Molly and the Cat Cafe

‘Oh, hello, Molly,’ he said, giving me a cursory stroke. I saw Debbie glance sideways, surprised to see that I had not followed Sophie and the kittens upstairs. I loitered by John’s feet and, as soon as he turned away to pick something up, I jumped into his tool bag. ‘Come on, girl, out you get,’ he coaxed, lifting me gently under my tummy and placing me on the floor. I immediately jumped back in and looked at him mischievously. ‘Molly, come on now.’

He was starting to get annoyed, and I was conscious of Debbie glaring at me, her surprise turning to embarrassment. John lifted me out for a second time and zipped his bag shut. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and began to walk towards the café door. My tail twitched; I sensed that, if Debbie let him leave without the two of them clearing the air, the damage would be irreparable. I trotted after him and darted between his feet as he walked, causing him to stumble and trip.

‘Oh, Molly, be careful!’ he exclaimed, exasperated. I dashed in front of him and meowed plaintively. He looked down at me and his irritation was plain to see; he looked exhausted and annoyed. I began to despair – things were not going to plan, and it looked as if my actions had succeeded only in making John crosser than before. He opened his mouth to speak and I closed my eyes, prepared for the inevitable telling-off. But instead of John’s voice, I heard Debbie’s.

She was giggling. I opened my eyes and peered around John’s leg, to see Debbie leaning against the kitchen doorway with her arms folded. ‘I think Molly’s telling you to stay for a cup of tea,’ she laughed.

John put his bag down on the floor. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he smiled.

Debbie put the kettle on, while John moved around the café closing the doors and windows. The pink dawn was spreading upwards through the sky and the first rays of sunlight had broken over the roofs opposite.

‘I love the new look of the place, by the way,’ John said, as the café’s bright interior emerged from the gloom. ‘Especially those paw prints on the floor. Nice touch!’

‘You can probably guess who was responsible for those,’ Debbie answered drily from the kitchen. ‘Molly’s our design director, as well as our fire safety officer.’ She carried two mugs of tea through the café and placed them on the table in the bay window.

Much as I wanted to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation, I had a feeling that my presence would be a distraction. They had talked enough about me for one night, and there were other things they needed to discuss. I tiptoed unnoticed past their table and crept upstairs, leaving them sipping tea in the golden dawn light.

30

I squeezed into the cardboard box, trying not to wake the sleeping kittens. As I lay down alongside Eddie, he instinctively twisted towards me, nestling his face into my neck. I licked the top of his head and he began to purr drowsily, stretching out his legs between mine.

Looking down at his outstretched body, it was impossible to ignore the similarities between Eddie and his father, the tomcat. The resemblance was uncanny: a square face framed by white whiskers, a bib of white on his chest, and legs that, for now at least, appeared too long for his body. But, as he grew, I realized that it wasn’t just the tomcat’s physical features that Eddie had inherited. His temperament was also unmistakeably like his father’s. There was a selflessness about him, a willingness to put the needs of others before his own, which made my heart swell with pride. I sometimes watched him at feeding time, waiting patiently while his sisters ate, never doubting that there would be enough food to go round. It made my heart catch in my throat to witness his generosity of spirit, and the way it mirrored the chivalry his father had shown me in the alley.

My remorse for the way I had treated the tomcat had never left me. Since the birth of the kittens I had had less time to dwell on it, but the moments when I glimpsed their father’s traits in them still brought me up short. I sometimes wondered how they would react if they were ever to meet him. Would they instinctively know he was their father, or would they think him a stranger – perhaps even consider him a threat? The pleasure and pride I took in watching my kittens grow would forever be tinged with sadness at what I, and they, had lost. In my desperation to find an owner to replace Margery I had, unwittingly, sacrificed my opportunity for feline companionship. I could not wish for a better owner than Debbie, but I would always wonder whether, if I had done things differently, the tomcat might still be living in the alley and might still be a part of my life.