Molly and the Cat Cafe

I wondered whether Margery had ever shopped at such a place as this. I remembered how, before her confusion, she had loved to cook fresh meat and fish for us both. The thought crossed my mind that there could be someone like Margery here, someone who might not be averse to taking a friendly – albeit soggy – cat home with their food shopping.

I crept forward and peered out from underneath the table. The customers I could see were all female, but they looked very different from Margery. They were younger, and their clothes seemed to be variations on a theme: tight-fitting jeans, leather boots, padded gilets and long, glossy hair. I watched them as they moved around the displays, picking items from the shelves and studying them, before either dropping them into leather shopping baskets or placing them back on the shelf. I tried to imagine the houses they lived in, and to picture myself in them. But my frame of reference was limited to Margery’s and Rob’s homes, and somehow I couldn’t see any of these women in houses like theirs.

I remained in my hiding place while I considered my options. I could make my way around the back of the building to scavenge in the bins for scraps, or I could try something more ambitious.

A customer was standing in front of the fruit and vegetable display, unwittingly dangling her leather shopping-basket about six inches from my nose. As she handled some of the produce on the table above me, I tiptoed forward and inhaled deeply. I could smell cheese, prawns and white fish, and my mouth began to water. The lady dropped some vegetables into the bag and then made her way towards the till.

Having paid for her shopping, she walked back across the shop to the exit. I darted out from under the table and followed, slipping through the automatic doors after her. I crossed the courtyard a few paces behind her, feeling excited and nervous, wondering if this could be the opportunity I had longed for: the moment I found my next owner.

She rummaged in her handbag for her car key and pointed it at a large, expensive-looking car, which bleeped in response. I was just about to begin my charm offensive, when she swung the boot open and a dog leapt out. Instantly, my tail fluffed out and I hissed as memories of Stan, Chas and Dave rushed into my mind. The dog was attached to the car by a leash, but that didn’t stop him straining against it so hard that his eyes bulged. The woman turned round and, for the first time, noticed me.

‘Urgh, where did that stray cat come from?’ she said, her face contorted in revulsion.

This was not going according to plan. I had intended to mew piteously at this point, and to rub my head endearingly around her boots. Instead my ears were pinned back against my head, my back was arched, every hair was standing on end. It was beginning to dawn on me that this scene was unlikely to have a happy ending.

‘Stop it, Inca. Inside!’ she instructed the dog, which, reluctantly but obediently, jumped back into the boot of the car.

She glared and waved a rolled-up umbrella at me as if I were vermin. Defeated, I gave a final parting hiss before breaking into a run through the car park and out onto the grassy verge.

Back on the muddy track, my annoyance gave way to disappointment. I had not had much time to dwell on my loneliness since making the decision to set off for town, but seeing the customers in the farm shop had given me a pang that felt like homesickness – a longing for a home, and an owner to call my own. Not just someone to protect and feed me, but someone whose face would light up when I walked into the room, who would be delighted if I jumped onto their lap for a cuddle. My life as a solitary, wandering cat was so different from my previous existence that I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be a pet, and to feel loved. My experience at the farm shop had reminded me that the world of humans and their houses, with their cosy kitchens and open fires, was still out there, but seemingly further out reach than ever.

Trying not to let self-pity swamp me, I trudged along the verge. The rain had stopped, but there was no escaping the winter chill in the air now, and the watery sun was already setting in the sky. The mud under my paws was cold and beginning to set hard: a frosty night lay ahead.

I followed the curve of the road and looked up to see a long hill stretching ahead of me. I could make out the orange glow of street lamps at the top, and the distant silhouette of buildings and rooftops. I felt a tingle of excitement: this must be the town Nancy had talked of.