I could probably write a book about the many
unusual incidents I have experienced at various libraries. The following was written in 2010 after an
unusual incident at the Broken Bow Public Library that involved me and The
Library Cat.
It is dedicated to the memory of the best
feline literary companion a boy could ever have…
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TRIP TO CRAZY
(a true experience)
by John
L. Harmon
I once believed my lap was well within my personal space. A sacred area
that could only be breached upon my strict permission and even then it would be
enter at your own risk. Now, after a most eventful excursion to
the Broken Bow Public Library, I am left feeling quite uncertain about
boundaries and mentalities.
The day started, like most strange days often do, as perfectly ordinary, even
typical. I awoke in darkness, assisted in the distribution of bad news,
breakfasted, and then read said bad news. The Garfield strip was
thoroughly entertaining, so life was good while I utilized various
toiletries.
After a citrus-scented shower, I gathered up library essentials. It
would be impossible to leave the house without my blue five-subject
notebook. I may have to take notes or type whatever mad rambling I am
currently focused on, such as this. As a companion to my notebook, a blue
plastic folder/binder is a nice fit. It provides excellent protection for
anything I print, whether it be from damp substances or unsightly creases.
I also grab whatever book I am currently reading. That day it was "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" by J.K.
Rowling, which was blissfully shorter
than the previous hernia-inducing doorstop. To top off this studious
collection: a BIC Cristal. This is a wonderfully inexpensive pen that
writes fluidly until the ink is visibly gone. Once you've gone BIC,
nothing else will do the trick!
I slipped the exalted writing utensil in my breast pocket, without a protector
(I'm a geek, not a nerd, thank you) and threw on my black pullover
jacket. Then, with my hands full, I awkwardly petted Gray Kitty and
stepped out into the pleasant February air, neither knowing nor
expecting the mind-reeling experience that was waiting for me and another
simply-named feline.
To reach the library I walked through Broken Bow's
downtown. While the area is not quite a Petula Clark
wonderland, there are interesting sights to behold.
A clinic, with all female doctors, stands across the street from two
pharmacies. It could be described as the downtown medical district
or a prescription junkie's paradise, either way it is conveniently
located. Nearby, in the middle of our Shirley Jackson-ish town square, sits a towering
gazebo (well, bandstand, technically). The plainly beautiful structure
has not only inspired me creatively, but is also the home of fragrant childhood
memories.
Finally, after passing the stately post office and a faintly unsettling
headstone business, I arrived at the Broken Bow Public Library. In
case of confusion, the name is displayed in big letters on the side of the
long, dark brick building, accentuated with white brick trim. On the roof
is an Aztec pyramid formation that is a source of natural light inside.
Back down on the ground two sidewalks, forming an awkward V, converge upon
the single front door.
I entered that door, stepping into the muted mustard yellow entryway. A
small bench, surrounded by prickly plant decorations, sits in a corner with a
piece of modern art hanging beside it. The colorful painting is
a fascinating study in duality, at least from my perspective. When I
stand to the left my focus is on melding blocks of light blue, beige, and
white, like looking into a slice of Heaven. Standing on the other side
shifts my focus to red, black, and sickly yellow, a dark view into Hell.
It would soon become apparent which side of the painting followed me
through the second door and into the library.
The
front desk beckoned and I did what I almost always do first, signed in for
computer use. I chatted with the librarians about nothing specific as I
pressed pen to paper. Then I wandered over to one of the five computers
arranged in a half circle, the Aztec pyramid above. I plopped down
on one of the edges, which I often seek out so I am not sandwiched between two
people.
There were things I should have been doing with
the allotted time. Researching on-demand publishers, performing more of
the Final Edit, or even continuing my Classic Doctor Who education, but for some reason I wasn't feeling it.
Instead, I putzed around, mainly looking up random films and television programs on
Internet Movie Database.
After an enjoyable waste of time, I meandered
back to the front desk to sign out, knowing who would be waiting for me: TLC,
aka The Library Cat, though he is more commonly known as Top Library Cat.
He was introduced to me with the The, which stuck, but I often
endearingly refer to him as "Library Kitty." He is average
size, with a dark gray coat accented by white feet, chin, and belly. His
fur is short and a little rough, much like his temperament.
Over the years I have learned the proper amount
of attention to lavish upon him. Occasionally an overdose of petting
causes TLC to become rather feisty, and sometimes he is downright naughty for
no discernible reason. He has bitten my belly, clamped his teeth on my
arm, and attacked my legs after putting him on the floor. Somehow he has
never drawn blood, from me, anyway.
After signing out, TLC followed (or lead) me to
our usual chair located near the periodicals. It is a cozy area with a
fireplace and greenery, like a study or a den. I placed my coat and
library essentials on the floor at my left, sat down, and then our dance
commenced. He sat down on my right and looked expectantly up at me.
I reached my hand down for him to rub his face on. After being approved,
I leaned back and patted my lap. TLC wriggled in anticipation and then
leaped up, happily purring. He walked around my lap in small circles,
allowing me to pet him, before he stretched out for his late-morning catnap.
I carefully bent over, picked "Harry Potter"
up off the floor, and settled back. TLC was already half asleep when I
briefly and tenderly cupped the back of his head, and then opened my
book. It was at this relaxing moment we heard an ominous call.
"Kitty, kitty, kitty."
Initially, I figured the squeaky voice was
emitting from an annoying little kid, but I only got two of my three
assumptions correct. I peered over "The Half-Blood Prince," my
eyes widening at the sight of a short woman barreling in our direction.
