Christmas at the Cat Cafe

by Melissa Daley

  ‘Uncomfortable? Really? Sorry, Debs, I didn’t mean . . .’ A flicker of embarrassment crossed Linda’s face. Her head dropped and she stared at the floor. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, but I can take it back to the shop if you’d rather,’ she whispered, a touch self-pityingly.

  An uneasy hush descended on the kitchen.

  Suddenly Linda’s shoulders started to shake and she raised one hand to shield her face. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything,’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry, Debs, I know I’m getting in your way, I’ll pack up and—’

  ‘Linda, there’s no need for that,’ Debbie groaned, putting an arm out to prevent her sister walking away. ‘I’m not saying I want you to go, just that – well, maybe we need to find something for you to do.’

  Linda dabbed her heavily made-up eyes with a tissue, and Debbie stood for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, watching her sister intently.

  ‘Look,’ Debbie said at last. ‘If you really want to say thank you, why don’t you help me out in the café? I could do with another pair of hands down there, and it would give you something to do during the day, other than shopping.’

  Linda looked up, with watery eyes. ‘Are you sure? I’ve never worked in a café before,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up, Linda,’ Debbie replied warmly.

  A child-like smile began to spread across Linda’s face. ‘I’d love to help out, Debs. I always loved playing waitresses when we were little, do you remember?’ she said, seizing Debbie tightly around the neck. Debbie returned the hug, but a wrinkle had formed between her eyebrows, and I wondered whether she was already having doubts about her spur-of-the-moment suggestion.

  Linda’s first day at work didn’t get off to the most promising start. I watched from the window cushion as Debbie came downstairs on Monday morning and set about the usual tasks: she switched on the lights, placed the chalkboard on the pavement and stocked the till with cash. She was updating the Specials board when Linda appeared at the foot of the stairs, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

  ‘Right then, Boss. Where do you want me?’

  Debbie glanced doubtfully at Linda’s spiky-heeled boots. ‘Are you sure you want to wear those today? You’ll be on your feet a lot,’ she warned, but Linda was adamant.

  ‘Don’t worry, Debs, they’re really very comfortable.’

  By late morning, when the café started to fill up with customers, Linda’s enthusiasm seemed to be waning. She struggled to use the till, and had mixed up two tables’ orders. When the time finally came for her lunch break she limped upstairs, and the thought crossed my mind that she might not come back. An hour later, however, she reappeared for the afternoon shift, rested, refreshed and having swapped the spiky heels for a pair of flat, fleecy boots.

  On Tuesday, Linda appeared downstairs wearing loose-fitting trousers, a sweater borrowed from Debbie and comfortable shoes. With her blonde hair tied back and a Molly’s apron over her clothes, she bore more of a resemblance to Debbie, and sometimes I had to look twice to be certain which sister was which. She remained nervous whenever she had to use the till, but was relaxed and friendly with the customers, enthusing about the menu in a way that seemed genuine rather than pushy. ‘Have you tried the Cake Pops? Oh, they’re delicious!’ she gushed, before trotting proudly to the kitchen with her order pad.

  As the week went on, her confidence grew, and Debbie seemed both surprised and gratified by her sister’s aptitude for the job. Working together gave them some common ground; for the first time since Linda had arrived, they had something to talk about other than Linda’s marital problems and whose turn it was to wash up. On Friday afternoon, when Linda slipped out, saying that she had an appointment she couldn’t miss, I was surprised to find that the café felt empty without her.

  ‘Now, Debbie, don’t be cross.’

  I had been dozing in the window, but at the sound of Linda’s voice I jolted awake. It was dark outside, the café had closed and Debbie was cashing up the day’s takings behind the counter.

  ‘What? Why would I be cross? What’ve you got there, Linda?’ Debbie asked, a slight note of anxiety in her voice.

  I looked sideways to see Linda standing on the doormat holding a large cardboard box. Smiling with excitement, she walked across the café and, with great care, placed the box on the counter.

  ‘I know you said no more gifts,’ she explained, ‘but I thought this would be the exception. It’s for the business really. I think it’s just what the café needs.’

