Molly and the Cat Cafe

For a moment I didn’t know what to do: whether to stay out of sight under the fire escape and wait for the tomcat’s return, or follow Debbie back into the warmth and security of the café. Debbie stepped out into the alley in her slippers, shivering with cold as she called my name again. I caught a glimpse of her face through the paint tins – a shadow of panic was plain to see in her eyes. My mind was made up. Regardless of what the tomcat might think of me, I couldn’t bear to see Debbie so concerned for my well-being. I crawled out from the fire escape and trotted towards her, mewing in greeting. ‘Oh, there you are, Molly!’ she smiled. ‘You naughty thing, I thought I’d lost you.’

She shepherded me quickly through the kitchen and I waited by the serving counter while she locked up. Sophie had gone out for the evening, so the flat was uncharacteristically quiet and peaceful. Debbie and I curled up side by side on the sofa, and she stroked me until we both began to nod off in front of the television, her bare feet cushioning my head. It felt just as I had imagined it would – an easy intimacy in which we were each soothed and reassured by the other’s presence. And yet something niggled at the back of my mind, taking the edge off my happiness. It was the guilt I felt for the way I had treated the tomcat, for abandoning the alley with no thought for the impact it might have on him.

In Debbie, I had found everything I ever wanted, but my joy was tempered by the suspicion that, although I had undoubtedly gained much, I might have lost more than I realized.

17

It was Friday evening, one week exactly since I had moved into the café. Debbie was busy tidying the kitchen and I was in my box on the windowsill. I sat facing the street, but my eyes were closed as I reflected on the events of the past week, and how my life had been transformed by the simple act of crossing the café’s threshold.

My meditations were interrupted by an insistent tapping above me. I jolted into alertness, quickly registering that a woman was standing in front of the window, rapping her knuckles on the glass. I looked up and immediately recognized the woman’s unruly shoulder-length curls as belonging to Jo from the hardware shop. She was clutching a brown paper bag from the local takeaway in one hand, waving with the other to catch Debbie’s attention. Debbie ran to the door and let her in.

‘Evening, Debs. You took your time. I thought I was going to have to eat on the street!’ She handed the bag to Debbie and unzipped her jacket.

I jumped down from the windowsill and trotted towards her. I had often seen Jo in the alley, but we had not yet been introduced. She lived in the flat upstairs from her shop with her ageing golden retriever, which spent its days dozing by her feet in the shop. In spite of the fact that she was a dog-owner, I liked Jo. She had a no-nonsense, practical air about her, and a humorous twinkle to her eye.

‘So, this must be Molly from the alley,’ Jo said, catching sight of me as I padded across the lino. She crouched down to greet me, giving me a cheerful rub on the back as I pressed against her leg. It was the kind of rub better suited to a dog than a cat, a little on the rough side, leaving my fur ruffled and messy, but I knew her intention was friendly, so I made no protest. I sniffed at her jeans, which smelt of dog, while she continued to scrutinize my appearance. Debbie had taken the bag of food into the kitchen and was retrieving plates and cutlery from the cupboards. ‘You’re right, Debs,’ Jo called after her. ‘She is a pretty little thing. Friendly, too.’

Debbie poked her head through the door, smiling at me indulgently, and I preened, basking in their attention.

‘And you knew a big-hearted softy when you saw one, didn’t you, Molly?’ Jo whispered conspiratorially to me. ‘A cute little face like yours – Debbie didn’t stand a chance, did she?’

I purred, assuming the most innocent expression I could muster in defiance of Jo’s knowing smile.

Jo stood up and walked over to the table where Debbie had begun to unpack their meal. Debbie placed the steaming foil trays side by side while Jo carefully removed their cardboard lids. The delicious smell of spicy meat began to fill the café, making my mouth water. Debbie returned to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses, and at last they were ready to eat. As they sat down at the table, I returned to my position on the windowsill, tummy rumbling, to watch them.

‘So how’s Sophie?’ Jo asked, while Debbie divided up the food onto their plates.

Debbie sighed. ‘Not great. I know it’s not easy for her, what with a new school, new people, a new home . . .’ Her eyes started to well up.

Jo made a sympathetic noise and filled Debbie’s wine glass. ‘Has she heard from her dad?’ Jo probed gently.