Molly and the Cat Cafe

When she returned to the table, Debbie sighed and put her fork down on her plate. ‘You’re right, Jo, he does seem like a very nice bloke. But I’ve been there before, haven’t I? My ex seemed like a nice bloke, and look how that ended up.’

Jo conceded that Debbie had a point. ‘But how can you know, unless you give him a chance?’ she asked softly.

‘I can’t risk any more disruption for Sophie,’ Debbie answered firmly, her eyes starting to well up. ‘For the first time in – I don’t know how long – she’s actually talking to me rather than shouting at me. She needs some stability in her life right now, and if that means me putting my love life on hold, then so be it.’

I pondered Debbie’s words later that evening as I settled down on her bed for the night. Her discomfort, when asked about John, had been obvious, and she could not change the subject fast enough. Like Jo, I was baffled by Debbie’s dismissal of his interest, and by her apparent unwillingness to give him a chance.

Perhaps Debbie was right that introducing John into the family dynamic might upset Sophie. I had also noticed the change in Sophie’s attitude of late, and it wasn’t just in the way she treated me. She seemed calmer, more settled and less angry. She was making more of an effort to confine her mess to her bedroom; I no longer had to pick my way through the debris of her school books and discarded shoes to find space on the sofa for a nap. I also couldn’t remember the last time I had been woken by a door slamming, or been called a ‘mangy fleabag’, and she and Debbie hadn’t argued for weeks. Whatever accounted for the change in Sophie’s attitude, I shared Debbie’s relief and, like her, I hoped it would last. If Debbie thought that going out for a drink with John might jeopardize the new equilibrium, then I felt duty-bound to believe her.

With the arrival of spring, Stourton started to come to life. Tourists and day-trippers milled around the streets, looking for ways to spend their money in the picturesque country town. Market day was always busy in the café, but even on non-market days a continuous stream of customers came through the door from about eleven in the morning. After a week of begging Sophie to help out after school and at weekends, Debbie finally admitted that she was going to have to take on some help, and a young waitress was hired.

The increased custom left Debbie exhausted, and had a tiring effect on me as well. I found I was napping for increasingly long periods, either on my cushion in the window or, on particularly warm days when the windowsill overheated, inside my shoebox in the fireplace. When I needed to stretch my legs I would prowl around the café, slipping between chair legs on the lookout for stray tuna flakes or cake crumbs.

Customers often asked Debbie about me, and she relished telling the story of how she had found me in the alley and decided to name the café after me. ‘Don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s hungry, though,’ Debbie warned them, wagging a finger at me as I eyed their sandwiches or clotted-cream-covered scones. ‘She’s getting a bit greedy, this one. It’ll be time for a diet soon!’ The diners laughed as I flicked my tail, before padding haughtily back to my cushion.

One Saturday night Sophie and Debbie were chatting in the café after closing time. I had been lying in the shoebox trying to sleep, but my back felt stiff and I could not settle. Thinking that stretching my legs might help, I jumped down and set off on a circuit around the café, idly looking for crumbs under the tables. Sophie had sat down at the serving counter, chatting through the kitchen doorway to Debbie. I noticed Sophie watching me as I made my way awkwardly between the tables.

‘Mum, the cat’s walking a bit funny,’ she said, a note of concern in her voice.

‘What do you mean, she’s walking funny?’ Debbie called back. She poked her head through the door and glanced at me, with soapy rubber gloves on her hands. ‘She looks fine to me, Soph,’ she said, before returning to the sink. The stiffness in my back was becoming more pronounced, compounded by a dull ache that, no matter how I stretched, I couldn’t shift.

I made my way over to the window and, with more effort than normal, jumped up onto the cushion. I started to wash, beginning with a gentle wipe of my face and paws, but when I turned my head to lick my shoulder blades I was seized by a sudden sharp pain in my abdomen. I let out an involuntarily yelp, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophie lift her head to look at me. The sudden pain was followed by a pressure in my belly, and no matter how I twisted on the cushion, I could not find a position that relieved it. I flopped onto my side and slowed my breathing to try and ease my discomfort.

Sophie stood up from her stool and began to walk towards me. ‘Molly, are you okay?’ she asked nervously.