Felix The Railway Cat

Felix got to her feet: yes, she was. And off the pair trotted to complete their security checks.

With Gareth Hope gone, Felix now strengthened her relationships with the team leaders even more. Most of that bonding took place on the night shift – a shift the team fulfilled on rotation – when a hush would fall over the station and the big front doors were shut tight. Especially in those cold winter months of early 2012, Felix wouldn’t always be outside on the deserted platforms during the wee small hours. Often, she and Angie would be in the warm team leaders’ office instead, where Angie would be working on the computer. The team leaders’ jobs were complex, including accounting, finance, revenue and retail duties amongst many others, and Angie often had to focus hard as she went through her night-shift responsibilities.

But Felix was not the sort of cat to let you focus hard.

She’d sit up on the desk.

‘What do you want, lovely?’ Angie would ask her distractedly, her attention fixed on whatever spreadsheet was onscreen.

Felix would raise one snowy-white paw and place it carefully on Angie’s arm, as though she wanted to tell her something very, very important.

‘What is it, sweetheart? Are you after something?’ Angie would turn and face the cat, and Felix would repeat the movement, a little more firmly.

‘Do you want a cuddle?’

Felix would nestle close into Angie and then reach up even higher to touch her nose: claws safely tucked away, using the velvety pad of her paw.

‘Give over,’ Angie would say, rubbing her nose. ‘I don’t know where you’ve been.’

She would turn back to the screen, but – prod, prod, prod – those little paws would soon be back at work. Then, all of a sudden, Felix would roll over on to her back, stretching out across the desk.

‘Oh ho!’ Angie would say. ‘You want your tummy rubbing, is that what it is?’

She’d reach out a hand and stroke Felix on the soft underside of her fluffy white belly, and Felix’s tail would hang off the desk, flicking from side to side happily.

‘Felix,’ Angie would say after a few moments, ‘you do know that I’ve got work to do, don’t you? I have got work to do.’

But, for the next few minutes at least, Felix the railway cat would demand that the only team member Angie would be leading that evening would be her. Back and forth that tail would go, just like a wagging dog’s.

It was the opinion of Jean Randall, in the booking office, that Felix was having a bit of an identity crisis. There were never any other cats on the station concourse, but by this time in her life Felix had observed a fair few dogs being taken on day trips on the train. They wagged their tails when they were happy … Felix did the same. They followed their owners around obediently, trotting at their heels … Felix did the same. They sat on command, especially if a reward was on offer … and Felix did the same. It was as if she thought she was a puppy.

And, just like a little dog, one of Felix’s favourite games on the night shift was a flat-out race.

It was usually team-leader Andy Croughan who would challenge her to the contest. It would be bang in the middle of the night, with the station absolutely deserted. Platform 1 would be empty and wide and just too tempting to resist. If Felix was hanging around at the top of the stairs on the platform, and Andy happened to find her there on his way back to the office, he would assume a position beside her, as though they were each in lanes at the starting blocks.

‘I’ll race you to the office, Felix,’ he’d tell her, seriously. The office was located at the other end of the platform, so it was a fair distance – enough time to get up a bit of speed. ‘Reckon you can beat me?’ he challenged.

Felix would look over at him with a withering stare. ‘What do you think, mister?’ she seemed to say. She’d be up on her feet, and Andy would crouch down a little, the two of them locking eyes.

‘On your marks, get set, go!’ Andy would cry. Then he and Felix would sprint along the deserted platform to the office door. Felix just loved it: she’d bound along as fast as her little legs would carry her – and she was fast. All that time sleeping meant that when she was awake she had heaps of energy, and the team found they had to find ways of helping her burn it off – or they’d get no peace. They would still throw her favourite brown bear for her to catch, and they’d also throw the odd treat down the long corridor too, so that she would run, run, run for it, like a Marine released for war, before taking down her prey with one military manoeuvre: a satisfying swallow and a lick of her lips. Then her tongue would be out again, almost as though she was panting, ‘Come on, I’m ready for the next one!’ and they’d fling a second treat and all you could hear was a clattering as Felix went tearing down the corridor again.