A very fine cat indeed

Monitoring the archaeological proceedings is a rather fine feline, one who has a particular interest in these goings-on. Library cat (for it is he) has long been deprived of his rightful domain & is keen to reassert his command. Scurrying creatures, beware! Your Nemesis is nigh!

Many a library is graced by a Presiding Genius - a bust of its founder or Minerva with her owl, symbolic of learning & wisdom: a piece of antique statuary, fragmented & patinated by Time’s remorseless hand, redolent of civilisations lost for all eternity. Sadly, financial circumstances at Tottering Piles do not encourage classical sensibilities. Rather than an allegorical Patience on her monument, library cat will rule from his roost atop the tallest & least stable of the randomly piled book stacks. Those hypocaust-like heaps of volumes that litter the wooden floor will be as grist to his mill, mere stepping-stones on the way to achieving the lofty eminence he seeks. Up on the library table is the vantage point required. One more leap & the highest summit is reached. From here, both mice & humans can be quelled with a basilisk stare.

Lest you think that library cat is a bit of a tough proposition, I must assure you that he has his softer side. Once he has the situation firmly under his paw & is reassured of his comfort & convenience, there will be purrings & ticklings & a more relaxed relationship with his humans, if not with trespassing rodents. The special association between cats & books has often been remarked on, & is doubtless a subject to which I shall return in due course. But for now, let us return to the site of heroic endeavour at the library door & see what is visible in the gloom beyond the seal …

Welcome to my world

Great excitement prevails here at Tottering Piles, for a Sleeping Beauty moment is imminent. Where a woman of my mature years & happily settled domestic circumstances is concerned, this experience is never going to entail a kiss from a hot young male of the Royal Blood. Rather, it will be a matter of hacking through a tangle of briars myself, ably assisted by Railroad Man, the partner of my joyous domesticity.

Oscular contact may not be a part of it, but still there will be a discovery & a revivifying … for behind a long-sealed portal lies a treasure close to my heart, a forgotten library - a neglected sanctum thronged with books & enigmatic artefacts. All are waiting in stillness for my return, anticipating the moment when the door opens & a shaft of light penetrates the gloom once more.

Many moons have waxed & waned since the briars took hold, entombing these tomes in a silence broken only by the susurration of spiders spinning their silken threads, & perhaps by the rustlings of small furry creatures behind the wainscot. Teetering book stacks are frozen into immobility, undisturbed by human hand or the passage of feline feet. Bulging carrier bags, pregnant with once-new purchases, gather dust. Rolled posters lie in disarray, forlorn & mute, their glorious images hidden…

It is painful to be robbed of the joy of books. Yet that is what has happened to me. Months of illness have passed by; the life of the mind crushed, the spark of imagination stifled & dulled. All my life lies within those four shelf-clad walls – the landscapes in which we live, the plants that add beauty & intricacy to our world, the birds that animate our skies & the buildings we construct, not just for practical purpose, but also to make statements about who we are, where we are & what matters to us.

And so, here we are, Railroad Man & I – cutting back the thicket & making that proverbial small hole in the door’s upper corner. Any moment now I shall be applying an enquiring eye to the aperture to see what lies within …

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