Molly and the Cat Cafe

‘You know what?’ Debbie said, placing a pizza crust on her plate. ‘The irony is that if anyone should understand what I’ve been through, it’s her. She went through pretty much the same thing with her husband as I did with Andrew. It’s sad, really, when you think about it. She obviously never got over it.’

‘Maybe it is sad, Debs, but that doesn’t give her the right to try and ruin your life. And I don’t share your confidence that this was her last-ditch attempt. Who knows what she might try next, if she isn’t stopped.’

Debbie shook her head firmly. ‘I appreciate your concern, Jo, but really, I wouldn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d rattled me. It’s over – she’s lost.’

To make her point, Debbie walked over to the serving counter and picked up the letter, tearing it in half, before dropping it into the bin. When she got back to the table she found that Purdy had jumped into her seat and was sniffing the edge of her plate. Debbie scooped her up and placed her gently but firmly back on the floor.

‘Fair enough – it’s your call, but I’d keep my wits about me, if I were you.’ Jo’s eyes were on Purdy, who, having conceded defeat over the pizza, was scampering up the wooden walkway to the hammock. ‘And maybe you should keep the kittens indoors for the time being. You wouldn’t want them to end up in a stew in the old bat’s kitchen.’

Debbie shot a horrified look across the table. ‘Jo, how could you even suggest such a thing! She’s a bitter old woman, not a psychopath.’

Jo shrugged. ‘I hope you’re right, Debs. But who knows what she’s capable of?’

Debbie chose not to respond, and they carried on eating in silence. When they had finished, Jo placed the cardboard pizza box on the floor and the kittens rushed over, jostling with each other to be the first to get to its contents. I watched as they devoured the drops of melted cheese and clusters of ground beef, oblivious to the conversation going on around them.

I was unable to get Jo’s words out of my mind, however. Much as I wanted to believe Debbie, my instincts were telling me that Jo was right – that there was no way of knowing what the old woman might do next. I closed my eyes and pictured the look on her face as she thrust her shopping trolley towards me on the street. She had wanted to hurt me, of that I was certain. She had tried, and failed, to sabotage the café and Debbie’s relationship with John. Surely her next step would be to hurt the kittens?

My anxiety did not go away, and in the days that followed I was unable to think about anything else. The kittens would soon be old enough to go outside, and I was terrified to think of what might happen if they encountered the old woman in the street. They had led a blessed life and I was convinced that their trusting, friendly natures would make them an easy target for the battleaxe’s ire. It made my blood run cold, just thinking about it.

The summer tourist season in Stourton was under way, the town’s population swollen with visitors. Coachloads of tourists were dispatched in the market square on a daily basis, to meander slowly around the town, admiring its picturesque streets and quaint stone cottages. They wandered in and out of shops in pairs or small clusters, filling their shopping bags with souvenirs and edible treats. As they passed along the cobbled parade they would often pause outside the café window, pointing at me through the glass. When they pushed the door open, their faces lit up with delight as the kittens rushed over to greet them.

The customers were happy, the kittens relished all the attention, and Debbie was thrilled with the café’s popularity, but still I could not relax. I felt like I was standing guard over my kittens, convinced that – if I dropped my guard – the old lady would pounce. Adrenaline surged through my body every time I heard the rattle of her trolley outside the window. I stared defiantly at her through the glass, but she never once looked at me, keeping her lips pursed and her eyes on the street ahead.

About a week after Jo and Debbie’s conversation, I heard Debbie talking on the phone, booking an appointment with the vet to have the kittens microchipped. I knew that meant they would soon be free to roam outside, and that I would be unable to protect them from the old woman any longer. I had no choice but to act; if I did nothing, I felt sure I would never have peace of mind again.

When the café opened that morning, I jumped onto the window cushion and waited. As soon as the old woman appeared on the other side of the street, I slipped out of the café and followed her.