Christmas at the Cat Cafe

by Melissa Daley

  Sophie was sitting on the floor by the sofa, happily engrossed in the instruction booklet for some new electronic device Linda had given her. Full of smiles, Linda stood up from the sofa and reached for a luxurious-looking gift box.

  ‘Now, I know we said novelty gifts only, Debs,’ she intoned grandly, ‘but I saw this and . . . well, I just had to get it for you.’

  Narrowing her eyes in a look of mild scepticism, Debbie took the box onto her lap and lifted the lid. She hooted with amusement as she unfolded a kitchen apron covered from top to bottom in a lurid montage of cats’ faces, with the words Crazy Cat Lady printed across the front.

  ‘Gosh, thanks, Linda,’ she said. ‘This makes me feel so much better about what I’ve got for you.’ Her eyes twinkled and she handed over a rather more modestly wrapped gift to her sister.

  Linda ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a sweatshirt emblazoned with a photo of Ming wearing a Santa hat. Have a Ming-ing Christmas! the garment exclaimed in shiny gold lettering.

  ‘I know how much you like Ming merchandise,’ said Debbie mischievously.

  Linda pulled the sweater over her head and gave a little twirl on the rug. ‘I love it,’ she gushed, striking a pose for Sophie, who had raised her phone to photograph her aunt. ‘See, I told you Ming would wear the Santa hat!’ she added with an air of vindication.

  ‘She didn’t,’ Sophie said drily from behind her phone screen. ‘It’s Photoshopped.’

  When everyone had showered and dressed, we all moved downstairs to the café. Debbie and Linda went straight into the kitchen to start work on lunch, but Sophie headed for the fireplace, where the pile of gifts from customers sat beneath the tree. ‘Come on, cats,’ she called, and the kittens trotted eagerly after her. Soon there was a frenzy of pouncing and shredding, as Sophie began to unwrap a seemingly endless succession of catnip mice and bags of treats.

  ‘A laser-pointer – cool!’ Sophie said, opening the last gift in the pile. She tore the pen-like toy from its cardboard packaging and aimed it across the room, making a dot of red light dance on the opposite wall, seemingly of its own accord. ‘Maisie, look!’ she urged, but Maisie and her siblings were more interested in the crinkling shreds of wrapping paper spread across the flagstones than in the dot of light on the far side of the room.

  Ming, however, who until now had been observing the unwrapping process from her platform, appeared mesmerized. She jumped lightly down and prowled across the room, transfixed by the shimmering dot dancing across the wall. After a few stealthy wiggles of her hindquarters, she leapt upwards, her front legs outstretched and tail thrashing, trying to catch the wayward dot with her flexed claws.

  ‘Nice moves, Ming!’ Sophie giggled.

  A few weeks earlier I would have delighted in seeing elegant, reserved Ming flinging herself around in such an ungainly fashion, but instead I felt touched that she had, finally, revealed her playful side. I took it as a sign of trust that she felt able, at last, to let down her guard with us.

  As the morning wore on, a delicious aroma of roasting turkey began to drift out of the kitchen, drawing Eddie across the room to pace back and forth in front of the counter, sniffing the air hopefully. When John peered furtively through the window from the pavement, Sophie stood up to let him in, making sure to close the café door softly behind him. He placed a bag of gifts in an empty chair and immediately came over to sit beside my window cushion. ‘There you go, Molly,’ he whispered, adjusting my collar carefully with hands that smelt of soap.

  John winked at me, then stood up and went over to the counter.

  ‘Happy Christmas, ladies,’ he shouted through the kitchen doorway. Debbie emerged from the steamy kitchen in her Crazy Cat Lady apron, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. ‘Nice apron,’ John murmured, stretching over the counter to give her a kiss.

  ‘Suits her, doesn’t it?’ Linda quipped, poking her head through the doorway from the kitchen. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Already, Linda? We haven’t got the potatoes on yet,’ Debbie replied, glancing anxiously at her watch.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Sophie piped up from the armchair in front of the stove.

  ‘I’ll make it. You two take a break for five minutes,’ John said, pulling a stool over for Debbie.

