Felix The Railway Cat

Felix and the angel stared each other out at their elevated altitude, as though they were cowboys sizing each other up before a high-noon shoot-out. Felix made the first move.

Swipe! A little white-capped paw darted through the green branches towards the golden angel girl. But the station cat missed. She edged a little closer. Swipe! The tree wobbled and shook, and the multitude of baubles trembled on their strings. Felix poked and pawed at the angel through the branches: a left hook, a right hook, a swift uppercut. With every blow, she seemed to say, ‘Get off! It’s my tree! Get off! How dare you!’

Down below, the team chuckled. This feisty Felix was a rather recent development – but it wasn’t always a laughing matter.

Though Felix had not suffered any ill effects from her adventure to Domino’s Pizza, the team had noticed lately that she was no longer quite as pliant and friendly as she had once been. Frankly, you could understand it: from the moment she’d arrived at the station, she’d had scores of colleagues wanting a cuddle, and now she was out and about in the concourse she also had to contend with scores of strange customers, who stroked and poked and picked her up too. It was all a bit much for any cat to deal with. Everybody and their Uncle Fred wanted to play with her and touch her, and by now she was getting a bit bowled off by it.

With those she loved best, though, like Gareth and Angie, she was an absolute sweetheart. She had taken to following the team leaders around on their shifts, like a little puppy. If Angie was on duty and had to leave Felix behind somewhere, the cat would wait for her to finish what she was doing before trotting along beside her heels again; or Felix might turn it into a game of chase, where she would run cheekily ahead of Angie, occasionally looking back over her shoulder to check she was keeping up, then pause, waiting for her friend to catch her. But as soon as Angie’s feet drew parallel with Felix’s paws, off she’d go again, like a relay runner handed the baton. That was a great game. If the pair got separated while Angie was on shift, Felix would wait patiently by the bike racks, and the moment she heard Angie’s cheery voice calling out along the platforms – ‘Hello, driver!’ or ‘Good morning, there!’ to the customers – she would dart out happily to seek the owner of that voice, her joy plain to see as she scampered along.

Given Felix’s new diva-like disposition, however, Angie was understandably apprehensive as she took the kitten for her first grooming session. The vet had told Angie how important it was with a long-haired cat to make sure it was kept well-groomed, and Angie had bought a brush from him for that very job, but it had soon become clear that fluffy Felix was going to need – if not demand – professional expertise when it came to her beauty maintenance. So Angie made an appointment for her at a local grooming parlour.

The first challenge, as with any off-site outing, was getting Felix into her carrier. No matter how grown up she got, this was one terror she would never overcome. It made no difference how many treats Angie used to try to tempt her inside, Felix knew what was happening and was far too clever to fall for that little ruse. The moment she saw the box, she’d be off, and neither Angie nor her colleagues could get her inside.

But there was one man who could: Dave Chin, the Felix charmer. Angie used to radio him for that very job. ‘Dave! Where are you? Are you anywhere near Huddersfield? We need you – Felix won’t go in her box!’ Then Dave would come, pick up the kitten in one easy movement, turn her upside-down to give her paws a little tickle, and then he’d slide her inside with a casual, ‘In you go.’

Once inside, however, Felix would relax. By the time Angie had carried her to her car and turned on both the engine and the stereo, Felix was as good as gold. Angie and the cat used to listen to reggae music as the team leader chauffeured the station moggy to whichever appointment Felix was attending that day. ‘This is our music, in’t it, sweetheart?’ Angie would say. ‘This is our music!’ And she’d look across at her and chat to her – ‘It’s all right, we’ll get you there’ – and Felix would settle down quite happily, soothed by the reggae beats.

Angie was concerned that even Bob Marley wouldn’t cut it as she and Felix travelled to the grooming parlour for Felix’s first haircut, however. She felt most apprehensive as she carried the cat into the sweet-smelling parlour, like a mother dropping off her daughter on the first day of school.

The cat groomer leaned across the table to take her.

‘She’s never really done anything like this before,’ Angie said, hesitantly. ‘Are you sure she’s going to be all right?’

‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ the groomer replied airily. ‘We deal with them all the time!’