Christmas at the Cat Cafe

by Melissa Daley

  Eddie’s deep purr filled the living room as I drew my tongue in long, sweeping movements over his fur, determined to lick away the tangles and make him smell like home again. We were in the shoebox and Purdy was watching us from the sofa arm, her face alert and curious, while Abby and Bella huddled together in the alcove, taking it in turns to peek out from behind Beau’s pet carrier. Jasper was sitting proprietorially on the rug in front of the fireplace, where Maisie had sidled up beside him, washing diligently in a manner that I knew was designed to elicit his approval.

  On the other side of the room, Debbie and John were at the table, picking at the cold leftovers of their dinner. The candles had burnt down almost to stumps, the long flames dancing vigorously in the draught from the window.

  ‘Someone called while Linda was here,’ John explained. ‘Said she thought she had your cats. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, until I knew for sure. Besides, you were a bit busy at the time, so I just slipped out.’

  Debbie smiled ruefully. ‘So, where were they?’ she asked, popping a piece of cold potato into her mouth.

  ‘A village a few miles south of here. The woman said Eddie had been visiting her house for a while. She’d assumed he belonged to one of the neighbours, till she asked around and realized no one owned him. Jasper had been hanging around too, but she thought he and Eddie were the same cat, until she saw them both in the garden together. It took her a few days to round them up and get them to vet to be scanned. She thought the vet was joking when he told her both cats were registered to the same owner.’ Debbie chuckled.

  ‘But what a coincidence that they ended up together,’ Debbie said incredulously. ‘They disappeared a good few days apart.’ She looked towards the shoebox, baffled.

  ‘I’ve given up trying to make sense of what these cats of yours get up to,’ John shrugged. ‘I’ve always suspected they’re playing us for fools.’

  Licking the top of Eddie’s head, I glanced towards John, but he had already turned back to face Debbie.

  When I had finished grooming him, Eddie quickly fell asleep, his warm body pressed up against me, his legs entwined with mine. Debbie and John had taken their drinks to the sofa, and the conversation had moved onto Linda.

  ‘I know I probably got a bit carried away,’ Debbie said regretfully, ‘but, to be honest, I’m relieved that she’s gone. This business with Margery’s legacy, on top of everything else . . . it was just the last straw.’ She trailed off, a familiar weary expression flickering across her face.

  ‘I think it was probably long overdue,’ John said tactfully. ‘Whatever you said to her, it needed to be said.’

  Debbie yawned and stretched her legs out across John’s lap. ‘When I realized you’d disappeared tonight, I thought I’d blown it,’ she said with a sleepy smile.

  ‘It would take more than a row with Linda to scare me off,’ John reassured her, rubbing her feet.

  ‘You looked as if you wished the ground would open up beneath you,’ she teased him. ‘But, after the last couple of weeks, when I hadn’t heard from you . . .’ she persisted, biting her lip anxiously.

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I was getting ideas about the legacy – that I wanted you to keep it and was only hanging around for the money. I guess maybe I went a bit too far the other way, backed off too much,’ John said apologetically.

  ‘Perhaps just a little,’ Debbie replied. Her eyelids were heavy and I could see her chin begin to sink closer to her chest. ‘What a day,’ she mumbled drowsily. Then her eyes closed and her head lolled sideways onto the cushion.

  John stayed on the sofa, watching her sleep for a few minutes, before carefully extricating himself out from under her legs. He lifted the fluffy throw off the arm of the sofa, where Debbie had diligently folded it earlier in the day, shook it and lowered it over her slumbering body. Then he kissed her softly on the head, blew out the candles and left.

  24

  I awoke the following morning to find the living room bathed in pale, wintry light. It was now the middle of December and, outside the window, the first fluffy snowflakes of the season were twirling in the air, landing softly against the glass. Clearing my head with a vigorous shake, I jumped off the sofa and padded past the shoebox, where Eddie was still fast asleep, his long limbs spilling over the cardboard sides. I leapt onto the windowsill and peered at the alleyway below, where the grey-brown hues of stone and tarmac were rapidly being erased by a blanket of white.