This oncoming individual was not unknown to me because of her husband being an
acquaintance of mine.
"You stole my cat!" the familiar
woman screeched, grinding to a halt in front of us.
My startled mind barely processed the complete
falsehood of her accusation when she reached out and petted TLC as if he were a
puppy, which annoyed not only him. Firstly, he is an adult cat.
Secondly, I am accustomed to adults and children petting TLC while he rests on
my lap, but they ask first or at least keep it brief with an air of
tentativeness. This woman was something else entirely.
As if to confirm that last statement, she
attempted to coax him off my lap by waving her arms and commanding, "Come're kitty. Come with
me." TLC was having none of this, which I admit, filled me with
immense satisfaction. I was preferred, the chosen one, if you will excuse
the "Harry Potter" reference.
I thought this woman had at last given up when
she walked away, possibly to attend a Lullaby League meeting. Alas, I was
wrong. She was off telling everyone and their mother how I stole her
cat! "The Half-Blood Prince" swirled as I rolled my eyes,
feeling utterly annoyed and having completely underestimated the lengths this
woman would go. That is when IT happened...the unthinkable, the
unbelievable, the wholly unappealing.
This determined, deranged woman stormed back
over to us, once again accusing me of feline thievery. Just when I
thought this routine was becoming seriously old, she invaded my bathroom area
with one swift movement, effectively removing TLC from my person.
I sat flabbergasted, for many reasons, mainly
because this near-stranger penetrated my personal space, but also because of
her flagrant feline-ignorance. Even during the stunningly horrific
moment, as she lifted TLC from my lap, I managed to utter, "He's going to
bite you."
Sure enough, within seconds of her taking a
seat not too far away, TLC reacted accordingly. Then, as if she hadn't
done enough already, this increasingly irritating woman complained to the
librarians. Complained that TLC was being mean and that they should shut
him away for a while.
I was upset by this. No. I was freakin' livid! So much so
that I vocally bounded to TLC's defense by explaining, in
a loud and possibly whiny voice, how she came over and took him off my
lap! Thankfully cooler heads prevailed and TLC did not get shut away
because, as one of the astute librarians pointed out, he probably just
wanted to sleep on my lap.
The woman disappeared into the shelves and TLC wandered in back to cool
down with food and drink, leaving me alone to read. It was exceedingly
difficult to focus on the magical words in front of me. Perhaps I was
feeling territorial or just plain violated, but literary concentration was
a distant land. I even slapped the open book against my forehead, trying
to gain control, but it was a no-go situation. All I could think was,
How dare she grab him off my lap and then try to get him in trouble!
It was at this point I seriously considered
leaving. I couldn't read. TLC had not returned, and even if he did,
that woman was still lurking about. I wasn't sure if I could handle
another rousing chorus of "You stole my cat!" and if the police
would consider my potential reaction justifiable. Then, when I was
just about to rise, TLC strolled around a corner.
I still contemplated leaving, reliving the
screechy accusation in my head, but he came back! It meant that he did
not blame me for that woman's repugnant behavior! How could I refuse
him? So, like a whore with greenbacks thrown at my feet, I patted my lap
and told him, "Come on."
You would think that would be the end of this
tale, reading and napping happily ever after, but there is a little more.
While the odious woman was off being obnoxious in another area of the library,
her husband—the established acquaintance of mine—arrived on the scene.
He seemed genuinely unaware of the events that
had just transpired as he stood and chatted with me. TLC slept
through our protracted conversation of old times, new times, and in-between
times. The topic inevitably veered toward his...most...interesting...wife.
I discovered she is partially deaf, which did
not change my rather negative opinion. That particular genetic
wiring does not give one carte blanche to behave like an undisciplined child. Then, as if to test
my sympathy and empathy, I was informed of how she had been
mercilessly teased in school. Typically, I rally around my fellow Carries, but not this time. My
mind turned Siberian, Color me unsurprised. There might have been a
reason...
Before I knew it she reappeared, possibly as a
punishment for my frigid thoughts, and informed her husband that
I (drum roll please) stole her cat. It took massive
fortitude not to grimace and/or roll my eyes. TLC, of course, woke
up at the shrill of her voice and she petted him rather roughly again. I
froze, waiting for IT to reoccur, but she thankfully ventured no further into
my personal space.
Her husband must have known her charge
was imaginary, or he's sadly used to her wild outbursts, because all
he inquired of me is if TLC had ever bit me. I explained that when in a
bad mood he does, but mostly he is a peaceful feline, at least with me.
Though I did mention how it took me a good chunk of time to achieve even this
sometimes tenuous level of compatibility.
Satisfied with my answer, husband and wife
blissfully vacated the Broken Bow Public Library. I remained there for
longer than usual so TLC could nap and I could read more of "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"—a hard-earned reward for surviving our trip to crazy.
Yes, I once believed my lap to be well within
my personal space, and perhaps it still is, but notions surrounding the
defiled area have changed. I now tense when a potentially unstable
mentality approaches my boundary, for I can no longer be certain of their feline
intentions. A pet or a grab? The only thing I am certain of is
if IT happened once, IT can happen again.
3/30/2010
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For a better understanding of the environment in
which this unusual incident occurred, feel free to view the following You Tube
video… (I was sitting in the chair by the holiday tree when my lap was
violated)
Be well, Readers, and Freak Out,
JLH
