Molly and the Cat Cafe

The cat jumped slightly at the sound of my voice, but I was relieved to see that her expression when she turned to look at me was friendly.

‘I’m Molly,’ I said, by way of introduction.

As I got closer I recognized the black cat with green eyes who I had seen around the neighbourhood.

‘Hello, Molly. Be my guest,’ she replied.

I sat down next to her and closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. She continued to wash, and we sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

‘I’ve seen you around. You’re new to the neighbourhood, aren’t you?’ she asked.

I opened my eyes. ‘Yes, I’ve been here a few weeks. Got rehomed here. Don’t think I’m staying, though,’ I added.

The black cat looked at me and I detected a smile in her eyes. ‘Let me guess. Three dogs: one muscle-bound dunce and two psychotic midgets. Am I right?’

I looked at her open-mouthed. ‘Yes, how did you . . . ?’

‘I’m Nancy.’

I stared at her, trying to place the name. It took me a moment, but suddenly I was transported back to David’s car, overhearing Rob talking about a previous cat who had disappeared, scared off by the dogs. Nancy had been her name, I was sure of it.

‘Are you – were you – did you live with Rob before?’ I stammered.

‘Correct,’ she replied, before wrinkling her nose in distaste at the memory. ‘I was wondering how long you’d last,’ she added conspiratorially.

‘Did you know I was there?’ I asked, disconcerted to think she had been observing me for all this time.

‘I was keeping an eye on you, of course. Why do you think you kept bumping into me on the street? You seemed to be coping admirably, so I thought it better not to get involved.’

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this revelation, so I said nothing.

‘So where do you live now?’ I asked after a few moments. ‘Rob said you ran away and he never saw you again.’

Nancy narrowed her eyes ruefully. ‘I don’t think he looked very hard for me. But I’m still around, as you can see.’

‘So, who’s your new owner?’ My heart surged with excitement – perhaps Nancy’s new owner might have room for another of Rob’s refuseniks.

Nancy took a deep breath and her brow furrowed. ‘You know what – I’m not sure that I’m okay with this whole “owner” concept. It doesn’t pay to be dependent on one human. Just look at what happens if you end up with one like Rob, for instance.’

I tilted my head in acknowledgement.

‘My current arrangement is rather more . . . liberal, you could say.’

‘So, you don’t have a home? Are you a stray?’ I wasn’t sure if I liked the sound of Nancy’s ‘liberal arrangement’.

Nancy looked horrified. ‘A stray! Of course not. I have several homes – it’s just that none of them are . . . exclusive.’ She shot me a mischievous look, then started to lick one of her front paws.

‘Oh, okay,’ I replied, wondering whether such an arrangement would suit me. ‘So how many homes do you have?’

She paused mid-wash and stared into the middle distance, as if counting in her head. ‘Probably around six at the moment,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Give or take a couple.’

She glanced at me, amused by my look of confusion.

‘You get to take your pick of where to eat, where to sleep, who to spend time with,’ she explained. ‘No commitments, no responsibilities. It’s a good deal – you should try it.’

I tried to picture myself living like that, trotting between streets from one home to another, deciding on a whim which owner to grace with my presence that evening.

‘Hmm, I’m not sure. It sounds kind of fun, but I think I’m a one-owner kind of cat, really.’

‘Fair enough,’ Nancy replied amiably. ‘Each to their own.’

She carried on cleaning her paw while I sat, deep in thought.

‘So what was the final straw then? At Rob’s? What made you leave?’ she asked.

Fortunately cats’ blushes aren’t visible through their fur, but I could feel my face burn as the degrading spectacle of me swinging from Stan’s jowls came into my mind.

‘Oh, well, I tried to eat one of the dogs’ biscuits—’ I began, sheepishly.

‘Which dog?’ Nancy interjected.

‘Stan,’ I answered.

She winced and sucked through her teeth.

‘And then he went for me and I kind of . . . lost it.’

Nancy was looking at me intently, clearly delighting in the vicarious experience of exacting revenge on her old foe. She nodded at me to continue.

‘So I sort of . . . ’ I tried to recreate my pose as I had launched myself at Stan: forelegs stretched out, claws bared.

Nancy’s eyes widened.

‘And then I kind of . . . flew. At his nose.’

She squeaked with delight.

‘But then I found I was sort of . . . stuck. On his face.’ I mimed myself hanging from my front paws.

Nancy’s reaction made me see the funny side of the episode for the first time, and I started to enjoy telling the story.

‘He tried to shake me off, but couldn’t, because I was kicking him in the chest.’ I pumped my back legs against the ground to demonstrate.

‘He eventually shook me off, but I took a fair chunk of his face with me.’

‘That. Is. Brilliant,’ she said approvingly. ‘I wish I had been there to see it.’