  There was no sign of Jasper downstairs, so I nosed through the cat flap and, head bowed against the swirling flakes, hurried around to the passageway. As I walked, my paws left shallow dips in the deepening snow, and soon my paw-pads were soaked and freezing. I found Jasper in the churchyard, sheltering beneath the low branches of the rhododendron.

  ‘I didn’t have a chance yesterday to say thank you, for finding Eddie,’ I said, squeezing in alongside him, savouring his familiar scent and the warmth of his body.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replied contentedly.

  We sat side by side, watching the snow fall silently in front of us.

  ‘Do you think Eddie’s okay, after everything that’s happened?’ I asked, trying not to betray my maternal anxiety.

  ‘I think Eddie is absolutely fine,’ Jasper replied levelly. ‘He had to grow up, fast. Learning to fend for himself came as a bit of a shock after such a pampered upbringing.’

  I turned away, stung by the implied criticism; Jasper had always let it be known that he thought the kittens were over-indulged, and that they lacked the skills required to lead independent lives.

  ‘But he seems to have worked things out for himself,’ Jasper added hastily, sensing my hurt feelings. ‘What he lacks in street-smarts, he more than makes up for in charm.’ I turned and looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. ‘By the time I found him, he had the whole neighbourhood queuing up to look after him. He could take his pick of at least half a dozen houses. There was never any danger he would go hungry,’ he said, in a tone of grudging admiration.

  I felt a wave of relief mingled with pride. In retrospect, it seemed obvious that my friendly, loving boy would have no trouble finding people to take care of him.

  ‘That’s not to say he didn’t want to come home, of course,’ Jasper added, giving me an affectionate nuzzle behind the ear, as a delighted purr began to rumble in my chest.

  Beyond the shrubbery, the sky had lightened to a milky white and the snowfall was beginning to ease. I edged forward and peered out from under the canopy of leaves. The honey-stoned church looked as though it had been glazed in white icing, and a single, determined robin fluttered from one snow-capped headstone to the next in search of insects.

  ‘Are you coming in for breakfast?’ I asked brightly, feeling my stomach start to growl.

  Back inside the café, I stood on the doormat and shook the slushy ice crystals from my fur. Eddie had come downstairs and was pacing around the room, methodically scent-marking the table legs with his cheeks. Maisie followed a few steps behind.

  ‘What happened to your ear?’ she enquired, a note of sisterly concern in her voice.

  Eddie puffed out his chest proudly. ‘Got into a fight with an alley-cat,’ he said offhandedly. ‘It was no big deal.’

  Maisie’s eyes widened in alarm and, when Eddie set off towards the armchairs, she trotted keenly after him. ‘And what did you do for food in the wild?’ she asked eagerly.

  Eddie paused and his gaze drifted to a point in the middle distance. ‘Hunting, mostly. It’s not easy, but you do what you have to, to survive,’ he said grandly.

  On the doormat, I stifled an inward smile. Eddie’s account of his time ‘in the wild’ differed somewhat from Jasper’s version. I wondered whether Maisie would be quite so awestruck if she knew the truth: that Eddie had been doted on by a streetful of surrogate owners for most of his time away. Regardless of his bravado, however, I could not begrudge Eddie the opportunity to bask in his sister’s adoring admiration. I knew his bla
sé demeanour belied the terror he must have felt at finding himself homeless and alone. Let him enjoy his moment of glory, I thought, as I shook myself dry on the warm flagstones.

  In the afternoon Debbie appeared at the bottom of the stairs carrying a large cardboard box full of Christmas decorations. She placed it on an empty chair and shouted up the stairwell, ‘C’mon, Soph, I need your help.’ When Sophie shuffled downstairs a few minutes later, she found Debbie rummaging inside the box. ‘Untangle these, will you, love?’ Debbie asked, handing Sophie a twisted coil of fairy lights.

  With a sigh, Sophie tied her hair back in a messy ponytail and set about unthreading the tangled wires.

