Christmas at the Cat Cafe

I exhaled crossly and glared at the photo, aware of fury rising in the pit of my stomach. Everything about the newspaper coverage enraged me, from the made-up account of Ming’s ‘tragic’ back-story, to Linda’s positioning of herself as a ‘cat-rescuer’ and, most importantly, the misleading impression it gave that Ming was the café’s sole charge and main attraction. It was as if the kittens and I had been air-brushed out of existence altogether. The article was inaccurate on every front and yet, seeing Linda’s distorted claims in print somehow gave them credibility. Deciding I had seen enough, I sat down on top of the newspaper and began to wash, making sure to position my hindquarters squarely on top of Ming’s conceited face.

Linda preened about her coup with the press for a couple of days, apparently oblivious to Debbie’s tight-lipped frostiness on the subject. Watching from my cushion as she thrust the newspaper cutting – which she had now laminated – under the noses of customers, I couldn’t help but remember what Linda had been like before Debbie had suggested that she help out in the café. In those early days she had been an unsettling presence; constantly close to tears and prone to emotional outbursts, which, I had suspected, were designed to trigger a sense of sisterly obligation in Debbie.

I had not exactly warmed to Linda even then, but at least she had divided her time between the flat and the shops, so my life in the café had been mercifully free of her interference. Now that she was working downstairs, however, there was no escaping her. Linda’s involvement in the café went beyond simply helping out; there was something insidious about her enthusiasm. I was in no doubt that her plan was to stake a territorial claim on the business, and that promoting her protégée Ming was simply a means to this end. The newspaper article merely confirmed what I already suspected: Linda wanted the ‘moggies’ gone from the café, to be replaced with beautiful, exotic cats like Ming.

Jasper and I had continued to search for Eddie every day since he had vanished. Jasper performed a daily circuit of the alleyways during daylight hours, returning to the café at dusk. Every evening I watched hopefully from my window cushion, waiting for him to turn the corner into the parade. Each time, the droop of Jasper’s whiskers and his lowered tail told me that his search had been unsuccessful. I took over the search in the evenings, revisiting all the places that might offer shelter for a frightened or injured cat: behind the recycling bins in the square, in the overgrown shrubbery beside the public toilets, plus every car park and green space in the town. There was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

I was more fearful than ever for his safety. Winter was creeping closer, and the conditions outdoors were getting harsher by the day. With every night that passed, the chances of Eddie returning uninjured, and of his own accord, seemed to dwindle. Debbie had done everything she could to raise awareness of Eddie’s plight, asking customers to keep their eyes peeled for him, contacting all the local vets, and printing off ‘missing’ posters, which she dutifully pinned to lampposts around town. But there had not been a single reported sighting of him. I dreaded Debbie eventually giving Eddie up for lost, telling me sorrowfully that she’d done everything she could, but it was time to accept that he had gone.

One evening I made for the market cross, the location of Eddie’s last sighting before he disappeared. I was convinced there must be a clue to his whereabouts, if I just looked hard enough. Around me, the square was almost deserted and the night air was damp and misty, as if a cloud had enveloped the town in its chilly embrace. My eye was drawn to the narrow alleyway directly opposite the cross. I knew Jasper had already searched it, but perhaps, if I could muster up the courage to talk to the resident alley-cat, I could at least ascertain whether Eddie had passed through.

I crossed the road and took a few tentative steps along the dark, clammy passage. I tiptoed forward, my face set, and was quickly plunged into the dank gloom of the unlit alley. Sticking close to the wall, I sensed rather than heard it, but knew something was standing further along the passageway, and a prickling on the back of my neck convinced me I was being watched. I squinted into the blackness, my heart racing. ‘Hello?’ I said, thinking it was better to find out as soon as possible whatever danger I faced. Something moved up ahead, and a low, dark shape hove into view from behind a dustbin. ‘I’m just looking for a cat . . .’ I said, aware of how small my voice sounded, and how frightened. A security light at the back of the chemist’s flicked on, and the alleyway was suddenly bathed in a cold white light.