Monday, December 16, 2013

kafka's kart

Some part of me thinks that if kafka could talk he would insist that I never spell C-words with a K when continuing from his name, like "kafka's kart". But kafka, a cat, cannot talk. That, curiously, does not mean I am free to contravene his requests and requirements. It means that the collective discussion is cast completely clear of his concerns. Kafka does not care. Contradistinctly, of course, one can never be correspondingly completely confident correlatively with a cat.

Which brings us to the cart.

As mentioned in an earlier post my library recently acquired eight shopping carts. They are of a size suitable for a small to medium sized shop at your local grocery store. What they are suitable for in a library is slightly more mysterious. These carts are sturdy, well made, and presumably purchased using something more than spare change. So far they tend to just sit there in their little parking area, unwanted, and making early indications of being a waste of resources. A complete waste, really, and yet, kafka seems to like them. Two days ago I found kafka laying placidly on his side in one. He does like to get in things, though these are of a design that made me wonder how he even managed to do so. I wondered briefly if someone picked him up and put him in. But the act of leaving him in the cart seems malicious, and kafka seems to have a very good eye for ill intent and for avoiding those harboring it. Plus he is a balletic leaper and certainly could have flowed up into the upper level basket if he were driven enough to assert the completeness of his domain. But seeing him in one of the carts does not mean I had time to interact with him there. Believe it or not I was quite busy with work, and when I looked again later, when I had time, kafka was off on some other business.

Today, though, he was back in a cart. I had some time and so I said hi. Then, seized by either whimsy, the flow of things, telepathic suggestion, or all of the above, I proceeded to, cautiously, very slowly at first, wheel kafka around for a bit in his cart. He was like a little prince. He sat up, and as I wheeled him around on a circuit of our main floor and for a visit to the teen librarian he was constantly admired. Some people pet him. He seemed unusually dignified, even for him. His sitting posture was regal, upright and perfectly balanced. He did not purr, or become affectionate at the petting, but rather seemed to take it all as his due, as a matter of ceremony.

At least, that's my story for it. We're talking about a cat here. I could have dreamed it all.

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