Christmas at the Cat Cafe

7

Debbie stood in front of the sofa with her hands on her hips while, behind her, John hovered awkwardly in the doorway. When it became apparent their presence was not enough to wake Linda, Debbie strode forward and began to scoop the sheets of newspaper noisily off the floor.

‘Oh, sorry, I must have dropped off,’ Linda mumbled, pushing herself upright with her elbows and shoving Beau off the cushion with her bare feet. Catching sight of John, Beau barked groggily, but quickly rearranged himself on the rug to continue his nap.

Any relief Debbie might have felt after spending time with John had been short-lived, and the fractiousness she had exhibited earlier returned. With pursed lips and a clenched jaw, she set about tidying the living room.

‘Here, let me help you,’ Linda said, jumping up from the sofa and making for the table, where Debbie had begun to collect the dirty plates and cups.

‘No, it’s fine, thank you,’ she replied testily, before striding out of the room towards the kitchen.

I watched from a distance as John and Linda exchanged an uncomfortable look.

‘I think I’ll take Beau for a walk,’ Linda muttered, pulling on her shoes. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, giving John a friendly peck on the cheek. She picked up the sleeping Beau and carried him, bleary-eyed and disorientated, downstairs.

John stepped across the hall and leant against the kitchen doorframe. ‘Why don’t you leave the tidying for now? It can wait till after lunch,’ he suggested hopefully.

Debbie’s face remained closed as she rinsed the plates under the tap. ‘Actually, you know what, maybe we should just give lunch a miss today. I’ve got too much to do here,’ she said over the splashing of water in the sink.

John’s shoulders drooped with disappointment. ‘Okay, well – if you’re sure?’

‘Really, I think I’m starting to get a headache anyway. I’d rather just get the flat tidy,’ she insisted.

John gave a resigned shrug and leant into the kitchen to give Debbie a kiss, which she accepted without taking her eyes off the sink. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as he grabbed his jacket and made his way downstairs alone.

As soon as the café door had closed behind him, Debbie heaved a sigh and gazed disconsolately around the kitchen. I pressed myself against her ankles in an effort to cheer her up, but she seemed too preoccupied to notice me. She pulled on her apron and set to work cleaning the flat: dusting, hoovering and mopping with ruthless efficiency. When she had finished and the dust-free surfaces gleamed, she sank onto the sofa.

Not wanting to waste the opportunity for some one-to-one affection, I jumped onto her lap for a cuddle and purred ecstatically while she stroked me.

All too soon we heard Linda’s footsteps on the stairs, and I felt Debbie’s muscles tense beneath me. Linda’s simpering, orange-toned face appeared around the living-room door.

‘Debs, I’ve got you something,’ she announced gaily.

‘Oh, really?’ Debbie replied in a tone which suggested that, whatever Linda had bought her, she was not expecting to like it.

‘It’s a NutriBullet!’ Linda proclaimed jubilantly, pulling a sizeable cardboard box out of a carrier bag and thrusting it at Debbie.

‘A nutri-what?’ Debbie asked, blank-faced.

‘It’s a fruit and vegetable juicer. They’re brilliant! You can chuck anything in there. Skins, pips, stalks – the lot. It was in the sale,’ Linda added, as if this made the logic of its purchase unquestionable. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she said, grabbing her sister by the hand.

I had no choice but to jump down from Debbie’s lap as she was dragged from the sofa. She stood in the kitchen doorway and watched listlessly as Linda unpacked the stainless-steel gadget and placed it on the cluttered worktop, where it occupied almost half of the available surface area.

Debbie eyed the device dubiously. ‘But, Linda, I’m not sure we really need—’ she protested.

‘Trust me, Debs. You’ll wonder how you ever lived without one,’ Linda said authoritatively.

Debbie stared at the NutriBullet with sagging shoulders. ‘Linda, please stop buying us gifts. It’s not necessary,’ she began in a small, tight voice.

‘I know, Debs, but it’s the least I can do, to say thank you for putting me up,’ Linda riposted brightly.

‘But, Linda,’ Debbie persevered, ‘there’s no need for it, and it must be costing you a fortune—’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Linda cut her short. ‘It’s going on Ray’s credit card.’ A look of triumph flashed in her eyes.

Debbie took a short, exasperated intake of breath. ‘Well, even if Ray’s paying, it’s not necessary. In fact it’s making me uncomfortable.’ There was a pause as Linda absorbed her words.

‘Uncomfortable? Really? Sorry, Debs, I didn’t mean . . .’ A flicker of embarrassment crossed Linda’s face. Her head dropped and she stared at the floor. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, but I can take it back to the shop if you’d rather,’ she whispered, a touch self-pityingly.

An uneasy hush descended on the kitchen.

Suddenly Linda’s shoulders started to shake and she raised one hand to shield her face. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything,’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry, Debs, I know I’m getting in your way, I’ll pack up and—’

‘Linda, there’s no need for that,’ Debbie groaned, putting an arm out to prevent her sister walking away. ‘I’m not saying I want you to go, just that – well, maybe we need to find something for you to do.’

Linda dabbed her heavily made-up eyes with a tissue, and Debbie stood for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, watching her sister intently.

‘Look,’ Debbie said at last. ‘If you really want to say thank you, why don’t you help me out in the café? I could do with another pair of hands down there, and it would give you something to do during the day, other than shopping.’

Linda looked up, with watery eyes. ‘Are you sure? I’ve never worked in a café before,’ she said uncertainly.

‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up, Linda,’ Debbie replied warmly.

