's actually a law of the universe.

I didn't have a cat when I started working in libraries. I wasn't looking to get one either. In less than six months, I had a cat. The universe forced me to, and I was powerless to resist. If you work in a library, and you don't have a cat, either you're allergic and so exempt, or you just don't have one YET. You can argue with me all you want, but when you find a kitten sitting in your desk chair when you get to work, you'll know. The universe got you too. No, I didn't find my cat in my desk chair. The universe was sneakier with me.

At one time, I was in charge of opening the library, and arrived fifteen minutes early to do so. I walked around checking the emergency doors, and was strolling through the window lounge when a small glob of orange huddled against one of the windows caught my eye. I walked over and saw a kitten half covered in mud shivering against the glass.

It was late fall. It was morning. It was cold. I looked at the kitten crouched there, and knew I had to go out and check on her. She was so small, and she looked so pitiful with her hind legs covered in red mud while her front half was fluffy and orange, and her eyes were still blue. Orange fur, blue eyes, bedraggled kitten. I dare you to resist the combination.

I went outside, and circled round to the back of the library where the window lounge was located, and approached the kitten. As soon as she saw me, she did one of the most heartbreaking things imaginable. She tried to run away from me through the window. She boinked her head and scrabbled with her tiny little paws against the glass as I crept closer. I scooped her up easily. She fit in the palm of my hand. As soon as I had her, she was hissing and spitting, and scratching, but as I said, the little thing could fit in the palm of my hand so her claws were too small to even really break the skin.

I cuddled the kitten to give her some warmth and took her back inside. As I was walking to an entrance door, I felt something glance off my chin. I looked down and realized that the little thing had tried to bite me, but it hadn't hurt and instead of freaking me out, she just endeared herself to me more. I did lower her from striking distance to my face though. She continued to growl and hiss at me the whole trip back inside.

When I got back inside, I got a clean rag to wipe her off and bundle her up. The kitten still was not happy. She made outraged noises and attempts on my life as I tended to her, but I had a secret weapon--A turkey sandwich. I took the turkey from the sandwich, wiped off the Mayo, and fed small pieces of it to her. She ate the meat greedily and any nips I received I contributed to hunger and not the open malice in her eyes.

Of course, she came home with me.

I named her Caper.