Felix The Railway Cat

16. On the Night Shift

‘What are we going to do tonight, Felix?’ Angie Hunte asked the not-so-little-anymore black-and-white cat.

Felix looked up at her, as though she completely understood Angie’s words.

‘Are you coming with me?’

Felix got to her feet: yes, she was. And off the pair trotted to complete their security checks.

With Gareth Hope gone, Felix now strengthened her relationships with the team leaders even more. Most of that bonding took place on the night shift – a shift the team fulfilled on rotation – when a hush would fall over the station and the big front doors were shut tight. Especially in those cold winter months of early 2012, Felix wouldn’t always be outside on the deserted platforms during the wee small hours. Often, she and Angie would be in the warm team leaders’ office instead, where Angie would be working on the computer. The team leaders’ jobs were complex, including accounting, finance, revenue and retail duties amongst many others, and Angie often had to focus hard as she went through her night-shift responsibilities.

But Felix was not the sort of cat to let you focus hard.

She’d sit up on the desk.

‘What do you want, lovely?’ Angie would ask her distractedly, her attention fixed on whatever spreadsheet was onscreen.

Felix would raise one snowy-white paw and place it carefully on Angie’s arm, as though she wanted to tell her something very, very important.

‘What is it, sweetheart? Are you after something?’ Angie would turn and face the cat, and Felix would repeat the movement, a little more firmly.

‘Do you want a cuddle?’

Felix would nestle close into Angie and then reach up even higher to touch her nose: claws safely tucked away, using the velvety pad of her paw.

‘Give over,’ Angie would say, rubbing her nose. ‘I don’t know where you’ve been.’

She would turn back to the screen, but – prod, prod, prod – those little paws would soon be back at work. Then, all of a sudden, Felix would roll over on to her back, stretching out across the desk.

‘Oh ho!’ Angie would say. ‘You want your tummy rubbing, is that what it is?’

She’d reach out a hand and stroke Felix on the soft underside of her fluffy white belly, and Felix’s tail would hang off the desk, flicking from side to side happily.

‘Felix,’ Angie would say after a few moments, ‘you do know that I’ve got work to do, don’t you? I have got work to do.’

But, for the next few minutes at least, Felix the railway cat would demand that the only team member Angie would be leading that evening would be her. