Christmas at the Cat Cafe Read online

  I exhaled crossly and glared at the photo, aware of fury rising in the pit of my stomach. Everything about the newspaper coverage enraged me, from the made-up account of Ming’s ‘tragic’ back-story, to Linda’s positioning of herself as a ‘cat-rescuer’ and, most importantly, the misleading impression it gave that Ming was the café’s sole charge and main attraction. It was as if the kittens and I had been air-brushed out of existence altogether. The article was inaccurate on every front and yet, seeing Linda’s distorted claims in print somehow gave them credibility. Deciding I had seen enough, I sat down on top of the newspaper and began to wash, making sure to position my hindquarters squarely on top of Ming’s conceited face.

  Linda preened about her coup with the press for a couple of days, apparently oblivious to Debbie’s tight-lipped frostiness on the subject. Watching from my cushion as she thrust the newspaper cutting – which she had now laminated – under the noses of customers, I couldn’t help but remember what Linda had been like before Debbie had suggested that she help out in the café. In those early days she had been an unsettling presence; constantly close to tears and prone to emotional outbursts, which, I had suspected, were designed to trigger a sense of sisterly obligation in Debbie.

  I had not exactly warmed to Linda even then, but at least she had divided her time between the flat and the shops, so my life in the café had been mercifully free of her interference. Now that she was working downstairs, however, there was no escaping her. Linda’s involvement in the café went beyond simply helping out; there was something insidious about her enthusiasm. I was in no doubt that her plan was to stake a territorial claim on the business, and that promoting her protégée Ming was simply a means to this end. The newspaper article merely confirmed what I already suspected: Linda wanted the ‘moggies’ gone from the café, to be replaced with beautiful, exotic cats like Ming.

  Jasper and I had continued to search for Eddie every day since he had vanished. Jasper performed a daily circuit of the alleyways during daylight hours, returning to the café at dusk. Every evening I watched hopefully from my window cushion, waiting for him to turn the corner into the parade. Each time, the droop of Jasper’s whiskers and his lowered tail told me that his search had been unsuccessful. I took over the search in the evenings, revisiting all the places that might offer shelter for a frightened or injured cat: behind the recycling bins in the square, in the overgrown shrubbery beside the public toilets, plus every car park and green space in the town. There was no trace of Eddie anywhere.

  I was more fearful than ever for his safety. Winter was creeping closer, and the conditions outdoors were getting harsher by the day. With every night that passed, the chances of Eddie returning uninjured, and of his own accord, seemed to dwindle. Debbie had done everything she could to raise awareness of Eddie’s plight, asking customers to keep their eyes peeled for him, contacting all the local vets, and printing off ‘missing’ posters, which she dutifully pinned to lampposts around town. But there had not been a single reported sighting of him. I dreaded Debbie eventually giving Eddie up for lost, telling me sorrowfully that she’d done everything she could, but it was time to accept that he had gone.

  One evening I made for the market cross, the location of Eddie’s last sighting before he disappeared. I was convinced there must be a clue to his whereabouts, if I just looked hard enough. Around me, the square was almost deserted and the night air was damp and misty, as if a cloud had enveloped the town in its chilly embrace. My eye was drawn to the narrow alleyway directly opposite the cross. I knew Jasper had already searched it, but perhaps, if I could muster up the courage to talk to the resident alley-cat, I could at least ascertain whether Eddie had passed through.

  I crossed the road and took a few tentative steps along the dark, clammy passage. I tiptoed forward, my face set, and was quickly plunged into the dank gloom of the unlit alley. Sticking close to the wall, I sensed rather than heard it, but knew something was standing further along the passageway, and a prickling on the back of my neck convinced me I was being watched. I squinted into the blackness, my heart racing. ‘Hello?’ I said, thinking it was better to find out as soon as possible whatever danger I faced. Something moved up ahead, and a low, dark shape hove into view from behind a dustbin. ‘I’m just looking for a cat . . .’ I said, aware of how small my voice sounded, and how frightened. A security light at the back of the chemist’s flicked on, and the alleyway was suddenly bathed in a cold white light.

