Yes, yes. Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. We had an encounter with an old possum just this morning. Actually, it was a deceased possum; we don't really know how old it was. (Laurie W. might have known, but she was off today.) Anyway, the ex-possum was laying out on the Mentor Avenue sidewalk. Why did the possum cross the street? A mystery. We could, of course, make something up:
4:00 a.m. Saturday morning, a captivating scent drifts through the air, teasing and delicious! Old dog food...some chicken bones? Everything's quiet, no one on the road. Over the treelawn, the curb, onto the blacktop still faintly warm. Closer and closer - now the mouth waters. Nearly there!
Some hungry insomniac wandering two hours before anything opens, trying to drive and find the nearest Dunkin Donuts on their phone, looks up too late.
A mute testimony to the limits of possum (and human) endeavor.
Hours later another passing driver saw it and called the library to complain. While not officially the Manager on Duty, I went out with Barb and picked the poor thing up. Being a librarian is a dirty job. What would Mike Rowe
have done?
That takes care of the possum portion, on to naming cats. Our Emma needs a new name, something we can trademark for the version of her that's going to be used by other libraries. Catchy, friendly, not too trendy. Emma's not a piece of designer goods for the fashionable, after all. She's a hard-working catbot. All four paws firmly in cyberspace.
The best brains are being wracked. (And when I say "best," I mean the best of the best. Of the best. With honors, Sir!) We need the name by next week and are down to the shortlist. I can't tell you what the final choices are; such sensitive info must be guarded carefully. I can promise that we won't have a fiasco like the recent one at a large regional airline.
No, we won't name her after a deodorant.
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