  I sat up on my cushion, wondering what the café could possibly need that it didn’t already have. I craned forward attentively as Debbie, with a look of trepidation, pulled the box towards her and flipped open its cardboard flaps. What I saw made my stomach contract: from inside the box, a pair of dark-brown, pointed ears appeared, quickly followed by the fine-boned face of a Siamese cat.

  ‘This is Ming!’ Linda exclaimed.

  Debbie’s mouth had fallen open. Speechless, she stared at the cat, who was looking around in wide-eyed alarm.

  ‘Linda! What have you . . . ? You’re not – you can’t . . .’ Debbie stammered.

  ‘Now look, Debs. I know what you’re going to say, but just hear me out,’ Linda insisted. ‘I’ve been working here for a week, and I think you’re missing a trick. Molly and her kittens are lovely, of course, but they are – well, just moggies. I think it would really add to the café’s appeal to have something a little more exotic in the mix. You know, to give the customers something a bit special to look at.’

  ‘Linda, this is ridiculous,’ Debbie replied with a mirthless laugh. ‘We’re talking about cats, not . . . clothes, or soft furnishings. You can’t just throw a new cat into the mix. Our cats are a colony, for goodness’ sake. This . . . Ming . . . will be an outsider.’ She looked in desperation at the Siamese cat, whose disembodied, dismayed face was still peering out from between the box’s cardboard flaps.

  As Debbie talked, Ming turned to face her and let out a throaty, plaintive yowl. Debbie raised her eyebrows in surprise at the noise, which was far deeper and louder than anything I or the kittens could produce. Her expression softened and she instinctively reached to stroke Ming between the ears. I watched with narrowed eyes, feeling the hairs on my back bristle with envy.

  When Linda next spoke, her voice was wheedling. ‘Ming’s owners put an ad in the paper. They’re expecting a baby, so decided to rehome her. How anyone could give away such a beautiful creature is beyond me . . .’ Linda trailed off, leaving the thought of such wanton cruelty hanging in the air. ‘She’s two years old, and has been spayed and vaccinated,’ she added matter-of-factly, as if this would surely clinch the deal.

  Debbie withdrew her hand from the box and began to rub her forehead in consternation. ‘But, Linda, it’s not that simple, is it?’ she frowned. ‘This is a cat café. What if Ming’s temperament doesn’t suit it here? She might hate living with other cats. And they might not like her.’

  ‘Well, okay, that’s a possibility,’ Linda shrugged dismissively. ‘But we won’t know till we try, will we?’ She looked shrewdly at her sister, sensing that Debbie’s resolve was wavering. ‘Why don’t you give it some time and see how Ming settles in? If she seems unhappy, then you can rehome her. But at least give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  I fixed my eyes on the back of Linda’s head, allowing images of the worst things that could happen – both to Ming and to Linda – to run through my mind.

  Debbie groaned and slumped against the serving counter. Just say No! I wanted to scream, wishing I could jump onto the counter and slam the cardboard flaps shut on Ming’s beautiful, bemused face.

  ‘Okay, fine,’ Debbie said at last, looking at Linda across the tips of Ming’s ears. ‘We’ll give her a few days and see how she gets on.’

  Linda started to bounce up and down on the spot with excitement.

  ‘But only as a trial,’ Debbie added sternly. ‘This is not a done de
al. The cats’ welfare comes first.’ She leant over the side of the box and I heard the resonant rumble of Ming’s purr as Debbie began to stroke her.

  I had seen enough. I jumped down from the windowsill and crept, unnoticed by the sisters, past the counter and upstairs to the flat. Beau was lying in the hallway, and lifted his head drowsily as I passed. There was no aggression in the gesture, but I growled at him anyway. He instinctively averted his head, frightened I would take my anger out on his scab-covered nose. I strode past him into the living room, jumped onto the armchair and began to wash myself. But as I licked my flank furiously, Linda’s words played on a permanent loop in my head. ‘They are . . . just moggies,’ she repeated over and over again, the disdain in her voice amplifying each time.

  8

  The following morning I crept downstairs early. The cardboard box had been moved to the floor between the serving counter and the fireplace. It looked empty and, as I moved silently across the floor, I indulged myself in the fantasy that Ming had escaped through the cat flap overnight and was at this very moment roaming the streets of Stourton, frightened and alone. But as I picked a path between the tables and chairs, I noticed Eddie sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, gazing in rapt concentration at one of the armchairs.