  Realizing she was outvoted, Debbie reluctantly sat down.

  ‘I’ll just get the Fortune Cookies,’ Linda said brightly, as John made his way around the counter.

  ‘Fortune Cookies?’ Debbie repeated, looking puzzled. ‘They’re not exactly festive, Lind. If you’re hungry, there are mince pies in the—’ But Linda had already followed John into the kitchen, and Debbie found herself addressing the empty doorway. She tutted and rolled her eyes, drumming her fingers on the counter while John and Linda assembled the tea things in the kitchen.

  After a couple of minutes, they emerged with a tray full of mugs and the Tupperware box of Fortune Cookies.

  ‘I’ve got some new mottoes,’ Linda explained, rummaging around inside the box. ‘I’d like to know what you think.’

  Debbie gave a defeated shrug and picked up a steaming mug, half-heartedly taking the cellophane-wrapped cookie Linda handed to her.

  ‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ John said, unwrapping his cookie. ‘Fortune favours the brave,’ he read.

  Debbie nodded, albeit with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Okay, how about mine,’ Linda said quickly. ‘Some pursue happiness, others create it.’

  Debbie remained taciturn.

  Sophie placed her mug on the counter and cleared her throat. ‘Your heart knows the answer your head has been searching for.’

  ‘Um, I think—’ Debbie began.

  ‘You haven’t read yours yet,’ Linda remarked offhandedly, cutting her sister off mid-sentence.

  Debbie sighed and unwrapped the twist of cellophane that she had absent-mindedly placed on the counter. ‘If there is a day to act on the love in your soul, it is today.’ She looked around at their expectant faces and smiled vaguely, as if sensing that diplomacy was called for. ‘They’re good Linda. Although, if I’m honest, I think the last batch was funnier,’ she demurred.

  The backhanded compliment seemed to glide off Linda, and she gave a nonchalant shrug.

  ‘Actually, Debs,’ John said quietly, ‘Linda didn’t write the mottoes. I did.’

  Debbie looked at him, nonplussed. ‘I, don’t, er . . .’ she stammered in confusion.

  ‘Molly’s got your Christmas present,’ John explained, taking her by the elbow and steering her across the room towards me.

  Debbie looked utterly bewildered as she scanned the windowsill around my cushion. ‘What do you mean, I don’t see any—’ Suddenly she gasped and one hand flew up to her mouth.

  John knelt down in front of me and carefully untied the diamond ring he had attached to my collar with a ribbon. ‘Good work, Molly,’ he said, rubbing my head. Then, still kneeling, he turned towards Debbie and fixed her with a look that was at once hopeful and terrified. ‘Molly’s dying to know, Debs. Will you marry me?’

  Across the room, Linda was biting her fist, and Sophie had taken out her mobile phone to film them.

  Debbie uncovered her mouth and let her trembling hand drop by her side. A suspenseful silence settled over the room.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ she whispered.

  There was a shriek and a whoop from across the café and, beaming broadly, John stood up and slid the ring onto Debbie’s left hand.

  ‘I can’t believe I just got engaged, wearing a Crazy Cat Lady apron!’ Debbie wailed, smiling through her tears as John pulled her close and kissed her tenderly.

  ‘At least John knows what he’s letting himself in for,’ Linda remarked, with an air of pragmatism.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know my place in the pecking order,’ John said with a theatrical sigh, pulling Debbie towards him again and kissing her hair.

  While Linda was in the kitchen fetching champagne there w
as a knock at the window, and I turned to see Jo waving feverishly through the glass.

  ‘So, I take it congratulations are in order?’ she asked excitedly when Sophie had let her in.

  ‘Were you in on this, too?’ Debbie replied in disbelief.

  ‘’Fraid so,’ answered Jo, taking a glass of champagne from Linda. ‘I’ve been waiting for Sophie’s text all morning. I couldn’t set off for Dad’s until I’d come to celebrate with you!’

  ‘I’m starting to feel like I’ve been set up!’ Debbie said, looking alternately amused and aggrieved as she surveyed the grinning faces all around her.

  ‘That’s because you have been, Debs,’ Linda replied matter-of-factly.