  The alley-cat – I could see him now – said nothing, but continued to glide silently towards me. He had matted ginger fur and a tattered ear, and his yellow eyes narrowed maliciously as he stalked towards me. A low, rumbling growl from the back of his throat left me in no doubt that he was preparing to fight. Cursing my naivety, I turned and tore back down the path. Without pausing for breath, I sprinted across the foggy square, forcing a car to brake as I streaked in front of it, and did not slow down until I had reached the parade. Standing on the cobbles to catch my breath, I felt inordinately comforted by the sight of John’s sturdy form on the café doorstep.

  ‘Hello, Molly,’ he said amiably, catching sight of me slinking along the pavement. He unlocked the door and I ran inside onto the doormat, waiting with my tail erect for him to stroke me. Smiling, John crouched down to tickle me around the ears.

  ‘It’s cold out there tonight, isn’t it?’ he murmured, gently wiping the layer of chilly moisture from my fur. I turned and rubbed against his hands with my cheek, grateful for the reassurance of his touch. When he stood up, I made straight for my cushion on the windowsill and set about washing away the lingering smell of the alleyway.

  John walked across the café to the stairwell. ‘Debbie, it’s me,’ he called. ‘The table’s booked for eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be right down,’ Debbie replied in a strained voice from the top of the stairs.

  Above us, the sound of footsteps indicated that she had moved to the living room. Through the ceiling I made out the muffled sound of Debbie talking in a tone that sounded plaintive and pleading. She was cut off mid-sentence by an angry growl from Sophie. The beams in the café ceiling creaked beneath the teenager’s heavy tread, stomping across the living room.

  ‘Well, can you blame me, Mum?’ Sophie hollered from the landing. ‘At least Matt lives in a normal house with a normal family. There’s room to hear myself think, and it’s possible to have a conversation, once in a while, that isn’t about cats!’

  John glanced at his watch with a look of weary resignation, then walked over to the fireplace. Jasper was sprawled across one of the armchairs and, as John lowered himself into the opposite chair, lifted his head sleepily. Perhaps it was some masculine bond between them, or they identified with each other being at once part of the café but also slightly removed from it, for John and Jasper had always had a particular fondness for each other. John leant forward in his seat to rub Jasper affectionately between the ears. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it, mate,’ John murmured, as Jasper purred and closed his eyes lazily.

  Debbie eventually ran downstairs, flustered and apologetic, and she and John headed out for their date. The flat above me was quiet and I spent a soothing couple of hours washing away the memory of the yellow-eyed alley-cat. It was only when I had curled up in a ball to wait for sleep that John’s comment to Jasper popped back into my head. I don’t know how you put up with it, he had said, and there had been something about his tone that troubled me. I had always taken John’s devotion to Debbie for granted, rarely giving a

  thought to the impact the café’s dramas might have on him. It suddenly occurred to me that his reserves of patience might not be infinite and that he might, eventually, tire of waiting on the sidelines while Debbie dealt with the successive crises in her life.

  For the first time in a long while, the thought crossed my mind that John might decide he’d had enough of us all.

  14

  The rift that had opened between me and the kittens sin
ce Linda and Ming’s arrival seemed to deepen in the wake of Eddie’s disappearance. I was convinced that my bad-tempered hiss had been the trigger for him running away, but couldn’t bring myself to talk to the kittens about it. My own sense of guilt was bad enough; it would be more than I could bear to hear them say they blamed me, too.

  However, when a full week had passed since Eddie’s last sighting, and our searches had led nowhere, I finally plucked up the courage to say something. Purdy was about to push her way out through the cat flap one morning when I intercepted her on the doormat.

  ‘Can I talk to you about Eddie?’ I asked.

  It had been a long time since I had spoken to any of the kittens in private, and I felt surprisingly nervous when she turned her alert, inquisitive face to look at me.

  ‘I was just wondering if Eddie said anything to you, before he disappeared?’ I began, aware that my pulse was starting to race. If Eddie had confided in his siblings that he was angry with me, I knew Purdy wouldn’t flinch from telling me.