  ‘Have you . . . seen?’ he asked.

  I stepped closer and followed his eye-line. Curled up in a perfect crescent on the armchair, Ming lay sound asleep. Everything about her cream-and-chestnut-toned body oozed elegance, from her chiselled cheekbones to her dainty feet, which looked as if they had been dipped in liquid chocolate from ankle to toe.

  ‘Who is she?’ Eddie whispered.

  ‘Her name’s Ming. Linda brought her last night,’ I replied curtly.

  At that moment Ming’s body twitched and her huge eyes opened dramatically, to reveal two orbs of the most intense blue I had ever seen. Beside me, Eddie gasped in surprise, or possibly admiration. Still prostrate on the cushion, Ming blinked, then unfurled her slender legs into a sideways stretch, throwing her head back against the cushion. As her mouth opened into a yawn, I saw the curve of her pink tongue behind pristine white teeth. Fully awake now, she looked around, and her azure eyes focused on me and Eddie on the flagstones before her.

  She tilted her head quizzically to one side but said nothing, and I felt Eddie shifting uncomfortably next to me.

  ‘I’m Molly, and this is Eddie,’ I said, aware that my words didn’t quite convey the authoritative tone I had hoped for. If anything, they seemed to confirm our status as supplicants eager for Ming’s attention.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly and flicked from Eddie’s face to mine, but still she said nothing. I began to feel an impotent rage fizz in the pit of my stomach. How dare she! Who does she think she is? My cheeks burnt under my fur as I tried to preserve some semblance of dignity in the face of such insolence.

  Within a couple of minutes, the patter of paws in the stairwell heralded the arrival of the other kittens. Maisie appeared first, raising her tail and heading across the room to greet me and Eddie. She jumped in alarm, on noticing Ming on the chair above us, instinctively diving behind me for protection. Purdy, Abby and Bella were not far behind, and soon they too were prowling around the hearth, throwing curious glances up at the feline stranger. Ming, meanwhile, lay resplendent on the armchair, looking down superciliously at us all.

  I surveyed Ming with mounting dislike. I’ve had enough of this, I thought. Aloof, superior, rude . . . Ming seemed to possess every attribute that I had tried hard not to encourage in the kittens.

  ‘Breakfast!’ I instructed, herding them into a group and back upstairs to the flat, ignoring their protests that they had already eaten. Sensing my mood, they complied and made a show of taking a few mouthfuls from their bowls, before hurriedly dispersing. Feeling that I had not yet vented my annoyance sufficiently, I sought out Beau, who was fast asleep on the rug in the living room, and hissed at him so viciously that he woke with a startled yelp and scrambled under the sofa in panic.

  I climbed into the shoebox in the corner of the living room and passed the day dozing fitfully, finding myself jerking awake in alarm at regular intervals before falling back into a light, restless sleep. It was dark when my rumbling stomach forced me out of the box. I padded into the kitchen and ate a few mouthfuls of cat biscuits. Sleeping and eating had done nothing to improve my mood, and I knew I needed some fresh air.

  In the café, Ming was sitting on the highest platform of the cat tree, washing contentedly. I kept my eyes firmly on the door as I strode across the flagstones, determined not to pay her the compliment of looking at her as I passed. I headed out into the dark, quiet street and made my way purposefully along the alleyway. As I slipped through the conifers into the churchyard beyond there was movement in some nearby shrubbery, and Jasper emerged onto the grass in front of me.

  ‘Evening,’ he said, stepping forward to greet me.

  ‘Hmmph,’ I replied, turning my head away petulantly. I strode away from him towards the gravestones, aware that he was baffled by my uncharacteristic froideur.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, trotting after me.

  ‘Ming’s up,’ I replied sharply, taking a perverse delight in his confusion.

  ‘What’s Ming?’ he said.

  ‘Ming’ – I practically spat her name – ‘is the café’s new cat. If you spent less time in the alley and more time indoors, you might have found that out for yourself.’ I stalked off, feeling better for having vented my anger, but also guilty for taking it out on Jasper, who was no more to blame for Ming’s arrival than I was.

