Christmas at the Cat Cafe

Jasper was right, we had always known Purdy was more adventurous than her siblings, but I had never seriously considered what that would mean for Purdy as she entered adulthood. It hadn’t crossed my mind that any of the kittens might crave a different kind of existence from the one they had been brought up in, or might have ambitions that a life spent dozing in the cat café could never satisfy. Perhaps, I realized with a dull pang of self-awareness, I had finally hit upon the nub of the problem: I had continued to think of Purdy and her siblings as kittens, long after they had left their kittenish ways behind, and had given little thought to their changing needs as they moved into adulthood. I had never questioned my assumption that what made me happy would also make them happy, and that their greatest need was to stay together, and to stay with me.

My eyes were drawn to Maisie, who had climbed out of her bed on the cat tree and was now sitting on top of the highest point of the dome, peering gingerly over the edge of Ming’s platform above. When Ming looked across with her usual imperious gaze, Maisie responded by jumping up and cowering nervously at the edge of the platform. Maisie remained motionless with her head bowed, while Ming stepped closer and craned her neck downwards so that her nose was almost touching Maisie’s fur. Ming took a few delicate sniffs, before delivering the briefest of licks across the top of Maisie’s head. Maisie glanced up, their eyes met and Ming blinked at her benignly. Then, with a look of beneficent calm, she returned to the middle of the platform and resumed her meditative pose.

I felt myself succumbing to the overwhelming remorse that had been building since I had first learnt that Ming might be deaf. Witnessing Maisie’s sweet-natured overture and Ming’s affectionate response had brought a lump to my throat. There was no escaping the fact that my irrational dislike of Ming, and the kittens’ desire not to upset me, had been the main obstacle to Ming’s integration in the café. It was my resentment that had been the problem, not Ming’s aloofness. I felt exhausted and knew I was descending into self-pity, but did not have the energy to fight it. Trying my hardest to block out the chatter and laughter around me, I turned my back to the café, lay down and went to sleep.

I was woken by a rhythmic swishing sound. I blinked and lifted my head; it was dark outside and I could see the café’s bright interior reflected in the black glass. Behind me, Debbie was working her way across the empty café with a broom, sweeping crumbs into a dustpan, while Linda cashed up at the till. They were discussing the last-minute shopping that needed to be done for Christmas dinner.

‘I’ll go to the supermarket tomorrow, Debs,’ Linda offered. ‘I can pop in on my way back from Cotswold Organic.’

‘Thanks, Lind,’ Debbie replied gratefully, ‘Going anywhere near the supermarket on Christmas Eve would just about finish me off.’

As Debbie swept the floor around the armchairs, she paused and pulled the broom-handle towards her chest. ‘Linda, I hope you won’t be disappointed,’ she began, ‘but I’ve decided to keep Ming in the café. She really does seem to be settling in here, and I don’t think the upheaval of another move would be good for her.’

Linda followed Debbie’s eye-line to the fireplace, where Ming was sitting on the flagstones, gazing beatifically at the glowing stove. Eddie was sprawled out on the tiles next to her, fast asleep with his jet-black belly exposed to the heat. ‘You know what, Debs? I’m glad you said that,’ she agreed. ‘I was thinking the same thing myself.’

She pulled off her apron and went upstairs, and Debbie was about to lock up when there was a tap at the window.

‘Hi, Jo,’ Debbie said, opening the door to find Jo in the doorway, pale-faced and trembling. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘It’s Bernard.’ There was something strained in Jo’s tone, and Debbie instinctively took a step closer.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked, in a manner that suggested she already knew the answer.

‘I had to take him to the vet this morning. He’s . . . gone,’ Jo replied in a shaky voice.

Debbie’s face puckered with concern. ‘Oh, poor Bernard. I’m so sorry,’ she murmured, moving forward to envelop Jo in a hug. ‘Come on, let me get you a cuppa,’ she insisted, leading Jo across the room to the fireplace.

Jo lowered herself into an armchair while Debbie stoked the embers in the stove, sending a burst of sparks flying into the grate. She left Jo staring with a dazed expression at the dancing flames while she went into the kitchen. Jo was startled out of her trance-like state by the swoosh of the cat flap, but her face broke into a smile – and my heart seemed to flip inside my chest – when Purdy stalked across the flagstones towards the stairs.

‘Hello, Purdy,’ Jo called fondly.