Felix The Railway Cat

‘A cat would make everybody happy – whenever someone was complaining, you could present the cat and they’d calm down!’ he enthused with feeling, his memories of his time on the gateline still fresh. ‘And just think how amazing it would be to have this cat wandering around and being in charge of everything, causing trouble and getting in everyone’s way, as cats do!’

They were like kids, egging each other on. ‘You should ask Paul!’ Andy would say, joking about it.

And then, one day, as the manager walked through the announcer’s office, where the mischievous pair were chatting, Gareth seized his moment.

‘Paul, any chance we could get a station cat?’ he casually asked. He tucked his straight, shoulder-length brown hair behind his ears a little nervously, awaiting his boss’s verdict.

He didn’t have to wait long: the station manager didn’t miss a beat.

‘No, absolutely not,’ Paul said flatly, without breaking his stride for an instant.

Gareth sank back into his chair, deflated.

But not for long. Another of his off-the-wall ideas was that the station should replace all the concrete on the platforms with the spongy tarmac used on kids’ playgrounds (to prevent injuries), and Gareth now bounced back as surely as if his chair was made of that very material. Plan A – asking Paul outright – had not worked, but Gareth was becoming far too keen on the idea of a station cat to give up that easily. His campaign to get a station pet now needed to move up a gear.

It was time for Plan B.

‘OUR STATION CAT IS MISSING’ read the handmade poster on Paul’s official noticeboard. He unpinned it with a wry smile, and cast his eyes around the office, where further copies of the same poster adorned the walls. All Gareth’s handiwork, of course. Paul balled up the poster and threw it in the recycling bin with a weary shake of his head.

The young announcer was certainly dedicated to his crazy cause. If Paul left the formal noticeboard unexamined for more than a week, distracted by more pressing issues elsewhere in the station, when he returned it would be plastered all over with notices about this fantasy cat, so that his original, official signs would be completely covered by Gareth’s campaign posters. Some of these had really bad, hand-drawn sketches of cats on them; others were more text-based. Just recently, in this summer of 2009, Paul had asked the team to come up with suggestions for preventing trips, slips and falls on the station concourse, which was one of his biggest concerns as manager and something he was keen to address. Perhaps inevitably, Gareth had submitted his own unique list of suggestions.

‘Provide all customers with a harness connected to a network of zip wires,’ his submission had read. And continued:

Install lots of Travellators so customers don’t have to walk anywhere.

Put a large sign outside the station saying ‘ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK’ (possibly accompanied by a skull-and-crossbones image?).

Cover the floor in a six-inch shag-pile.

Put trampolines in falling-over hotspots, so customers would instantly be returned to their feet.

Employ a station cat …

Always the station cat. No matter what the problem, a station cat, according to Gareth, was the answer. In Gareth’s defence, he was able to cite countless examples of cat success stories: such as Stubbs, who had been mayor of Talkeetna, Alaska, for over a decade, or the famous Japanese station cat, Tama, who had transformed the fortunes of her ailing railway line, bringing in 1.1 billion yen ($10.44 million) a year.

No, Gareth’s campaign for the station cat showed no signs of abating. The man was obsessed! And what was more, somewhat to Paul’s chagrin, he was no longer alone.

For Gareth’s handmade posters weren’t his only method of attack as he continued Operation ‘Station Cat’. Gareth’s job – much to his delight – saw him located in the announcer’s office. Not only was this a coup in terms of getting him off the gateline, but it just happened to be the most sociable place in the station. The team were always walking through the announcer’s office. It was a large, communal-type room, home to basic office equipment like the photocopier that everyone used, but it also provided the throughway to the booking office. Everybody on shift was in the announcer’s office at some point during their working day, so there was always some chatter going on. Perhaps partly because of that, it had a very homely atmosphere, emphasised by a reddish-pink carpet that softened people’s steps as they came and went throughout the day.