A child-like smile began to spread across Linda’s face. ‘I’d love to help out, Debs. I always loved playing waitresses when we were little, do you remember?’ she said, seizing Debbie tightly around the neck. Debbie returned the hug, but a wrinkle had formed between her eyebrows, and I wondered whether she was already having doubts about her spur-of-the-moment suggestion.

Linda’s first day at work didn’t get off to the most promising start. I watched from the window cushion as Debbie came downstairs on Monday morning and set about the usual tasks: she switched on the lights, placed the chalkboard on the pavement and stocked the till with cash. She was updating the Specials board when Linda appeared at the foot of the stairs, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

‘Right then, Boss. Where do you want me?’

Debbie glanced doubtfully at Linda’s spiky-heeled boots. ‘Are you sure you want to wear those today? You’ll be on your feet a lot,’ she warned, but Linda was adamant.

‘Don’t worry, Debs, they’re really very comfortable.’

By late morning, when the café started to fill up with customers, Linda’s enthusiasm seemed to be waning. She struggled to use the till, and had mixed up two tables’ orders. When the time finally came for her lunch break she limped upstairs, and the thought crossed my mind that she might not come back. An hour later, however, she reappeared for the afternoon shift, rested, refreshed and having swapped the spiky heels for a pair of flat, fleecy boots.

On Tuesday, Linda appeared downstairs wearing loose-fitting trousers, a sweater borrowed from Debbie and comfortable shoes. With her blonde hair tied back and a Molly’s apron over her clothes, she bore more of a resemblance to Debbie, and sometimes I had to look twice to be certain which sister was which. She remained nervous whenever she had to use the till, but was relaxed and friendly with the customers, enthusing about the menu in a way that seemed genuine rather than pushy. ‘Have you tried the Cake Pops? Oh, they’re delicious!’ she gushed, before trotting proudly to the kitchen with her order pad.

As the week went on, her confidence grew, and Debbie seemed both surprised and gratified by her sister’s aptitude for the job. Working together gave them some common ground; for the first time since Linda had arrived, they had something to talk about other than Linda’s marital problems and whose turn it was to wash up. On Friday afternoon, when Linda slipped out, saying that she had an appointment she couldn’t miss, I was surprised to find that the café felt empty without her.

‘Now, Debbie, don’t be cross.’

I had been dozing in the window, but at the sound of Linda’s voice I jolted awake. It was dark outside, the café had closed and Debbie was cashing up the day’s takings behind the counter.

‘What? Why would I be cross? What’ve you got there, Linda?’ Debbie asked, a slight note of anxiety in her voice.

I looked sideways to see Linda standing on the doormat holding a large cardboard box. Smiling with excitement, she walked across the café and, with great care, placed the box on the counter.

‘I know you said no more gifts,’ she explained, ‘but I thought this would be the exception. It’s for the business really. I think it’s just what the café needs.’

I sat up on my cushion, wondering what the café could possibly need that it didn’t already have. I craned forward attentively as Debbie, with a look of trepidation, pulled the box towards her and flipped open its cardboard flaps. What I saw made my stomach contract: from inside the box, a pair of dark-brown, pointed ears appeared, quickly followed by the fine-boned face of a Siamese cat.

‘This is Ming!’ Linda exclaimed.

Debbie’s mouth had fallen open. Speechless, she stared at the cat, who was looking around in wide-eyed alarm.

‘Linda! What have you . . . ? You’re not – you can’t . . .’ Debbie stammered.

‘Now look, Debs. I know what you’re going to say, but just hear me out,’ Linda insisted. ‘I’ve been working here for a week, and I think you’re missing a trick. Molly and her kittens are lovely, of course, but they are – well, just moggies. I think it would really add to the café’s appeal to have something a little more exotic in the mix. You know, to give the customers something a bit special to look at.’

‘Linda, this is ridiculous,’ Debbie replied with a mirthless laugh. ‘We’re talking about cats, not . . . clothes, or soft furnishings. You can’t just throw a new cat into the mix. Our cats are a colony, for goodness’ sake. This . . . Ming . . . will be an outsider.’ She looked in desperation at the Siamese cat, whose disembodied, dismayed face was still peering out from between the box’s cardboard flaps.

As Debbie talked, Ming turned to face her and let out a throaty, plaintive yowl. Debbie raised her eyebrows in surprise at the noise, which was far deeper and louder than anything I or the kittens could produce. Her expression softened and she instinctively reached to stroke Ming between the ears. I watched with narrowed eyes, feeling the hairs on my back bristle with envy.

When Linda next spoke, her voice was wheedling. ‘Ming’s owners put an ad in the paper. They’re expecting a baby, so decided to rehome her. How anyone could give away such a beautiful creature is beyond me . . .’ Linda trailed off, leaving the thought of such wanton cruelty hanging in the air. ‘She’s two years old, and has been spayed and vaccinated,’ she added matter-of-factly, as if this would surely clinch the deal.

Debbie withdrew her hand from the box and began to rub her forehead in consternation. ‘But, Linda, it’s not that simple, is it?’ she frowned. ‘This is a cat café. What if Ming’s temperament doesn’t suit it here? She might hate living with other cats. And they might not like her.’

‘Well, okay, that’s a possibility,’ Linda shrugged dismissively. ‘But we won’t know till we try, will we?’ She looked shrewdly at her sister, sensing that Debbie’s resolve was wavering. ‘Why don’t you give it some time and see how Ming settles in? If she seems unhappy, then you can rehome her. But at least give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?’

I fixed my eyes on the back of Linda’s head, allowing images of the worst things that could happen – both to Ming and to Linda – to run through my mind.

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.