Christmas at the Cat Cafe

I sensed that Debbie and Sophie were both starting to tire of Linda’s self-congratulatory monologues. Every now and then I saw them exchange weary glances behind Linda’s back, as she piped up with yet another reason why Ming joining the café had been a ‘commercial masterstroke’. I studied Debbie’s face closely on these occasions, praying she would cut Linda off and announce that Molly’s had been doing just fine before Ming arrived, and would continue to do so if she left. Instead, Debbie listened with patient forbearance and a polite half-smile.

When John came over for dinner one evening midweek, I felt a glimmer of optimism. Linda had gone out for the night, and I knew that if there was anyone Debbie would confide in, it was John. I climbed into the empty shoebox and watched, feeling almost giddy with hopeful anticipation.

‘So, how’s the new addition to the café been getting on?’ John began as they sat down at the table.

‘Who, Linda or Ming?’ Debbie asked drily.

‘Well, both, I suppose,’ John replied, smiling.

Debbie sighed and slumped slightly in her chair. ‘Well, much as I hate to admit it, Linda seems to have been right. Ming has settled in amazingly well, and the customers can’t get enough of her. The cats seem to have accepted her, too, although Molly’s been a little grumpy.’

In the shoebox, I bristled all over. A little grumpy! Had Debbie really not noticed the extent of my anguish?

‘So, does that mean she’s staying?’ John asked.

‘Who, Linda or Ming?’ Debbie shot back, mischievously.

John raised his shoulders in a questioning shrug. ‘I’ll keep an open mind,’ Debbie went on, ‘but, where Ming’s concerned, it’s looking hopeful.’ ‘And Linda?’ John prompted.

At this, Debbie sagged still further in her chair. ‘I’m torn, John, really I am. She drives me up the wall sometimes, but I just can’t turn my back on her, not until she’s got herself sorted out. And I’ve got to admit, she’s been an asset in the café.’

John raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, in that case, cheers to Ming,’ he said, raising his glass of beer with a good-natured chuckle. In the shoebox I felt my heart sink in disappointment.

At the end of Ming’s second week, the novelty of her appearance in the café was at last beginning to wear off. Linda no longer felt compelled to regale every customer with her life story, and Ming’s silent, watchful presence was something I had, reluctantly, become accustomed to. My relations with the kittens, however, remained strained. I had not yet apologized to Eddie for hissing at him – not through pride or a reluctance to admit I had been wrong – but because I hated the thought of having to do so under Ming’s supercilious gaze.

There was little comfort to be found upstairs either. The flat was, as Debbie put it, ‘starting to look like a student bedsit’. Every room seemed to be perpetually in danger of overflowing with the collective detritus of people and animals. There was nowhere to put anything, and every surface was covered in dust and animal hairs.

Beau was starting to look unkempt, too; his fluffy fur, once neatly trimmed, had grown straggly to the point where it was impossible to make out the dark eyes beneath his eyebrows, or the mouth amidst his greasy beard. The scent of dog shampoo that used to follow him around had been replaced by a stale, musty odour. Other than his daily walk, he rarely left the flat, and consequently emanated an air of perpetual boredom, spending his time flopping around on the living-room rug, emitting disgruntled snorts.

The atmosphere in the flat seemed to simmer with low-level, unspoken discord. Sophie and Debbie had not argued again since the superfood-salad debacle, but Sophie had begun to spend more and more time with her boyfriend, Matt; and when she was at home, her interactions with Debbie and Linda were brusque. Debbie wore an expression of long-suffering forbearance around her. On Saturday, however, when Sophie sullenly announced she was going to Matt’s house for lunch and wasn’t sure when she’d be back, Debbie tutted with annoyance and protested that Sophie treated the place like a hotel.

‘A pretty crap hotel,’ Sophie muttered under her breath, grabbing her jacket from the coat rack. Debbie’s face flushed and her eyes looked glassy, but she let the jibe pass. I followed Sophie downstairs and watched as she let herself out through the café. Eddie was padding desultorily between the tables. Ming was asleep and I wondered whether I should seize the opportunity to make my belated apology. As I made my way towards him, I tried to catch his eye but, sensing my approach, he picked up his pace and ran out through the cat flap. He was avoiding me, of that I was certain. Clearly, he was not yet ready to hear what I had to say.