Christmas at the Cat Cafe

by Melissa Daley

  ‘Something wrong?’ Linda asked, cuddling the fluffy-haired Beau, who had recovered sufficiently from his bath-time ordeal to slink over to the table and jump into her lap.

  When Debbie turned around, her eyes were brimming over with tears and her lip was trembling.

  I padded across the rug to sit at her feet. The blood was rushing in my ears and I knew with absolute certainty what the phone call had been about. The question was: did it concern Eddie or Jasper? Or both of them . . . ?

  Debbie lowered her eyes to look at me, and I saw a tear slide down her cheek. ‘Oh, Molly, I’m so sorry. Margery’s died.’

  I felt as though the ground beneath me was falling away. I peered up at Debbie and tilted my head in confusion. I had been so convinced I knew what Debbie was about to say that her words seemed nonsensical. I stood there, feeling suddenly empty, my mind blank with shock. Then, as Debbie crouched down to stroke me and I began to process what I had heard, the first thought that came into my mind was: at least it wasn’t Eddie. Almost immediately I was hit by a wave of guilt; how could I think such a thing, at a moment like this?

  Debbie was stroking my head, doing her best to comfort me, but comfort was not what I needed. I felt confused and numb, and I was suddenly seized by the realization that I needed to be on my own, to absorb in private what had happened. I bolted out of the room, down the stairs and out through the cat flap. I paused to look around me, in a blind panic, wondering which way to turn. Almost immediately I realized that I needed to go to my safe place: the fire escape in the alleyway. I ran around the side of the café, tore along the passage and made straight for the iron stairway.

  My mind whirred as I tried to remember when I had last seen Margery. Somehow it felt important to recall our final encounter, and her last words to me. Then it came to me: it was that stormy Sunday – the very day, in fact, when Debbie realized Eddie was missing. Margery had been distracted and agitated and we hadn’t stayed long, and had bumped into David on our way out. My throat tightened when I realized that, the last time I had seen Margery, she hadn’t even seemed to know who I was.

  I closed my eyes and allowed a wave of regret to wash over me. If I had known that would be the last time I’d see her, I would have jumped onto her lap and purred, and stayed there until she recognized me – so that she knew I would always love her. But it was too late now. I had wasted my last chance to say goodbye.

  I circled slowly on the damp pile of flattened cardboard beneath the fire escape, listening to the sounds of the alley. A solitary pigeon cooed softly from a rooftop behind me, and a squirrel scampered across the wall opposite. A strange feeling of hollowness spread through me; I felt empty and insubstantial. It was as if my very identity was defined not by who I was, but by who I had lost: Eddie, Jasper and now Margery. Feeling utterly alone, I curled up on the cardboard and closed my eyes, praying for the relief from my mental turmoil that only sleep could bring.

  That night, I slept deeply and dreamlessly, not stirring until the cawing crows woke me with a start at dawn. The sun was just coming up and the sky was a glorious pink, shot through with gold, and there was a crisp, wintry feel in the air as I crawled out from underneath the iron steps. In the churchyard the frost-tipped grass crunched under my feet as I made my way to the square, where I padded over to the elm tree and jumped onto the bench underneath its bare branches.

  I had lived in Stourton for almost two years now, and had spent as much of my life without Margery as I had spent with her. I tortured myself with an almost unbearable dilemma: if I were offered the chance to go back in time – to remain with Margery in her cosy bungalow – would I do so? There would be no cat café, no Debbie, no kittens, no Jasper, but I would have had two more years of love from my precious Margery.

  But there was nothing I could do to get back the time I had lost; there was no bargain to be made, no retrospective deal that could be struck. I had thought I had lost Margery two years earlier, but fate had intervened and, miraculously, she had come back to me. But now she really was gone, and I had to accept that I would never see her again.

  17

  Plodding back along the cobbles towards the café, my mind was foggy and my limbs felt heavy to the point of exhaustion. I nosed through the cat flap and stood on the doormat, flicking my tail, gazing aimlessly around the café. The kittens were nowhere to be seen, but Ming had assumed her customary meditative pose on top of the cat tree, facing the window with her eyes closed, her chocolate-brown tail neatly encircling her paws. I stared at her for a few moments. I had so often felt suspicious of her apparent ability to disengage from her surroundings; but, on this occasion, I deeply envied her imperturbable composure.

