Christmas at the Cat Cafe

On her way out, Jo walked over to the cat hammock where Purdy lay fast asleep, her feet draped languorously over the edges. Jo rose up on tiptoes and stretched her hand out to rub Purdy’s ears. ‘Bye, Purdy. I’ll see you again soon,’ she whispered. Purdy lifted her head and blinked at Jo sleepily.

Even though she had her back to me, I blinked at Jo, too.

Linda had pushed several café tables together to form a row that stretched from the cat tree in the middle of the room to the window. She threw a deep-red cloth over the tabletops and, with painstaking attention to detail, arranged a magnificent display involving candles, garlands, snow-dusted pine cones and table confetti. With Ming’s platform at one end and my cushion at the other, the layout had the unintended effect of looking as though Ming and I were joint heads of the table. I looked across the gilt candelabra at Ming, wondering what she thought of the lavish arrangement, but her eyes were closed. Looming sphinx-like and motionless above the red-and-gold tones of the table decor, she looked even more regal than usual. I had to admit, the grandeur suited her.

‘Right, everyone, dinner is served,’ Debbie shouted, negotiating her way through the café with an enormous turkey on a platter. John and Sophie followed with the side dishes, and Eddie brought up the rear, trotting after them hungrily with his tail aloft. With admiring noises, they all took their seats. Napkins were unfurled, crackers snapped and glasses topped up, while John set to work carving the turkey. When everyone was about to eat, Debbie tapped on the side of her wine glass with her knife and said, ‘I’d just like to raise a toast to Margery. Without her, I doubt we would all be here, celebrating Christmas together. To Margery.’

‘To Margery,’ the others repeated, clinking glasses gently, and a hush fell over the table. As they began to eat, I felt a wave of nostalgia spread through me. But the feeling was not only a longing for my past – for the time I had spent with Margery and the life we had shared – but also an appreciation of the present. It was beginning to dawn on me that this, our second Christmas in the cat café, would be our last as a whole family.

I let my eyes wander around the room in the knowledge that, one day, the scene before me would be no more than a fond memory. Jasper was sprawled out on the flagstones, the fire’s orange flames lighting up his glossy black pelt; Maisie was nearby, playing with the last shreds of wrapping paper under the Christmas tree; behind them Abby and Bella were curled up together on one of the armchairs, washing each other contentedly with their eyes closed.

Eddie padded between the table legs, determinedly scouring the floor for dropped morsels of turkey. It was hard to believe that, only a few weeks earlier, I had been utterly convinced he had run away, and that I might never see him again. The irony of my situation did not escape me: whilst I had been racked with guilt about Eddie’s disappearance, I had failed to notice that the kitten I was actually losing was Purdy.

I turned to the other side of the room and settled my gaze on Purdy, who was slumbering blissfully in the hammock. Her departure would break my heart, but I knew it was the right thing for her. The kittens’ upbringing in the café had been unconventional and, in many ways, privileged, but for a self-sufficient cat like Purdy, it had become stifling. Living in a colony, and being on view to the public, did not suit her independent nature, and I knew that farm life would maker her far happier than café life. She would be free to roam as a solitary cat, and when she craved company, she would have Jo.

Although a part of me would always think of Purdy and her siblings as kittens, I had to accept that they had long outgrown their kittenhood. They were adults now, and their well-being could not be viewed collectively. My desire for them to be happy as individuals had to outweigh any sentimental notion of keeping my family together; and, as their mother, the best thing I could do was encourage each of them to follow the path that suited them best.

After all, I had followed my own path, a long time ago, when I had first lost Margery. I had found my way to Stourton, to Debbie and to Jasper. I was certain that my future would always lie with Debbie and the cat café, but the same might not be true for the kittens. Their future was an open book, a story waiting to be told, and it was my privilege to have come this far on their journey with them. Whatever happened, wherever they decided to go, I was confident that they had had the best start in life I could have given them; they had been safe, and loved, and happy.

Perhaps, when all was said and done, that had been my own legacy to them.

Acknowledgements