Molly and the Cat Cafe

My head was spinning. It was starting to dawn on me that the town’s alleyways were a network of feline territories and that, in my naivety, I had stumbled into the domain of a notorious fighter. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for my bad luck or to berate my ignorance for not acting with more caution.

‘I’m hoping to find an owner, really. Someone who loves cats. A home.’ I could feel moisture welling up in my eyes.

The tortoiseshell cat looked at me pityingly. ‘You’ll have a job round here. The people in this town are all about their dogs, in case you haven’t noticed. Cats don’t get a look-in,’ she said ruefully.

As if on cue, a woman walking a dog entered the alley. The dog growled and lunged forwards, straining against his collar to reach us. The tortoiseshell cat jumped to her feet, hackles raised, and hissed at the dog as he passed in front of us.

‘Look, I’m sorry. Why don’t you try the churchyard? You should at least find shelter there. But you’ve got to leave now – I shouldn’t even be talking to you.’

She leapt from the shed roof up into the branches of a tree while I stayed on the shed roof, eyeballing the dog as he was dragged away down the alley. When he had gone I looked up into the tree, but the tortoiseshell cat had disappeared.

Feeling disconsolate, I made my way across the square in the direction of the church spire. I entered the churchyard through a wooden gate, savouring the peaceful atmosphere, which was in stark contrast to the bustle of the square. A pigeon cooed from the church roof as I settled down behind a row of headstones for a wash. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the tortoiseshell cat’s revelations. To be told that the alleyways were, in effect, no-go areas for me was disheartening; but, I reminded myself, it wasn’t an alley I wanted, it was a home, and an owner. More worrying was her dismissal of my chances of finding someone to take me in. If she was right, and people in Stourton cared only for dogs, I would have made a grave error in coming to this town at all.

My wash complete, I pushed through a row of conifers that bordered the churchyard and found myself in a short parade of shops along a cobbled street. There was a café at the far end of the row, with a rusty metal table and chairs standing outside its door. I padded along the cobbles to get a better look at the café. Paint was peeling from the frames of its curved bay window, and the solitary string of fairy lights draped inside did not do much to improve the café’s shabby appearance. The sign above the door read ‘Church Café’ and I was relieved to see a sticker in the window saying ‘Sorry: no dogs’. My impression of a rather down-at-heel establishment was confirmed when I peered through the glass door and saw a few rickety tables in front of an ugly serving counter.

I made my way round to the side of the café, and my heart sank to see that an alleyway ran behind it. The rear of the café and its adjoining shops presented a mismatched vista of windows, fire escapes and air vents. A large, square dustbin was pushed against the back wall of the café, only a few feet away from where I was standing. Its lid was damaged at one corner, revealing the polythene bags full of food waste underneath. I sniffed the air, detecting the unmistakeable aroma of tuna mayonnaise, and my stomach rumbled in response. Uncertain what to do, I twitched my tail. The dustbin was only a few paces away, but dare I risk a repeat of last night’s ambush by whichever cat ‘owned’ this alley? Still weakened from yesterday’s encounter, I would be in no state to defend myself.

A gust of wind wafted the scent of tuna in my direction and my mind was made up. Nancy had helped me to perfect my scavenging technique, so I knew it wouldn’t take long to do what was needed. I ran over to the bin and dropped to my haunches, crouching low to the ground. I felt my leg spasm in pain as I sprang upwards, but I made a perfect landing on top of the lid, feeling the bin’s contents give slightly under my weight. I balanced on the edge of the dustbin and batted at one of the bags until my claws caught and I could rip it open. There was a satisfying splattering sound as a mound of sandwich filling dropped onto the ground. I hopped down and greedily set about eating the pile of tuna mayonnaise. After my recent diet of mice and shrews, it tasted delicious. Savouring the feeling of having a full belly, I turned to leave the alley, and almost jumped out of my skin at finding myself face-to-face with a black-and-white tomcat.

12

The tomcat stood at the alley’s entrance, frozen in mid-step with one paw hovering above the ground. His expression suggested surprise rather than hostility but, with last night’s trauma still fresh in my mind, I immediately braced myself for a fight. Arching my back and fluffing out my tail, I growled deeply and hissed, warning him to back off. The tomcat tilted his head to one side, observing my display of aggression with curiosity.