  Perhaps Ming sensed she was being watched, because her eyes sprang open and she turned her head slowly in my direction. Her look was intense, yet inscrutable, conveying neither hostility nor warmth, but in my grieving state, her blue-eyed stare was more than I could bear. With my tail held as high as I could muster, I walked shakily across the café and climbed the stairs to the flat.

  Upstairs, I heard Debbie humming softly over the splash of water from the kitchen sink. ‘There you are, Molls!’ she said fondly, catching sight of me as I peered round the doorframe. ‘Where’ve you been? I was starting to worry about you.’ She crouched down and began to rub my ears. ‘You poor thing, you must be missing Margery,’ she sighed.

  Feeling my throat constrict, I nestled my head into her curved palm, savouring the familiar scent of her skin.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast?’ she asked, as if eating would help to assuage my grief. She stood up and reached inside one of the cabinets for a pouch of cat food, squeezing its contents into the bowl on the floor.

  I stared at the mound of chunks dolefully, unable to summon up the energy to eat.

  ‘Not feeling hungry?’ Debbie asked, as I stood listlessly by the bowl. ‘That’s all right, Molly. It’s there if you want it, okay?’ she said, dropping to her haunches and pressing my nose gently with her fingertip.

  Her attentiveness comforted me and I began to purr, tentatively at first, but louder as she continued to stroke me. I pressed sideways against her leg, nuzzling her hands gratefully and curling my tail over the top of her thigh. I realized with a pang how little time Debbie and I had spent alone together since Linda and Beau’s arrival. We had lost the precious moments we used to share on a daily basis: the evenings spent cuddling on the sofa, or the lazy Sunday mornings dozing in bed. It was only now, as Debbie crouched over me on the kitchen floor, that I became aware of how desperately I missed being held by her.

  As if on cue, the living-room door swung open and out strode Linda, with the fragrantly fluffy Beau trotting jauntily at her heels. I leapt up onto the worktop, so as not to get trodden on. Stepping awkwardly around the clutter, I found a space to sit down, between the dusty NutriBullet and the kettle.

  ‘Cuppa?’ Linda asked brightly, reaching for the kettle beside me, without acknowledging my presence.

  ‘No thanks, I’ve just had one,’ answered Debbie.

  On the floor, Beau eyed the bowl of cat food greedily, drops of slobber forming at the sides of his mouth. Linda, oblivious to his nefarious intentions, squeezed past Debbie to reach the sink, and it was Debbie who deftly lifted the bowl from underneath Beau’s salivating mouth and placed it out of his reach on the windowsill.

  ‘I’m going to pop over to Cotswold Organic after I’ve taken Beau for a walk. Shall I pick up something nice for dinner?’ Linda asked, thrusting the spout of the kettle under the gushing tap.

  ‘That would be lovely, thanks,’ Debbie replied half-heartedly.

  Linda rammed the kettle back onto its base and bustled back to the living room, a disappointed Beau trailing after her.

  Judging by Linda’s cheerful demeanour and Debbie’s wan look, I deduced that the subject of Linda moving out had not, in the end, been broached. I was not especially surprised. I could picture the scene from the previous evening, after I had fled t
o the alley: in the wake of the news about Margery, Debbie would have been too upset to risk Linda’s histrionics upon being told that she was no longer welcome. I felt a dull pang of disappointment; but, given how low I was already feeling, the realization that Linda and Beau were as firmly ensconced in the flat as ever made little material difference to my emotional state.

  In the days that followed the news of Margery’s death I was plagued by persistent lethargy. I lacked the energy for anything beyond the basic demands of grooming, eating and sleeping. The thought of continuing to search for Eddie and Jasper seemed futile; I had looked everywhere, to no avail. Instead, I passed the daylight hours sitting on the window cushion, looking vainly for any sign of them on the parade, and every evening after closing time I slunk behind the café to the alleyway.