  For twenty minutes they stood around, sipping champagne and laughing while Debbie repeatedly complained about being set up, bemoaned the fact that she looked ridiculous in her apron, and threatened Sophie with indefinite grounding if she so much as thought about posting online the footage of John’s proposal. I watched them all from the windowsill, feeling a glow of pride for the part I had played.

  Jo’s glass was still half-full when she took Debbie’s arm. ‘I should be getting off,’ she said softly.

  Debbie turned away from the others and said in a low voice, ‘Actually, Jo, there’s something I want to ask you.’

  They sat down at the little table nearest the window, just a few inches from my cushion. Debbie’s eyes were shining, whether from emotion or the effects of the two glasses of champagne she had downed in quick succession, I wasn’t sure.

  She placed her fingertips on the table edge and said, ‘Now I don’t want you to feel obliged, but I was wondering . . .’

  Jo looked at her keenly, but Debbie seemed to have suffered a loss of nerve. Her eyes danced worriedly across the tablecloth.

  ‘I mean, I know it’s a bit of a strange thing to ask, what with this being a cat café and her being – well, a cat; and I know you’ve got a lot to think about at the moment, and that you’re more of a dog person really.’ Jo continued to stare at Debbie with an expression of patient bafflement. ‘But I just thought, with you losing Bernard and giving up the shop, and moving to the farm, and I know you’ve always had a soft spot for her – oh!’ A hiccup caught Debbie unawares. Looking faintly startled, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and took a deep breath.

  Jo smiled supportively. ‘Debbie, I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ she said at last.

  ‘What I’m trying to say, Jo, is . . . how would you feel about, feel about . . . adopting Purdy?’

  Confusion clouded Jo’s face. ‘Adopting Purdy? You mean, taking her to live with me?’

  Debbie nodded. ‘I just thought – after everything that’s happened – it might be nice for both of you to live on the farm. Together.’ She hiccupped again.

  There was a pause as Jo absorbed Debbie’s words, then: ‘Debs, are you kidding? I’d love to take Purdy!’ she said breathlessly. ‘But are you sure you want to let her go? I mean, this is her home. Her whole family’s here.’ Jo glanced sideways, and I was touched by the concerned look she gave me.

  ‘I’m quite sure,’ Debbie answered emphatically. ‘I think she’s outgrown the café – it doesn’t suit her any more. To be honest, she spends more time in your shop than she does here.’ Her eyes started to well up and her face had flooded with colour. ‘And I couldn’t think of a b— a better life for her than on the farm with you,’ she stammered, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  Jo’s eyes were suddenly brimful of tears, too. ‘Well, if you think she’ll be happy, Debs, I’d love to. You know I’ve always adored her. It’ll be like taking part of Stourton with me,’ she said with a watery-eyed smile.

  ‘Exactly!’ Debbie agreed. ‘And of course it’ll mean I have to visit you, to make sure you’re looking after her properly.’ She reached across the table to squeeze Jo’s fingers.

  Jo fished in her pocket for a packet of tissues and they each took one and dabbed their eyes. Then Jo glanced at her watch, gasped and stood up.

  ‘And there was I, thinking you were going to ask me to be your bridesmaid!’ she quipped, fastening her jacket.

  Debbie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh my God !’ she shrieked, looking thunderstruck. ‘I almost forgot! I’m getting married! Of course you’ll be my bridesmaid, won’t you?’ Debbie shrieked. ‘Along with Linda and Sophie of course,’ she added, with a worried look across the room at the others.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ Jo replied, leaning in for a hug.

  ‘I hope you both like taffeta,’ Linda said drolly, before draining her champagne glass.

  On her way out, Jo walked over to the cat hammock where Purdy lay fast asleep, her feet draped languorously over the edges. Jo rose up on tiptoes and stretched her hand out to rub Purdy’s ears. ‘Bye, Purdy. I’ll see you again soon,’ she whispered. Purdy lifted her head and blinked at Jo sleepily.

  Even though she had her back to me, I blinked at Jo, too.

