I am a bit bizarre when it comes to books and things book related.  I am comforted by the feel of pages at my fingertips and the binding as I hold them in my hands.  I am content riding my bike to the library on Saturdays and roaming around the shelves or writing.  I check the “for sale” shelf often, and have brought home a few books for  50 cents a piece.  Last summer, I spent much of an afternoon sifting through boxes of mostly Agatha Christie and other mystery books that were free on the side of Maple Road.  We keep a couple of shelves at work full of books we’ve read and are willing to share with others, sort of like our own small library.  I visit this shelf every other week or so to see if there’s anything new.  It’s as if I believe that every books needs a loving home.

And my growing affection for books had me asking if I treat books like cats.  Think about it for a minute, and let me explain.

Books have their own characteristics.  They can be heartwarming and make us go “aawww,” like when we watch playful kittens.  They can be strange like cats’ behaviors.  Books can be creepy, like when your cat stares at you, relentlessly and unblinking, because he wants you to move from his favorite spot on the couch.

You can curl up and cuddle with a good book.  Nestle in the most comfy chair or lie down on the couch and get lost in a book.  Or read one in the warmth of bed at night before sleep.  We love to cuddle with cats like this also.  Granted, sometimes they wait until we are asleep and lay on our heads at night.  Or sit like sandbags by our feet.  But we still enjoy that company and presence of a cat, like I enjoy the presence of a good book.

Books and cats are both loyal.  Like cats wait for us to get home from work, books wait patiently on the shelf or nightstand to be read.  The words remain true, right where we left off from the previous reading.

Like I said earlier, books deserve a good home.  Like my heart goes out to stray cats or ones waiting to be adopted, I don’t like seeing books get ruined or left on the side of the road.  Last summer, I almost filled my car with all of the deserted books on Maple Road, because it was going to rain.  Sometimes I think I should have.  I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them behind, unprotected, and alone.

I do not believe I am obsessed with books, for I do take only ones I am interested in reading.  But I definitely have a big heart for them.