Felix The Railway Cat

He peered more closely at the ball of fluff, but all he could see were massive ears and massive eyes amid the downy ebony fur; ears which were way too big for the kitten, but the perfect size for the cat he would become. Andy shook his head in disbelief – and then heard a giggling noise coming from the announcer’s chair.

Gareth was sitting there sheepishly, just giggling to himself: an irrepressible burble of joy that burst forth. It was hard to control that kind of happiness. Andy found himself smiling back at his colleague and long-term partner in crime.

‘We did it!’ Gareth cried, leaping from his chair and offering his palm for Andy to high-five. ‘All those crazy ideas – and we actually pulled one off!’

Andy – somewhat self-consciously, as he wasn’t keen on high-fives – smacked the proffered palm and gave himself up to the grin. Gareth was right: they had done it.

There was only one, tiny niggle dampening the announcer’s happiness. The cat had arrived; they had approval from head office: everything should have been grand. But Gareth couldn’t help but recall how many times Paul, the former station manager, had said ‘no’ to him when he’d begged and chivvied for a cat. And although Andy, acting up, had green-lit the idea, Huddersfield was still Paul’s station. He was only absent on secondment; he hadn’t resigned. And that secondment, as Gareth was horribly aware, was coming to an end in about one week’s time. Then Andy would be demoted, and Paul would once more be in charge.

The station cat had landed, it was true. He was here, and Gareth was stroking him and cuddling him and laughing at his funny little antics. But there was a nervousness to those giggles, despite his joy, because a growing terror at the back of Gareth’s mind now started gnawing at him.

He pictured Paul coming back onto the concourse. Heading to the office, opening the door, and seeing the cat curled up on the keyboard.

What if his manager took one look at the kitten and said brusquely, ‘It’s got to go’?

6. What’s in a Name?

‘Morning, gorgeous!’ cried Angie Hunte with even more verve than usual. She had a real spring in her step as she walked into the announcer’s office on day two of the station cat’s tenure. Somehow, getting up at a quarter to five that morning hadn’t been an issue in the slightest – she’d bounded out of bed, knowing that when she got to work, she’d get to see her cat. The early mornings, somehow, just weren’t going to bother her anymore: it was now an undiluted pleasure to come to work.

Billy rolled his eyes as he prepared to hand over to Angie for her shift. ‘Good morning, Mrs H,’ he said dryly.

She batted at him playfully, knowing he was pulling her leg. ‘I wasn’t talking to you, Mr Grumpy. I was talking to my kitten.’

Said kitten was watching this exchange with eager eyes, all from the viewpoint of his new favourite haunt: the top tier of the team leaders’ in-tray. Stuffed with paperwork, and with its metal edges curved up like a hammock, he’d found it an immensely comfy spot, perfect for catching a few zzzs and for watching the world go by.

The kitten’s world, for the foreseeable future, was solely the domain of the announcer’s office. Kittens cannot start their inoculations until they’re nine weeks old, and these usually take the form of a double jab, one at nine weeks and one at twelve weeks, so until that point, to be on the safe side, it is best to keep them indoors. Given the location of this particular kitten’s home, too, it was a nicer and safer way to ease him into his life on the railway. Though occasionally the muted thrum of a train’s engine or the squeal of its brakes could be heard from a distance through the window, on the whole the office was a much more peaceful and domestic place than the concourse – though, of course, the attraction of the cat itself made the office, at times, busier than Clapham Junction.

‘Has he been any trouble?’ Angie asked Billy, as the old-timer prepared to head off home.

Billy turned at the door with his hands in his pockets and scowled. ‘Trouble?’ he echoed tetchily. ‘Trouble? Too right he’s been trouble. Look at where he’s sitting! On my paperwork! All night long!’

He kept muttering grumpily to himself under his breath as he cautiously opened the door to let himself out. Despite his hearty moans, Angie couldn’t help but notice that he was being awfully careful to ensure that he didn’t give the kitten a chance to escape – though he couldn’t resist a huffy slam of the door as he exited.

‘Have you been winding Mr Grumpy up?’ she quizzed the kitten. He cocked his little black head to one side and stuck his pink tongue out cheekily, as if to say, ‘Yes, I have!’