Christmas at the Cat Cafe

Debbie groaned and slumped against the serving counter. Just say No! I wanted to scream, wishing I could jump onto the counter and slam the cardboard flaps shut on Ming’s beautiful, bemused face.

‘Okay, fine,’ Debbie said at last, looking at Linda across the tips of Ming’s ears. ‘We’ll give her a few days and see how she gets on.’

Linda started to bounce up and down on the spot with excitement.

‘But only

as a trial,’ Debbie added sternly. ‘This is not a done deal. The cats’ welfare comes first.’ She leant over the side of the box and I heard the resonant rumble of Ming’s purr as Debbie began to stroke her.

I had seen enough. I jumped down from the windowsill and crept, unnoticed by the sisters, past the counter and upstairs to the flat. Beau was lying in the hallway, and lifted his head drowsily as I passed. There was no aggression in the gesture, but I growled at him anyway. He instinctively averted his head, frightened I would take my anger out on his scab-covered nose. I strode past him into the living room, jumped onto the armchair and began to wash myself. But as I licked my flank furiously, Linda’s words played on a permanent loop in my head. ‘They are . . . just moggies,’ she repeated over and over again, the disdain in her voice amplifying each time.

8

The following morning I crept downstairs early. The cardboard box had been moved to the floor between the serving counter and the fireplace. It looked empty and, as I moved silently across the floor, I indulged myself in the fantasy that Ming had escaped through the cat flap overnight and was at this very moment roaming the streets of Stourton, frightened and alone. But as I picked a path between the tables and chairs, I noticed Eddie sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, gazing in rapt concentration at one of the armchairs.

‘Have you . . . seen?’ he asked.

I stepped closer and followed his eye-line. Curled up in a perfect crescent on the armchair, Ming lay sound asleep. Everything about her cream-and-chestnut-toned body oozed elegance, from her chiselled cheekbones to her dainty feet, which looked as if they had been dipped in liquid chocolate from ankle to toe.

‘Who is she?’ Eddie whispered.

‘Her name’s Ming. Linda brought her last night,’ I replied curtly.

At that moment Ming’s body twitched and her huge eyes opened dramatically, to reveal two orbs of the most intense blue I had ever seen. Beside me, Eddie gasped in surprise, or possibly admiration. Still prostrate on the cushion, Ming blinked, then unfurled her slender legs into a sideways stretch, throwing her head back against the cushion. As her mouth opened into a yawn, I saw the curve of her pink tongue behind pristine white teeth. Fully awake now, she looked around, and her azure eyes focused on me and Eddie on the flagstones before her.

She tilted her head quizzically to one side but said nothing, and I felt Eddie shifting uncomfortably next to me.

‘I’m Molly, and this is Eddie,’ I said, aware that my words didn’t quite convey the authoritative tone I had hoped for. If anything, they seemed to confirm our status as supplicants eager for Ming’s attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and flicked from Eddie’s face to mine, but still she said nothing. I began to feel an impotent rage fizz in the pit of my stomach. How dare she! Who does she think she is? My cheeks burnt under my fur as I tried to preserve some semblance of dignity in the face of such insolence.

Within a couple of minutes, the patter of paws in the stairwell heralded the arrival of the other kittens. Maisie appeared first, raising her tail and heading across the room to greet me and Eddie. She jumped in alarm, on noticing Ming on the chair above us, instinctively diving behind me for protection. Purdy, Abby and Bella were not far behind, and soon they too were prowling around the hearth, throwing curious glances up at the feline stranger. Ming, meanwhile, lay resplendent on the armchair, looking down superciliously at us all.

I surveyed Ming with mounting dislike. I’ve had enough of this, I thought. Aloof, superior, rude . . . Ming seemed to possess every attribute that I had tried hard not to encourage in the kittens.

‘Breakfast!’ I instructed, herding them into a group and back upstairs to the flat, ignoring their protests that they had already eaten. Sensing my mood, they complied and made a show of taking a few mouthfuls from their bowls, before hurriedly dispersing. Feeling that I had not yet vented my annoyance sufficiently, I sought out Beau, who was fast asleep on the rug in the living room, and hissed at him so viciously that he woke with a startled yelp and scrambled under the sofa in panic.