Christmas at the Cat Cafe

Her attentiveness comforted me and I began to purr, tentatively at first, but louder as she continued to stroke me. I pressed sideways against her leg, nuzzling her hands gratefully and curling my tail over the top of her thigh. I realized with a pang how little time Debbie and I had spent alone together since Linda and Beau’s arrival. We had lost the precious moments we used to share on a daily basis: the evenings spent cuddling on the sofa, or the lazy Sunday mornings dozing in bed. It was only now, as Debbie crouched over me on the kitchen floor, that I became aware of how desperately I missed being held by her.

As if on cue, the living-room door swung open and out strode Linda, with the fragrantly fluffy Beau trotting jauntily at her heels. I leapt up onto the worktop, so as not to get trodden on. Stepping awkwardly around the clutter, I found a space to sit down, between the dusty NutriBullet and the kettle.

‘Cuppa?’ Linda asked brightly, reaching for the kettle beside me, without acknowledging my presence.

‘No thanks, I’ve just had one,’ answered Debbie.

On the floor, Beau eyed the bowl of cat food greedily, drops of slobber forming at the sides of his mouth. Linda, oblivious to his nefarious intentions, squeezed past Debbie to reach the sink, and it was Debbie who deftly lifted the bowl from underneath Beau’s salivating mouth and placed it out of his reach on the windowsill.

‘I’m going to pop over to Cotswold Organic after I’ve taken Beau for a walk. Shall I pick up something nice for dinner?’ Linda asked, thrusting the spout of the kettle under the gushing tap.

‘That would be lovely, thanks,’ Debbie replied half-heartedly.

Linda rammed the kettle back onto its base and bustled back to the living room, a disappointed Beau trailing after her.

Judging by Linda’s cheerful demeanour and Debbie’s wan look, I deduced that the subject of Linda moving out had not, in the end, been broached. I was not especially surprised. I could picture the scene from the previous evening, after I had fled to the alley: in the wake of the news about Margery, Debbie would have been too upset to risk Linda’s histrionics upon being told that she was no longer welcome. I felt a dull pang of disappointment; but, given how low I was already feeling, the realization that Linda and Beau were as firmly ensconced in the flat as ever made little material difference to my emotional state.

In the days that followed the news of Margery’s death I was plagued by persistent lethargy. I lacked the energy for anything beyond the basic demands of grooming, eating and sleeping. The thought of continuing to search for Eddie and Jasper seemed futile; I had looked everywhere, to no avail. Instead, I passed the daylight hours sitting on the window cushion, looking vainly for any sign of them on the parade, and every evening after closing time I slunk behind the café to the alleyway.

The gap under the fire escape became my private sanctuary, a space in which to think about Jasper and Eddie, and to remember Margery. Sometimes I could hear the high-pitched shrieks of alley-cats squaring up for a fight in a distant street. I shuddered at the sound, which instantly called to mind thoughts of Eddie’s ordeal on the day he disappeared. I tortured myself by playing out the scenario in my mind: Eddie’s guileless foray into an unfamiliar part of town, and his sudden realization that the alley-cat stalking towards him was no friend. Imagining his fear was almost harder to bear than my own feelings of loss – how he must have wished I had been there to protect him . . .

Was it my fault for not warning the kittens that the world was dangerous, that the love and security with which we were surrounded at home could not protect us beyond the confines of the cat café? Had our pampered, privileged existence made me overlook my responsibilities as a mother? If Eddie had paid the price for my complacency, I would never come to terms with my guilt.

My low spirits were not helped by the gradual appearance of signs all around Stourton that Christmas was approaching. Along the parade, coloured lights had been wound around windows and porches and, inside the café, Christmas carols issued tinnily from the kitchen radio. Christmas was not something I wanted to be reminded of, and certainly not something I looked forward to. To think of spending Christmas not only without Eddie, but without Jasper too, filled my heart with dread. The prospect of Linda, Beau and Ming taking their place in our celebrations made me feel physically sick.

About a week after we had received the news of Margery’s death, Debbie ripped open a letter that had flopped onto the doormat. ‘That’s odd,’ she frowned. ‘It’s from a solicitor, asking me to get in touch.’

‘Get in touch about what?’ said Linda quickly, peering at the letter over Debbie’s shoulder.