library cat

“You’ll be reporting to the head librarian,” she said, leading him through the stacks. At the end of the row she waved him to a coffee table with some wilting roses.

He paused. “Um,” he said. This had to be some weird library hazing routine. “That’s a cat with glasses.” It was indeed. It was reading a book.

The cat gave him a reproachful look over the top of its spectacles. “And this cat with glasses will be the one signing your checks, so I think you better show it some respect.”

He stared. The cat raised its eyebrows at him expectantly.

“Of course! Sorry, sir! Ah! Ma’am! Er…”

The cat chuckled. “The name is Leroy G. Malmesbury. You may call me Mister Malmesbury. And nothing else, mind. And don’t even bother asking what the G stands for. It is a national secret.” Mr. Malmesbury, jumped down from the table, tail high and twitching. “Now come along, there is much to be done…”

sent October 2012

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