  Her green eyes held my gaze steadily. ‘No – nothing,’ she said. Then, after a pause, she added, ‘I think you’re assuming the worst.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you think something awful must have happened to him – that he’s got lost or been attacked, but . . .’ she trailed off, suddenly unsure whether to continue.

  ‘But?’ I prompted.

  ‘Well, maybe he left because he wanted to see more of the world than just the café. Maybe it was just . . . the right time for him to go.’

  In spite of her tactful tone, I instinctively bristled at her words.

  ‘But if he thought it was time to leave, surely he would have told us first?’ I replied, in a voice that was sharper than I intended.

  Purdy’s eyes narrowed and I knew that she felt dismissed by my response. ‘Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t,’ she answered. She sounded nettled, and her tail was starting to flicker impatiently. She gave me a look that seemed to say, ‘Can I go now?’

  Reluctantly, I blinked to let her know she was free to leave, and she slipped silently out through the cat flap.

  I waited on the doormat for a few seconds, then pushed my way through after her. Aware of Purdy loitering on the cobbles outside the hardware shop, but not wanting her to think I was pursuing her, I set off in the other direction, pondering her words as I walked. With hindsight, I knew that my response would have hurt Purdy’s feelings. She had probably thought she was being helpful by suggesting that Eddie had simply decided it was time to move on, to see what life was like in the world beyond the café.

  But my maternal intuition told me Purdy was wrong: no one knew Eddie like I did: how sensitive and home-loving he was and how, in spite of his grown-up appearance, he was really just a little boy at heart. The idea that he would choose to leave the comfort of the cat café in order to take his chances on the streets was barely credible. The notion that he might do so without talking to me first was out of the question. Purdy might have thought she was being helpful but, in fact, she was being naive.

  I looked around and realized that, without any conscious intention, I had walked my usual route to the market square. Rows of market stalls had appeared overnight, their striped canopies flapping in the chilly breeze. Even in low season, the Saturday market drew a crowd, and the square was thronged with shoppers beneath a pale, grey sky. I sat down beside the wooden bench under the elm tree and soaked up the familiar sounds of the market: the slamming of car doors, the barks of excited dogs and the sporadic whines of complaint from overwrought toddlers.

  I allowed my eyes to drift over the mass of people and colourful tarpaulins, towards the buildings that surrounded the market. Spying a gap between the sweet shop and an antiques dealer’s to my left, I felt a sudden flutter in my stomach. Until now I had mostly left it to Jasper to search the alleys, but if my memory served me well, this alley was different from the others in town . . .

  The afternoon light was already beginning to fade as I slipped into the narrow opening that marked the alley’s entrance. I jumped onto the drystone wall that ran along one side, and made my way carefully along its jagged surface. Up ahead, in a garden that backed onto the passageway, an old shed stood against the wall, surrounded on all sides by overgrown brambles. Keeping my eyes fixed on its roof, I approached cautiously, dropping to my haunches so that my gait became a stealthy prowl. As I crept closer, I glimpsed movement in the brambles, followed by a lightning-quick flash of gold-coloured eyes through the tangle of thorny branches. I froze, my heart pounding, one paw hovering in the air as I stared at the spot where the eyes had appeared.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

  The face of a small tortoiseshell cat emerged from the midst of the brambles and peered at me, unblinking.

  ‘I know you,’ I said. ‘We’ve met before.’

  The tortoiseshell crept warily across the shabby tarpaulin of the shed roof and eyed me apprehensively. ‘You came here a long time ago,’ she said at last. ‘You were injured.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I replied, feeling a rush of relief. ‘I wondered if you could help me again,’ I continued, with a hopeful glance at her hesitant face. ‘I’m looking for my son, Eddie. He’s gone missing and I wondered if, maybe, he’s been here?’

  The tortoiseshell’s golden eyes narrowed intently.

  ‘Well, a black-and-white tom has passed through a few times this week,’ she replied.