  The gap under the fire escape became my private sanctuary, a space in which to think about Jasper and Eddie, and to remember Margery. Sometimes I could hear the high-pitched shrieks of alley-cats squaring up for a fight in a distant street. I shuddered at the sound, which instantly called to mind thoughts of Eddie’s ordeal on the day he disappeared. I tortured myself by playing out the scenario in my mind: Eddie’s guileless foray into an unfamiliar part of town, and his sudden realization that the alley-cat stalking towards him was no friend. Imagining his fear was almost harder to bear than my own feelings of loss – how he must have wished I had been there to protect him . . .

  Was it my fault for not warning the kittens that the world was dangerous, that the love and security with which we were surrounded at home could not protect us beyond the confines of the cat café? Had our pampered, privileged existence made me overlook my responsibilities as a mother? If Eddie had paid the price for my complacency, I would never come to terms with my guilt.

  My low spirits were not helped by the gradual appearance of signs all around Stourton that Christmas was approaching. Along the parade, coloured lights had been wound around windows and porches and, inside the café, Christmas carols issued tinnily from the kitchen radio. Christmas was not something I wanted to be reminded of, and certainly not something I looked forward to. To think of spending Christmas not only without Eddie, but without Jasper too, filled my heart with dread. The prospect of Linda, Beau and Ming taking their place in our celebrations made me feel physically sick.

  About a week after we had received the news of Margery’s death, Debbie ripped open a letter that had flopped onto the doormat. ‘That’s odd,’ she frowned. ‘It’s from a solicitor, asking me to get in touch.’

  ‘Get in touch about what?’ said Linda quickly, peering at the letter over Debbie’s shoulder.

  ‘Something about Margery’s estate. That’s all it says,’ Debbie replied, turning the page over, as if hoping for clues on the back. ‘I’ll give them a call tomorrow,’ she said with a puzzled look.

  But the solicitor’s letter had piqued Linda’s curiosity, and at dinner that evening she began to probe. ‘So, tell me again,’ Linda asked in a ‘just wondering’ voice, ‘how exactly did you know Margery?’

  ‘She was Molly’s owner,’ Debbie replied.

  Linda’s brow furrowed. ‘I thought Molly was a stray when you took her in.’

  ‘She was a stray,’ Debbie laughed, ‘but before she became a stray, she had been Margery’s cat, until Margery moved to the care home and Molly ended up on the streets. It was a complete coincidence that Margery happened to visit the café, but of course Molly recognized her immediately.’ Debbie smiled fondly at the memory.

  ‘That’s a great story,’ Linda mused. ‘“Café reunites owner with long-lost cat.” Brilliant PR for the café, too,’ she added shrewdly.

  ‘PR had nothing to do with it, Linda,’ Debbie said primly. ‘It was just nice for them to find each other again. And nice for me, too. Margery was such a lovely lady,’ she mused, starting to well up.

  A few days later, Debbie slipped out mid-morning to attend a meeting with the solicitor, leaving Linda in charge of the café.

  She returned at lunchtime, looking pale and distracted, swiftly swapping her coat for her apron and ignoring Linda’s querying glances. Debbie continued to avoid her sister for the rest of the day, evading Linda’s repeated attempts to catch her eye or initiate conversation. Linda’s curiosity about the meeting was almost palpable, and although I sympathized with Debbie’s reluctance to involve her, I also knew that the longer she put off talking to Linda, the more unbearable her sister would become.

  Linda finally cornered Debbie in her bedroom that evening as she was getting ready for her date-night with John. I was grooming myself on Debbie’s bed when Linda knocked at the door and, without waiting for an invitation, slunk into the room.

  ‘So, I was just wondering what the solicitor said today?’ she asked, with an unconvincing nonchalance.

  I was washing my hind leg and glanced over at Debbie, who was applying make-up at her dressing table. I could see her closed expression reflected in the pedestal mirror. ‘Um, not much,’ she murmured noncommittally.

  Linda’s eyes bored into Debbie’s back. ‘Well, they must have said something, otherwise why would they ask you to come for a meeting?’ she persisted.

  Debbie muttered something inaudible and began to rummage in her make-up bag.

