Page 36 of The Library of Second Chances
She trotted past him, past the main doors and towards the west wing. Clementine huffed. She had not even greeted him. In his own house, by God.
He followed the tabby cat, watching her enchanting tail swish left and right. Her feet were all white, matching the snowy fur on her chest. Clementine’s bell jangled as he sped up, surprised at how fast she could go.
He found her standing in the middle of the children’s section, licking her paws. He stopped and leaped on top of the kids’ bookshelf, regarding her with curiosity. This was the first time he had ever seen another cat in here.
She looked at him again and his heart melted. Why, she was enchanting. Truly.
Clementine groomed himself, conscious of the tuft of orange hair that always stuck up on his back. He ran through possible behaviours: he could get the ball from the kitchen, or chase her around, or simply straighten himself and let her take in the beauty of his fiery coat.
He opted for the latter, jumping onto the soft play area before her. The female watched with interest as he stretched, taking up as much space as he could with his legs and tail. Then he ignored her, grooming himself again.
The female stepped towards him with a soft meow. Her eyes were like lamps, reflecting the bookshelves around them and sparkling like a thousand stars. Clementine watched her, his little heart racing. He stuck his behind in the air, tail swishing, inviting her to play.
With a delighted meow, the tabby female raced off. Clementine streaked after her, his bell jangling, pleasure washing through him.
He chased her around the library, across beams and the tops of bookshelves. When he caught her, they rolled around, their elated meows echoing around the archives. Then she chased him, following his jangling bell. Sometimes the female would sit, vacantly staring at the wall as though she had forgotten what they were doing. But Clementine would sneak up behind her and playfully tap her back.
What an angel, Clementine thought. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy. Not with another cat, anyway. Memories of his time before he came to this library were a blur, but he was certain it wasn’t a good place. Where he was and who he was with now, though, this was happiness.
They played for hours, long after the sun had risen, and Clementine was happily licking her neck, ensuring her lovely tabby fur was clean, when a book fell open in front of him.
Clementine approached it, curious. The female followed him, sitting on her large behind as she watched, probably wondering why he had stopped cleaning her.
The book had cartoonish pictures of a cat, one of her staring at an empty bowl, another with her leg in the air, staring vacantly into the distance. There was no doubt about it; it was the same cat that sat next to him, tilting her head as she watched him with interest.
Clementine should have known such a beautiful female, a queen of the felines, would be from a story. As he watched, the page turned. The scent of something washed over Clementine. Not a scent he knew, but one that doubtlessly belonged to humans.
‘Meow,’ said the female.
Clementine looked at her, reluctant. She couldn’t go back. Hadn’t they had such a wonderful time together tonight? Wasn’t she going to stay?
He butted his head against her white chest, purring against her fur. He would convince her to stay. It was nice having another cat around. He still needed to show her the garden, the upper archives, show her how to walk along the beams upstairs so they could watch the humans together.
The female’s white paws softly touched the book. It was on the last page now, the paper version of the cat staring up at him. Clementine shifted on his paws, his tail thumping the floor. It wasn’t fair. He had not asked for this.
The tabby licked his cheek, her whiskers tickling his nose. Clementine backed away and leaped back up onto the bookshelf. Well, if she was ready to leave him, he wouldn’t stop her. A truegentleman let their woman be happy, even if it meant not getting what he wanted.
He settled onto the shelf, not looking at her, and rested his head on his paws. He wondered if salty water would come from his eyes, too.
A warm sigh ruffled his fur. The book had closed, and it was no longer glowing.
Clementine went back to his cushion on the windowsill, tired as he watched the moon shining through the clouds. He kneaded the squashy cushion, comforted by the thick curtains hiding his presence. He hoped none of the humans would come and disturb him up here. At least not for a while.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WORKERS ARRIVED ATthe library the next morning, as Harry had promised, to start working on the leaky roof on the second floor. Men with tools and hard hats climbed the spiral staircase, sharing banter and laughter that echoed around the upper archives. Clementine had hissed and streaked away as soon as the tools had come out, disappearing downstairs with a flash of his bushy orange tail.
‘I think I remember picking up a book here not too long ago,’ Harry remarked to Chloe. ‘It was a non-fiction book about my trade. It was’ – he pointed – ‘from that shelf over there, I think. Did the non-fiction used to be up here? Not sure I remember.’
‘Non-fiction used to be over in the upper east wing, yes,’ said Mrs Cook. ‘The library must remember you, Mr Ashcroft.’
She caught Chloe’s eye, and they both smirked at Harry’s confused nod.
They all stood at the top of the stairs as the men with tool belts shifted the bookcase and the metal bucket that had been collecting water, so they could start work, all expertise and professionalism. They worked well under Harry, and he led them with instructions that told them he was in charge without being bossy or condescending.
Chloe found herself getting a bit flustered, hovering between the downstairs area and thinking of finding excuses to go talk to him. She wanted to mention getting dinner, reclaiming the wasted night at the pub, but surely now wasn’t the right time. He was working.
‘Did you grab that stepladder, Tony?’ called one of the workers over his shoulder.