  I felt my heart begin to thump. ‘Was he wearing a silver collar?’ I asked, trying to stem my excitement.

  She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, no collar that I can remember. He looked like an alley-cat.’

  My heart sank in disappointment; this must have been Jasper, on his daily tour of the alleyways.

  The tortoiseshell tilted her head to one side. ‘So your boy’s missing, is he?’ she said. ‘That’s sad.’ It was a simple expression of sympathy that made my eyes begin to tingle.

  ‘That would have been his dad that you saw. They look very similar. Eddie’s been gone for a week now, and it’s not like him. He’s never lived outdoors.’ I could feel her gaze on me, but I continued to stare at the uneven stone wall beneath my paws.

  ‘When did you say he went missing?’ she asked gently.

  ‘He was seen last Saturday by the market cross.’

  I watched as the tortoiseshell closed her eyes in concentration. Her face was mostly ginger, but there was a patch of black over one eye that lent her a slightly piratical look. Beneath her coat, which was a messy patchwork of ginger, white and black, her body was slim and taut. I was acutely aware of my own plump physique, maintained by a generous diet of cat food supplemented by café titbits, and felt a sudden burst of gratitude not to be living outdoors, in a constant daily struggle against the elements, having to hunt or scavenge for every meal.

  The tortoiseshell’s eyes sprang open. ‘Look, I don’t know if it was your boy, but I heard something about a pet cat hanging around the streets,’ she said urgently, as if worried that she might be overheard. ‘Caused quite a stir, strolling around town like he owned the place, in and out of the alleys – a bit like you did that time, come to think of it,’ she added, her golden eyes twinkling.

  ‘When was that, can you remember?’ I pressed.

  ‘Couldn’t say for sure, but a week ago sounds about right,’ the tortoiseshell replied.

  I fixed her with a stare. ‘Do you have any idea where he went?’ I asked, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it.

  Suddenly, her head dropped. ‘From what I heard, an alley-cat chased him to the town sign on the main road south. After that, I don’t know what happened to him,’ she said sorowfully.

  I thanked the tortoiseshell and leapt down from the wall. I pelted out of the alley and across the middle of the square, dodging the legs of shoppers and dashing between parked cars until I reached the entrance to the churchyard. Spotting Jasper prowling between the headstones on the far side, I sprinted acros
s the grass, causing a cluster of crows to flap skywards in alarm.

  ‘I know what happened to Eddie,’ I panted. ‘A cat chased him to the main road south, about a week ago. An alley-cat told me.’

  Jasper’s eyes widened. ‘An alley-cat told you?’ he repeated, doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, the one next to the sweet shop. She’d seen you go up and down searching for him, but she was hiding from you.’

  Jasper stared at me with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

  ‘I knew it,’ I said, feeling self-righteousness bubble up inside me. I had been right not to listen to Purdy; Eddie had not gone off in search of adventure, he had been forced to run away. But any vindication of my maternal instincts was dwarfed by my concern for Eddie’s well-being. The tortoiseshell had confirmed my worst fears: that he had got into a confrontation with an alley-cat and been chased out of town. He would be out there somewhere, alone, hungry and too frightened to come home.

  I stared at Jasper defiantly, willing him to recognize the seriousness of the situation. ‘So, what are we going to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, there’s only one thing we can do,’ replied Jasper soberly. ‘I’ll have to go after him.’

  Later that evening Jasper bade farewell to the kittens and slipped out onto the street under cover of darkness. I walked by his side through the town’s back streets until we picked up the main road heading south. There, we padded past the shops, the public toilets and the car park, to the point where the pavement ended and a grassy verge took over. All around us, the fields beyond the hedgerows looked inky-black in the darkness. An owl screeched, unseen, in a tree nearby.

  We stepped off the kerb and made our way across the damp verge to the hedgerow. I knew Jasper would be able to handle himself, yet I still dreaded the thought of him leaving, and the fact that we would have no means of communicating while he was away. Much as I had felt vexed and frustrated by him in recent weeks, Jasper was my anchor. Without him, I would have no one to confide in and seek reassurance from.