Molly and the Cat Cafe

My heart ached for Margery, knowing how much she would miss our lovely home, but I also feared for myself. When Margery moved into The Elms and our house was sold, what would become of me?

I slipped back inside through the cat flap and paused outside the living-room door. I could hear Margery’s soft sobbing from within, and David’s voice was a low, wheedling monotone. I didn’t know what was in store for me, but I knew there was one thing that might make me feel better.

I crept past the living-room door to the staircase, where David had placed his shoes neatly next to the bottom step. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I squatted over David’s shoes and peed in them. And, fastidious though I am about personal hygiene, it felt good.

3

One morning not long after the shoe incident I was enjoying a quiet meditation in my usual lookout position by the front-room window. Autumn was in the air outside. Leaves were falling onto the street’s front lawns and the sky was a leaden grey.

There was not normally much passing traffic in the cul-de-sac, so naturally I noticed when a large lorry turned into the street. As it approached I saw the logo on its side – ‘Expert Removals’ – and I felt my whiskers vibrate from the rumble of its engine. It drew up slowly in front of Margery’s house, then began to reverse into her driveway. Three men jumped out of the cab and started to open up the doors at the rear of the lorry, pulling at straps and sliding heavy bolts, before pressing a button that lowered a platform onto the drive.

I had never seen a removal lorry before, but knew that the uncertainty regarding what was happening to us was about to come to an end. I turned back to look at my surroundings. The sofa where I had spent the night was pushed up against the living-room wall, stripped of its cushions, tartan blanket and lacy armrest covers. The sideboard, armchair and other large items had been placed together in the middle of the floor, with wooden packing crates filling every available space.

I heard the familiar sounds of Margery moving around her bedroom upstairs. I could picture her carefully combing the waves of her hair into position and powdering her nose, before spraying lavender water behind her ears. In spite of the many things about everyday life that she struggled to remember, her morning grooming routine seemed to have survived intact. Although it pained me to think this might be the last time she ever did it in her own home, I also drew some comfort from it: it reassured me that not everything from our life together had been lost.

Soon I heard David’s voice outside the front door and the sound of his key in the lock. He was barking instructions to the removal men as he came in, sounding even more impatient and harassed than usual. Instantly the contemplative mood of the front room was shattered, as the men flung open the door and began to manoeuvre the larger items out of the house and into the lorry.

At first I stayed in my spot on the windowsill. I felt a responsibility to Margery to keep an eye on proceedings and make sure her possessions were treated with due care. But watching my favourite pieces of furniture disappear into the cavernous lorry brought a lump to my throat, and before long I could watch no longer. I arched my back in a stretch, before flexing out to my full length along the windowsill. Then I jumped down and made my way through the living room, being careful to avoid the booted feet all around me.

I considered going outside to get away from the dismantling of my life that was going on inside the house, but it had started to rain, and somehow it felt disloyal to Margery to leave her to face this alone.

Passing the cat carrier sitting ominously in the hallway, I made my way upstairs and found Margery sitting on her bed. She was wearing her blue woollen jacket and a felt hat with a crocheted flower on the rim. It was an outfit that I knew she saved ‘for best’, and I thought she looked beautiful in it. But when I padded around to her side of the bed, I could see that tears were silently falling into her lap. She made no attempt to stop them, but just sat gazing out of the window.

I chirruped at her, trying to sound cheerful. She looked surprised at first, then looked down at me and smiled. ‘Oh, hello, you.’

I wasn’t sure whether or not she remembered my name, but at that moment it was enough that she recognized me. I hopped up onto the bed and nestled beside her. Her hand automatically came to stroke me, tickling me behind the ears and under the chin in my favourite way. I purred my loudest purr, doing my best to drown out the noise of the removal men’s voices and the lifting and lowering of the lorry’s platform.