  ‘Sorry, Debs – I didn’t catch that,’ pressed Linda.

  Debbie’s shoulder slumped and she swivelled round on her stool. ‘It was about Margery’s will,’ she said reluctantly, while I set to work on a patch of tangled fur at the base of my tail. ‘Molly is a beneficiary.’ With my hind leg tucked behind my ear and my tongue protruding from my mouth, I looked up in surprise.

  Linda hooted derisively. ‘Molly! Ha, really? What did Margery leave her? A year’s supply of cat treats? A hand-knitted blanket?’ She was smirking, but Debbie’s face remained stony.

  ‘Everything,’ Debbie replied levelly, her eyes fixed on the bedspread. ‘Margery left her entire estate to Molly. With me as her named legal guardian.’

  There was a moment’s silence, during which I looked from Debbie’s face to Linda’s, and back again. I was aware of the absurdity of the way my leg was propped behind my head, but seemed unable to engage my brain sufficiently to lower it.

  ‘Say again – what?’ blinked Linda.

  Debbie’s breathing was shallow and the colour had begun to drain from her face. ‘Apparently, Molly is Margery’s sole beneficiary, and I am her legal guardian,’ she repeated, and this time there was a slight tremor in her voice.

  Linda made a strange spluttering sound. ‘Well, did they tell you how much Margery left?’ she asked, her eyes starting to glisten.

  Debbie shot her a look of distaste. ‘I didn’t ask, Linda!’ she snapped.

  Chastened, Linda bit her lip, but continued to stare hard at her sister, who seemed absorbed in examining the backs of her hands as they lay in her lap. Eventually, steadfastly avoiding Linda’s gaze, Debbie said, ‘The solicitor said something about a property in Oxford, and some savings and investments, but that’s all I know at the moment.’

  Linda’s eyes looked as if they were in danger of popping out of her head. ‘A property in Oxford? And some savings and investments?’ she screeched. ‘Bloody hell, Debs – sounds like quite the nest egg she had tucked away!’

  Debbie chose to ignore this remark, but began to fiddle distractedly with her fringe.

  Linda’s eyes flicked towards me. ‘Well, Molly, aren’t you a lucky cat?’ she said covetously.

  At this, Debbie fired her sister a look of disgust. ‘Linda, please! I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I knew you’d react like this,’ she said, twisting back round to face the dressing table.

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Debs,’ Linda wheedled. ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all.’

  Debbie said nothing, and began to apply make-up in front of the mirror again, acting as if Linda was not there.

  I lowered my hind leg and repositioned myself into a neat loaf-shape on the bed, trying to process what I had hear
d. Linda’s reaction had unsettled me; the unmistakably envious edge to her voice when she addressed me had made me deeply uncomfortable.

  ‘So, what happens next?’ Linda asked at last, doing a poor imitation of indifference.

  Debbie was applying mascara, but her shoulders drooped. ‘Well, obviously, I can’t accept it. Margery had a family. This is their inheritance, not Molly’s. I’m going to call her son David tomorrow.’

  Linda chewed her bottom lip, fixing the back of Debbie’s head with a cold stare. ‘Are you sure you’re not being too hasty, Debs?’ she said silkily.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Debbie shot back.

  Linda remained perched on the corner of the bed for several minutes. I sensed that she was hoping to continue the conversation, but Debbie’s back stayed resolutely turned towards her. Eventually, her impulse towards interference having been thwarted by Debbie’s determined silence, Linda slipped wordlessly out of the room.

  They didn’t speak to each other again that evening. In fact, I had the distinct impression that Debbie was avoiding her sister. She spent longer than usual getting ready to go out and, as soon as she heard the tinkle of the bell over the café door, ran downstairs to meet John, rather than inviting him up to the flat. While Debbie was out, Linda prowled around the flat like a cat unable to settle. She made a half-hearted attempt to tidy her belongings in the alcove, fidgeted on the sofa with her phone and made herself a cup of herbal tea. Her twitchiness made me so uneasy that eventually I padded downstairs, deciding that I would rather share a room with a watchful Ming than with a fidgeting Linda.