  Linda had pushed several café tables together to form a row that stretched from the cat tree in the middle of the room to the window. She threw a deep-red cloth over the tabletops and, with painstaking attention to detail, arranged a magnificent display involving candles, garlands, snow-dusted pine cones and table confetti. With Ming’s platform at one end and my cushion at the other, the layout had the unintended effect of looking as though Ming and I were joint heads of the table. I looked across the gilt candelabra at Ming, wondering what she thought of the lavish arrangement, but her eyes were closed. Looming sphinx-like and motionless above the red-and-gold tones of the table decor, she looked even more regal than usual. I had to admit, the grandeur suited her.

  ‘Right, everyone, dinner is served,’ Debbie shouted, negotiating her way through the café with an enormous turkey on a platter. John and Sophie followed with the side dishes, and Eddie brought up the rear, trotting after them hungrily with his tail aloft. With admiring noises, they all took their seats. Napkins were unfurled, crackers snapped and glasses topped up, while John set to work carving the turkey. When everyone was about to eat, Debbie tapped on the side of her wine glass with her knife and said, ‘I’d just like to raise a toast to Margery. Without her, I doubt we would all be here, celebrating Christmas together. To Margery.’

  ‘To Margery,’ the others repeated, clinking glasses gently, and a hush fell over the table. As they began to eat, I felt a wave of nostalgia spread through me. But the feeling was not only a longing for my past – for the time I had spent with Margery and the life we had shared – but also an appreciation of the present. It was beginning to dawn on me that this, our second Christmas in the cat café, would be our last as a whole family.

  I let my eyes wander around the room in the knowledge that, one day, the scene before me would be no more than a fond memory. Jasper was sprawled out on the flagstones, the fire’s orange flames lighting up his glossy black pelt; Maisie was nearby, playing with the last shreds of wrapping paper under the Christmas tree; behind them Abby and Bella were curled up together on one of the armchairs, washing each other contentedly with their eyes closed.

  Eddie padded between the table legs, determinedly scouring the floor for dropped morsels of turkey. It was hard to believe that, only a few weeks earlier, I had been utterly convinced he had run away, and that I might never see him again. The irony of my situation did not escape me: whilst I had been racked with guilt about Eddie’s disappearance, I had failed to notice that the kitten I was actually losing was Purdy.

  I turned to the other side of the room and settled my gaze on Purdy, who was slumbering blissfully in the hammock. Her departure would break my heart, but I knew it was the right thing for her. The kittens’ upbringing in the café had been unconventional and, in many ways, privileged, but for a self-sufficient cat like Purdy, it had become stifling. Living in a colony, and being on view to the public, did not suit her independent nature, and I knew that farm life would maker her far happier than café life. She would be free to
roam as a solitary cat, and when she craved company, she would have Jo.

  Although a part of me would always think of Purdy and her siblings as kittens, I had to accept that they had long outgrown their kittenhood. They were adults now, and their well-being could not be viewed collectively. My desire for them to be happy as individuals had to outweigh any sentimental notion of keeping my family together; and, as their mother, the best thing I could do was encourage each of them to follow the path that suited them best.

  After all, I had followed my own path, a long time ago, when I had first lost Margery. I had found my way to Stourton, to Debbie and to Jasper. I was certain that my future would always lie with Debbie and the cat café, but the same might not be true for the kittens. Their future was an open book, a story waiting to be told, and it was my privilege to have come this far on their journey with them. Whatever happened, wherever they decided to go, I was confident that they had had the best start in life I could have given them; they had been safe, and loved, and happy.

  Perhaps, when all was said and done, that had been my own legacy to them.

  Acknowledgements

  Much of this book was written either late at night or in the early hours of the morning, and it often felt like a solitary enterprise. Having finally emerged, blinking, into the daylight, I would like to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to some of the people who helped along the way.

  Firstly I need to acknowledge the work done by the real cat cafés which inspired this book. In the interests of a good story I have put Molly, Ming and the other cats through ordeals that I am certain they would never face in reality. Cat-café staff take the utmost care of their cats’ physical and emotional wellbeing, and I am quite sure they would be aghast at some – if not all – of the goings-on at Molly’s.