Christmas at the Cat Cafe

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.