Lending a Paw(10)

Chad gave Eddie a head pat. “He’s a friendly little guy. Why would your boss care?”

Reasons filled my brain so fast that my skull felt two sizes too small. Cat hair on the books. A distraction to driving. A disruption to the business of the bookmobile. Allergies. Unprofessional. Unclean.

Eddie was getting heavy, so I put him on the carpeted step. Five of the six kids surrounded him, oohing and aahing. Trevor went back to his book.

“My boss,” I said, “is very concerned about the library’s image and I’m quite sure Eddie doesn’t fit into that picture.” I wasn’t sure the bookmobile fit into Stephen’s grand plan, either, but once Stan Larabee had written that lovely big check with “Bookmobile donation” written in the memo field, he hadn’t had much choice.

Stephen was a big believer in a centralized library. He’d convinced the board that the availability of e-book lending made our small outlying libraries unnecessary and shut them all down in the name of fiscal responsibility. When I’d floated the idea of a bookmobile at a library board meeting, Stephen had asked in stentorian tones, “Is there anyone here who thinks a library should waste money on an expensive, high-maintenance operation like a bookmobile?”

Mine was the only hand that went up. It had been an awkward moment, but I’d kept my hand stubbornly high.

“Have any of you ever been on a bookmobile?” I’d asked, and rejoiced when a few heads nodded. “Do you think that maybe, just maybe, the thrill of being visited by a bookmobile is what helped give you a love of reading? Isn’t that part of our mission as a library?” A few more heads had nodded, but then Stephen brought the topic back to dollars, specifically the library’s lack thereof, and the nods stilled.

The single, solitary thing that had made our bookmobile possible was that lovely, large check. I knew in my bones that if Stephen found any reason to shut down the bookmobile, he’d do so without a second thought. I’d be in disgrace, possibly fired, and the bookmobile would be sold as quickly as possible. A letter of apology would be written to Stan Larabee and that would be that.

I watched Eddie strut down the aisle, flicking his tail to touch the bare legs of each child. He ignored me, head-butted Chad, then, in one smooth leap, jumped to the passenger’s seat headrest.

“Mrr,” he said, surveying his human subjects.

The kids giggled. Chad chuckled. I sighed.

• • •

The Engstroms lugged away three milk crates full of books and made promise after promise that they’d return everything when the bookmobile came back.

“Bye, Eddie,” they called. “See you next time.”

“Or not,” I said, closing the door behind them. I turned the dead bolt and went forward to the driver’s seat, talking to Eddie all the way. “Because there isn’t a chance in you-know-what that you’re ever setting foot on this bookmobile again. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event that will never be repeated, and may my tongue turn black if I’m saying anything other than the total truth.”

I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes. “Still pink, see?” I pointed at my tongue. “I hope you’re enjoying the ride because it’ll be your one and only.”

Eddie, of course, was paying no attention. At some point during my monologue, he’d slid into his dork position—all four legs spread out and draping over whatever object was the right shape. In some cases it was my backpack; at other times it was the back of the houseboat’s dining booth. Any time he did it, he looked like a complete dork. In this case, he was doing it on the passenger’s seat headrest. And looking like a dork.

I stood there, hands on hips, giving him my best Librarian Look. “You’re not listening, are you?”

He turned his head. Looked me up and down. Opened his mouth in a silent “Mrr.”

A laugh giggled up inside me. I shook my head and gave him a few pets. There wasn’t much point in scolding a cat.

• • •

At each of the next four stops, it didn’t take long for someone to notice that the bookmobile carried more than books.

“Look, Mommy, there’s a kitty cat!”

“Sweetie, this is a bookmobile, there can’t be a . . . oh. There is a cat.”

I spent as much time explaining Eddie’s presence and the need for secrecy as I did telling people where to find the Stephen King books.

“You mean Eddie won’t be back?” a white-haired lady with hot pink glasses asked.

“This was a special day,” I said, giving Eddie a pat and sending cat hair flying in four dimensions. “He really wanted to be here for the first trip, but he’ll be happier at home.”