Christmas at the Cat Cafe

We strode in silence through the rainy streets, dodging the kerbside puddles as cars swooshed past, dazzling our eyes with their headlights. Clusters of people dashed along the pavements beneath umbrellas, making for pub and restaurant doorways and the promise of open fires and hot meals within. We headed straight for the southern side of the square and climbed the soaking wet steps of the market cross. The imposing town hall looked down on us, its Gothic spire and turrets forming an eerie silhouette against the nighttime gloom. All around, the street lights’ orange halos were reflected in the slick cobbles, as sheets of rain were blown sideways across the market square.

I looked around at the wide square, trying to imagine where Eddie might have gone. My eye kept returning to the narrow gaps between the shop fronts, which marked the entrance to the alleyways that linked the square to the surrounding streets. I had arrived in Stourton on a similarly inhospitable night nearly two years ago and had sought refuge in the first alley I came to, mistakenly assuming I would find shelter and safety there, not knowing that each alley was the territory of a street-cat. What if, like me, Eddie had wandered into an alley, been attacked and was lying injured somewhere, feverish with pain?

As if reading my mind, Jasper murmured, ‘I’ll check the alleys, you stick to the road.’

I blinked at him, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude that at last he was taking my fears seriously. Jasper padded down the stone steps and crept stealthily across the tarmac, disappearing into the opening between the bank and the chemist’s. I kept my eyes fixed on the spot where the tip of his tail had vanished, my ears alert for sounds that might indicate the presence of a hostile street-cat. But the alleyway remained silent.

My fur was soaked through to my skin, as I ran down the steps and took the road opposite the market cross. I made my way slowly along the pavement, checking underneath parked cars for any sign of Eddie. Every now and then I heard the yowl of an alley-cat somewhere in the distance and froze, rotating my ears to listen, lest I should hear Eddie or Jasper’s voice in reply.

At the end of the street I turned right, onto a wide, busy thoroughfare lined with pubs and hotels. Traffic rushed past me in both directions, and a group of people dressed for a night out stumbled out of a hotel, laughing. I pressed up against a wall and let them pass, the women’s high heels clicking against the pavement just inches from my paws. A little further along the street they turned into a pub, pulling open the heavy wooden door and releasing a gust of warmth and light, which momentarily transfixed me. Could Eddie have found his way inside such a place? His sociable nature and love of people meant I couldn’t rule it out. But the town was full of pubs like this – how could I possibly search them all? I sniffed disconsolately at the wooden porch around the entrance, before padding away down the street.

For nearly an hour I continued to prowl the area, probing into dark doorways and behind dustbins until my paw-pads were soaked and freezing. The hopelessness of my task had begun to dawn on me: there was no way Jasper and I could search the whole of Stourton tonight; and, even if Eddie had passed this way, the incessant rain would have washed away any trace of his scent. Tired and dispirited, I turned to head home, making no effort to dodge the splashing puddles as cars raced past me. Jasper was waiting for me in the café doorway, and I knew immediately from his downcast posture that his search had also been fruitless.

‘He’s a sensible cat, he’ll be okay,’ he whispered as I stepped onto the doorstep. I dropped my gaze, too exhausted to point out that just because Eddie was sensible it did not necessarily mean he would be all right.

‘You coming in?’ I asked wearily.

Jasper’s tail twitched; since our conversation about Ming, he had hardly come indoors at all. But his face softened as we stood facing each other, equally drenched, on the doorstep. ‘After you,’ he replied, glancing at the door.

The following morning Debbie checked the alleyway for Eddie, returning from the kitchen with a look of mingled disappointment and concern.

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, Debs. He’ll come back when he’s hungry,’ Linda said breezily, pulling her apron over her head. ‘Our cat Toby used to do this all the time when we were little, d’you remember?’

Debbie inclined her head. ‘Maybe, Linda – let’s hope so,’ she replied.