  Once the decorations had been sorted into messy piles on the table, they started adorning the café. Debbie sang along to Christmas carols on the radio, ignoring Sophie’s cringes and eye-rolling, while the kittens did their best to hamper proceedings, jumping in and out of the cardboard box, or leaping up from the floor to swipe at the rustling fronds of tinsel dangling enticingly over the table edge. Ming observed the scene from her platform, with her customary air of curious detachment.

  John arrived a little later, hauling a Christmas tree by the trunk. He carefully manoeuvred the tree into position next to the fireplace and snipped away at the netting that encased it. The tree’s branches instantly sprang outwards, filling the café with the scent of fresh air and pine forests.

  When Jo passed the café window with Bernard plodding along by her side, she tapped on the glass, waving cheerily.

  ‘What do you think of the tree, Jo?’ asked Debbie, opening the door to let her in.

  ‘About time too, Debs!’ Jo teased, brushing the snowflakes off her jacket with the back of her hand. Her nose was pink with cold and her knitted bobble hat struggled to stay on over her unruly hair. Bernard waddled into the room after her and, as soon as he was inside, sank down gratefully on the doormat.

  ‘Hello, Bernard, you lovely old boy,’ murmured Debbie, bending down to rub his tummy. Bernard’s tail flopped up and down on the coir mat, and within minutes he had fallen wheezily asleep.

  Debbie passed around tumblers of warm mulled wine and, as the afternoon sky darkened outside, all four of them set about dressing the tree with ornaments and lights. The kittens gamely did their best to bat the baubles off the branches as quickly as they were hung until, worn out by their exertions, they retired to their usual places for a recuperative nap. When the tree was finally finished, Debbie stepped back and looked at it approvingly. ‘Ready, everyone?’ she asked, with a look of child-like excitement.

  She nodded to Sophie to switch off the overhead lights, and a hush descended on the dark room. Even Bernard drowsily raised his head from the floor, sensing anticipation in the air. Debbie flicked a switch and, suddenly, the café was transformed. Everywhere I looked, lights twinkled and glowed. The tree was enrobed in tiny berry-like bulbs that blinked mesmerizingly. A string of white lights wove its way across the mantelpiece, and a wreath of flashing stars framed the serving counter. In the semi-darkness the kittens’ and Ming’s eyes flashed a luminous green, and I had to look twice to be sure which were cats’ eyes and which fairy lights.

  ‘Oh, Debs, it looks beautiful,’ Jo exclaimed.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it,’ Debbie smiled proudly. ‘I’m sure Linda would approve,’ she added, looking suddenly wistful.

  She flicked the overhead lights back on, and the room was flooded with yellow light once more. Bernard emitted a low groan of protest and repositioned himself on the doormat.

  ‘Have you heard from Linda since yesterday?’ Jo asked tentatively, as Debbie straightened the row of red stockings hanging from the fireplace.

  Debbie shook her head. ‘I know what she’s like – she’ll need some time to cool off before she’ll speak to me,’ she replied. ‘I’ll give it a few days, then I’ll call her. Besides, I need to let Linda know that I’ve decided what to do about the legacy.’

  The others exchanged surprised looks behind Debbie’s back.

  ‘Sounds fair enough,’ Jo replied carefully. ‘So, if it’s not rude to ask, Debs . . . what have you decided?’

  Snow still covered the ground on Monday morning and, with logs crackling in the stove and the festooned tree by the fireplace, there was a definite buzz of Christmas in the air. Debbie had put a sign in the café window – The boys are back! Welcome home, Eddie and Jasper! – which lent a frisson of excitement to the festive mood; and before long, Debbie and her waitresses were rushed off their feet. Café regulars and Christmas shoppers streamed through the door, and Eddie was showered with attention, while Debbie dutifully repeated, ad infinitum, the story of how he and Jasper had been found.

  It was almost seven o’clock when the staff hung up their aprons and went home. Debbie collapsed onto one of the café chairs, puffing out her cheeks with relief. She had only been there a few seconds when the door tinkled open.

  My stomach jolted unpleasantly on seeing David standing on the doormat. His sour demeanour seemed more jarring than ever, now that the café was bedecked for Christmas.

  ‘Oh, hello, David,’ Debbie said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. She smiled politely, but I sensed a guardedness in her manner.