  I completed a solitary, troubled circuit of the churchyard before heading home, reaching the café at the same time as Debbie’s friend Jo. Jo owned the hardware shop next door and was Debbie’s closest friend in Stourton. She had a practical, no-nonsense air and unruly shoulder-length curls, which shook whenever she laughed, which was frequently.

  ‘Oh, hi, Molly,’ Jo said cheerfully, as I trotted up to her ankles. She bent down to stroke me, rubbing my back a little more roughly than was strictly necessary; but Jo owned a dog, and tended to misjudge the degree of physical force required when petting felines.

  While she was stroking me, I sniffed at the brown paper bag in her arms, from which the combined aroma of garlic prawns, creamy chicken curry and spicy lamb emanated. Jo and Debbie’s takeaways in the café had been a regular weekend occurrence for as long as I could remember, and I knew their menu selections by heart.

  Jo stood up and waved at Debbie through the window. ‘Come on then, Molly,’ she said with a little whistle.

  She opened the door and I darted in front of her feet and ran inside.

  Jo deposited the bag of food on the serving counter. ‘So, this must be the new cat?’ she asked, pushing a brown curl out of her eye and making her way over to the cat tree, where Ming was curled up sound asleep on the platform.

  ‘Her name’s Ming,’ Debbie replied, placing two wine glasses and a handful of cutlery on the counter next to the bag of food.

  ‘She really is a beauty, isn’t she?’ Jo whispered admiringly. Debbie stepped up behind her, beaming proudly.

  While they both gazed at Ming in awestruck silence, I jumped onto the counter, clumsily knocking the knives and forks to the floor, where they clattered noisily on the flagstones. Oops, I thought, smiling inwardly. Startled, Debbie and Jo both swung round and, sensing their eyes on me, I stepped precariously between the wine glasses to sniff the bag full of food.

  ‘Oh, Molly, that’s not for you,’ Debbie said, leaping across the room to pull the bag sharply out from under my nose. I jumped down from the counter, satisfied that I had, for the moment at least, diverted their attention away from Ming.

  Debbie set out their meal on one of the café tables, and I took up my usual position on the windowsill to watch them.

  ‘No Sophie and Linda this evening?’ Jo asked, heaping a spoonful of rice onto her plate.

  Debbie shook her head. �
��Sophie’s gone to a party with her boyfriend, and Linda’s gone . . . somewhere – I didn’t actually ask where.’ Jo chewed her mouthful, waiting for Debbie to elaborate. ‘It’s a bit of a relief to have an evening off, to be honest,’ Debbie added guiltily, reaching for her glass of wine.

  ‘How long’s she been here, now?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Ten days,’ Debbie answered instantly. ‘Not that I’m counting, or anything.’

  Jo grinned conspiratorially over the rim of her glass. ‘Any idea how long she’ll be staying?’ she probed.

  Debbie shrugged. ‘It’s complicated, apparently. She’s adamant she won’t go back to the house while Ray’s there; and he’s refusing to move out, since he pays the mortgage. I think solicitors are involved now, so of course the whole thing could drag on for ages . . .’ She sipped her wine glumly.

  ‘She’ll be here for Christmas, at this rate,’ Jo teased.

  Debbie looked pained, and quickly took another gulp from her glass.

  ‘Here’s a radical thought. You could ask Linda what her plans are. Maybe give her a deadline to find somewhere else?’ Jo’s tone was supportive, but challenging. ‘It’s a fair question, isn’t it? She can’t expect you to keep putting her up indefinitely.’

  Debbie winced. ‘I know, Jo, but I feel bad for her.’ She sagged slightly in her chair, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

  ‘Of course you feel bad for her – her marriage has broken up. But that doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to give her somewhere to live, does it? She could afford to stay in a hotel, by the sounds of it.’

  ‘She probably could, but what kind of sister would I be if I asked her to do that?’ Debbie’s eyes were starting to shine. ‘I’m just letting her stay until she sorts herself out, that’s all. Besides, Linda is helping me out in the café.’

  Debbie’s cheeks were glowing, and Jo raised her hands in a placatory gesture.