Molly and the Cat Cafe

I sat in the hallway feeling helpless and confused. I had been relieved that the row had not ended with Sophie storming out, but the pain that seemed to emanate from both of them almost felt worse. It was as if they’d reached a stalemate, and neither of them could see a way out. Based on the way she had treated me, I had no reason to like Sophie, but I knew that Debbie could never be happy unless her daughter was happy too. But while Sophie remained convinced I was part of the problem, it seemed beyond my feline powers to help her.

19

‘Mum, why is there no hot water?’

It was the morning after the argument. Sophie was running the shower in the bathroom as she got ready for school. I stepped out of the living room to find Debbie standing in the hall touching a radiator, an anxious look on her face. ‘Mum!’ Sophie shouted impatiently.

‘I don’t know, Sophie. It must be the boiler. The radiators aren’t working, either.’ Debbie sounded worried, and I could feel the chill in the flat as the residual warmth in the radiators drained away.

Sophie was even more bad-tempered than usual that morning. Having been unable to shower, she acted as though Debbie was responsible for her unwashed hair and freezing bedroom. When Debbie ran downstairs to look at the boiler in the café kitchen I followed her, keen not to become the next object of Sophie’s annoyance.

Debbie was standing in the kitchen talking on the phone. ‘I haven’t got a clue, Jo. The pilot light’s gone out and there’s a fault code on the display, but I can’t find the manual.’ She was rifling through drawers, desperately pulling out yellowing instruction booklets and old takeaway menus. While Jo talked at the other end of the line, Debbie grabbed a pen and scribbled something on the back of a pizza menu. ‘That’s great, thanks, Jo. I’ll give him a call.’

Sophie thundered down the stairs and through the kitchen, running late for her bus.

‘Bye, love, have a good—’ Debbie called after her, but Sophie had slammed the door shut before she could finish. ‘Calm – stay calm,’ Debbie muttered to herself, picking up the phone to dial the number Jo had given her.

About half an hour later I watched from the windowsill as a van pulled up on the cobbles outside the café. A tall, sandy-haired man got out and pulled a bag onto his shoulder before knocking on the door.

‘Thank God you’re here!’ Debbie exclaimed as she unlocked the café and ushered him in.

‘I wish all my clients greeted me like that,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m John. So your boiler’s playing up?’

‘That’s right: the light’s gone out – there’s no water . . .’ Debbie stammered as she led him into the kitchen.

Through the doorway I could see her perched on a stool, drumming her fingers nervously on the worktop while John began to take the boiler apart. His manner remained calm, in spite of Debbie’s evident alarm.

‘Boilers always pick the worst time to pack up, don’t they?’ John said, sensing her anxiety. Debbie smiled tensely. ‘It’s a bit of an antique, this model – must be at least thirty years old,’ he added.

Debbie was unable to contain her impatience any longer. ‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.

‘It’s not great news, I’m afraid,’ John replied, looking genuinely sorry. ‘You’ve had a leak inside. Water’s been dripping onto the casing. It’s completely corroded in here.’

Debbie stood next to him and peered into the boiler to see the damage for herself.

‘I can patch it up for now, but it’s only a short-term solution. You’re going to need a new boiler, I’m afraid.’

Debbie groaned and sat back down on her stool, her head sinking. I couldn’t see her face clearly from the window, but I could picture her look of reluctant acceptance. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘Right. Okay. If you could do what you can for now, that would be great. I’m going to have to speak to the bank.’

John nodded respectfully and went to fetch his tools from the van. As he walked back into the café he noticed me for the first time. ‘Hello, puss,’ he smiled, making a detour across the café to give me a stroke.

My interest was piqued and I stood up to greet him. As he approached me I noticed that his sandy hair bore a few streaks of grey and the bridge of his nose was dusted with freckles. As he held out a hand to stroke me, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile. I leant forwards to sniff his fingers, and he tousled my ears teasingly. I responded to his playfulness by wrapping my front paws around his wrist, gripping his skin with my claws and biting the side of his thumb.

‘You don’t want to let me go, do you?’ he laughed, wincing in pain as he tried to twist his arm free. ‘And it’s not often I get to say that!’

I noticed Debbie watching us from the kitchen doorway and, expecting to be told off, I loosened my grip. As she walked towards us, however, I was surprised to see that her look of concern had been replaced by an indulgent smile. ‘That’s Molly,’ she said, and she explained how she had found me in the alley and taken me in.