Quiet Please

 

He lived in the library after hours.  He was simply a squirrel who loved to read.  Long ago he had made arrangements with the head librarian to be their night guard.  Should anyone attempt to break in, he was to scamper over to the desk and push on the alarm button.  So far, he never had to do that.  The librarian, Mrs. Wanda, never told anyone about the arrangement she had with the squirrel, and nobody ever noticed the small dish of acorns she kept behind the file cabinet, or the little water dish by the coat rack. 

Once in a while a student thought they’d seen something leap from the top of one shelf to another, but they’d always dismiss it and just go about doing their homework or research.  The squirrel had become very good at staying out of sight during the day, although sometimes crunching could be heard coming from the file cabinet, like something was chewing, but nobody ever gave it any real thought.  Wanda would make a shush sound and the crunching noise would stop. 

She named the squirrel Henry.  She didn’t know why but it seemed fitting for a library squirrel.  It didn’t take Henry long to catch on to his name and each night, after Wanda closed up and was heading out the door, she’d say, “Good night, Henry.”  Looking down from the top of the Self-Help section, Henry would flick his tail and give out a little chatter.  That was their system, and for them it worked. 

Over the years Henry developed a fondness for certain authors.  Emily Dickinson was one and Lawrence Ferlinghetti was another.  Constantly Risking Absurdity was one of his favorite pieces.  He just knew by the way it was written that a squirrel had written it, using the pen name, Lawrence.

 

 He never cared for the newer books, like John Grisham.  He tried once but half-way through a story, a book club came and checked out every copy.  He never got to find out what happened.  He wasn’t fond of book clubs after that.