  David nodded curtly and wiped his wet shoes on the mat, eyeing Debbie suspiciously as she went over to the counter and retrieved a sheet of paper from behind the till. Clutching the piece of paper, she sat down at the nearest table, motioning for David to join her. I couldn’t help noticing that, this time, there were no cups of tea or plate of cookies. David sat down opposite her and there followed an awkward silence, during which neither of them seemed to want to be the first to speak.

  ‘So, thanks for coming, David,’ Debbie began at last, fingering the sheet of paper nervously. ‘You can probably guess why I asked you here: to sort out this business of your mum’s legacy.’ David inclined his head fractionally, but said nothing. Debbie swallowed, she looked as if she was steeling herself to continue. ‘What happened last time we met – all the talk about going to court – I’m sure neither of us wants it to come to that,’ she went on, glancing apprehensively across the table.

  David blinked at her, but his pinched expression gave nothing away.

  Debbie ploughed on bravely. ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about Margery, and why she might have wanted to make Molly a beneficiary.’ At this, David’s lips parted, but Debbie carried on talking before he could speak. ‘But I’ve also been thinking about you, and the fact that you’d only just lost your mum when you found out about this legacy. It can’t have been nice to discover that you’d been . . . overlooked, in favour of a cat . . .’ She trailed off, glancing nervously at David’s hard-set face . . .

  ‘You could say that,’ he concurred.

  ‘I think, if it happened to me, I’d be furious,’ Debbie prompted.

  David frowned at the place mat on the table. ‘It was a bit of a shock,’ he admitted at last. ‘She’d never mentioned anything about it. Not to me, at least,’ he said, looking at Debbie warily.

  ‘She never mentioned it to me, either,’ Debbie insisted. ‘I promise you, David, I had no idea what was in Margery’s will. This legacy was as much a shock to me as it was to you.’

  David continued to stare sulkily at the place mat.

  ‘Look,’ Debbie persisted, ‘I said it right from the start: I feel it would be wrong for me to accept your mum’s money on Molly’s behalf. But I can’t ignore the fact that Margery wanted to make sure Molly would be taken care of.’

  David had fixed Debbie with an intent look and seemed to be hanging on her every word. On the window cushion, I was also on tenterhooks. Debbie had not confided her plans to anyone, insisting that she needed to speak to David first, so I was as much in the dark as he was. Her agitated demeanour suggested that there was more to be said, that her willingness to decline the legacy would have conditions attached, and that she didn’t expect David to like them.

  ‘Things have been . . . trick
y in the café recently,’ Debbie explained evenly. ‘We’ve been tripping over ourselves – the flat’s too small. Put simply, cats need space, and there just isn’t enough room for us all here. I’ve got to consider the welfare of all the cats, not just Molly.’

  I felt a flutter of panic in my chest as I listened. I had never heard Debbie talk about us in such starkly practical terms. I had always believed that, when it came to cats, if she could make room for us in her heart, she would find room for us in her home. Why else would she have taken on not just me and the kittens, but Jasper and Ming as well? And yet here she was, talking about us as though we were a mere logistical consideration, and implying that the number of cats currently living in the café exceeded the available space.

  ‘Margery was devoted to Molly. She wanted Molly to live somewhere she would be looked after properly. The way things have been recently, that just hasn’t been possible.’

  A sickening feeling of dread spread through me. Was I to be the sacrificial victim, the one to be removed from the café environment, so that the other cats would have more space? Did Debbie think that was what Margery would have wanted? Panicking, my eyes flicked towards David. He looked as horrified as I felt, and I wondered if, like me, he thought Debbie was about to ask him to take me in.

  Debbie paused, and I could see the sheet of paper quiver in her trembling hands. ‘I’ve written a letter to the solicitor, setting out what I would like to happen. I wanted to show it to you before sending it,’ she said steadily.

  David took the letter and read it with rapt concentration. I tried to glean something – anything – about the letter’s contents from his expression, but his face was infuriatingly blank.

  ‘That’s not quite what I was expecting,’ he said at last, a wrinkle forming between his brows.