Molly and the Cat Cafe

We remained upstairs on the bed for what felt like a lifetime, while all around us we could hear the men stomping through the house, being chided intermittently by David. Part of me wanted to stay like this forever, but another part just wanted it to be over, for the axe to fall and put us both out of our misery. I will never know whether Margery suspected this would be our last cuddle together, but I felt certain of it. She continued to stroke me and I continued to purr; perhaps we were both trying to reassure ourselves that we would be okay.

‘Mum, where are you?’

David’s abrasive voice made us jump. He pushed open the bedroom door roughly and I felt the hackles on my back rise. The sight of his mother and me together made him pause for a moment, before he walked round the side of the bed towards us.

‘Mum, come on now, it’s time to go,’ he said. I could tell he was making an effort to sound less impatient, but his insincerity didn’t fool me. I was still curled up beside Margery and instinctively began to emit a growl deep in my throat as he approached.

Margery looked at him blankly, and I wondered whether she even remembered who he was or why he was there. For a fleeting moment I envied her, and wondered whether losing my home would hurt less if I did not understand what was happening. Perhaps that would be preferable to the pain I was feeling.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Margery whispered, looking around for her handbag and her scarf. She stood up slowly, and David took her elbow in a show of concern, which I knew belied his desire to hurry her up. I was still growling, in an involuntary expression of distrust.

‘That’s enough from you, cat,’ David said, batting me off the bare mattress as he guided Margery round the corner of the bed. I sat angrily on the landing, listening as he led Margery down the stairs and out through the front door. A few minutes later the car doors slammed and I heard him drive away. The removal men bustled past me into Margery’s bedroom and began to take apart her bed.

‘Are we meant to be taking the cat or what?’ one of them asked.

‘Nah, David’s coming back for it later, so he said,’ the other replied.

I sometimes wonder how my life might have played out differently if I had taken fate into my own paws and escaped through the cat flap before David returned. I cannot honestly tell you why I didn’t do so; why I decided instead to go back into Margery’s bedroom, press myself up against the cold radiator and wait for whatever fate had in store for me. Maybe part of me still hoped that I would be taken to live with Margery in her new home. Or, if I’m being truthful, maybe I was just too frightened to go out into the world and fend for myself. I had enjoyed a life of comfortable privilege; let’s face it, I was a pampered lap-cat. Courage and self-reliance were not qualities that I had ever been called upon to find within me. At least not yet.

Eventually the men had packed the bed and the last few boxes into the lorry and left. The house was silent once more, but it did not feel peaceful to me. It was an eerie kind of quiet, which set my teeth on edge. I meditated myself into a light doze on the bedroom floor, but even in sleep I could not rest. I dozed fitfully, dreaming that I could hear Margery calling my name, followed by a falling sensation, which jerked me back to consciousness as panic coursed through my body.

I heard a car pull up to the house. It was starting to get dark outside and the bedroom was chilly. The front door slammed, and I heard David sigh. He picked up the cat carrier in the hall and started to check the downstairs rooms, looking for me.

‘Come on, you bloody cat. Where are you?’ David called out, not bothering to hide the malice in his voice.

Even though I knew it was hopeless, my feline self-preservation instinct made me drop to my haunches and prowl around. I was looking for somewhere to hide, but with all the rooms empty, there was no shelter to be found.

As David got to the top of the stairs he saw me running back into Margery’s bedroom and by the time he entered the room I was sitting on the windowsill, determined to meet him with my chin up and defiance in my eyes.

‘All right, you, it’s time to go,’ he said, fiddling with the door of the cat carrier to unlock it. I began to growl again and, as he approached, I flattened my ears and pulled my top lip back in a hiss. He paused, wondering how best to handle me without getting his hands lacerated, and I was gratified to see a flicker of fear cross his face. I increased the volume and intensity of my hissing, making the most of having some power over him.

He moved the cat carrier into his left hand and, while I was distracted, grabbed the scruff of my neck with his right hand. He shoved me roughly inside, swinging the door shut behind me.