Felix The Railway Cat

There was a great excitement at the station about the competition. It wasn’t open to customers, but as is tradition on the railway network, they put the word out far and wide, wanting as many people as possible to get involved. All proceeds from the naming competition were going to Save the Children, so the more people who entered, the more funds the kitten would raise for this very worthy cause. Almost everyone entered, and Belinda Graham even took some entry slips down to the TPE headquarters at Bridgewater House in Manchester, where the team there made their own contribution to the station cat’s history.

It was, of course, boy names they were looking for. By now, not only the dispatcher from Manchester (who had given homes to Max and Percy) had sexed the kitten – the little cat had suffered the indignity of having several colleagues examining his nether regions, patting at his mass of fur down below and nodding sagely as they said, ‘Definitely a boy.’

Gareth, continuing his tradition of silly ideas, suggested ‘David Hasselhoff’ or ‘Mr T’ as suitable names. Others were more traditional (‘Socks’) or celebrity-inspired (‘Keith’, after Keith Lemon). Dave Rooney, one of the team leaders with whom the cat was growing particularly close, suggested the very creative ‘Aloysius’.

‘Aloysius?’ said Angie, indignantly. ‘What kind of a name is that?’ She glared at Dave. ‘Please don’t let them pick that!’

But Angie would have no control over it – none of the TPE team would. The draw would be made at random and, to ensure it was fair and neutral, they had asked John, a driver-manager from another company, to make the selection. Whatever name he pulled out would be the one. It was a non-negotiable outcome.

The stakes were high indeed. As Tuesday 19 July drew closer, the cardboard box storing all the entries grew fuller. Each name was written on a scrap of paper and, once the entrant had paid their 50p, the scrap of paper got thrown in the box. A close eye was kept on it to ensure there was no cheating – much as Angie might have wished she could throw away some of those names, like another suggestion, proposed by someone with a black sense of humour: Splat. Splat, for a railway cat who’d be out on the tracks! It was hardly appropriate.

Jean suggested Frafty, which had been the name of her children’s cat when they were growing up; the station kitten was the spitting image of that much-loved family pet. It was perhaps Terry on the barriers who nailed it, though, when he scribbled four letters on his scrap of paper. His suggestion read: Boss.

Rachel Stockton, a conductor who’d once worked for the RSPCA, had a real liking for a certain cartoon cat. When she first laid eyes on the station kitten, she said to herself, ‘He’s a right little Felix.’ And that’s the name she popped into the all-important cardboard box.

The draw was made at about 10 a.m. on Tuesday 19 July 2011. Angie was there, but to make sure it was absolutely neutral she was nowhere near the box as John picked it up and another assistant stood nearby. It was like the lottery draw, with independent adjudicators. The kitten, utterly oblivious, prowled around the office, little knowing that the tall man with wispy grey hair standing above him was about to pluck his name from a forest of potentials.

John was a gruff, fair-minded, no-nonsense kind of man. He was used to dealing firmly with hard-nosed drivers on a day-to-day basis and everything about him said: ‘Don’t mess with me.’ Nobody would be debating the outcome of the draw: that was for sure.

He pushed his hand into the box and swirled it through the scraps of paper. Angie watched him, her heart in her mouth. What would her little kitten be called?

John’s hand settled on one and plucked it out.

‘Felix,’ he announced commandingly.

Felix. It fitted everything about him, Angie thought. It was short, it was nice … it wasn’t Alowicious!

Gareth Hope was a bit disappointed, however.

‘There’s probably a million cats in the UK called Felix,’ he grumbled. ‘I wanted something unique.’

As for Rachel, when she heard the news she pumped her fist into the air and cried, ‘Yes!’ Felix was a top name for a cat, and it did suit that little piebald kitten to a tee.

Angie bent down to the kitten and scooped him up.

‘Morning, Felix,’ she said.

He looked at her, nonplussed.

‘Morning, gorgeous,’ she added. Some habits die hard.

7. Felix Works His Magic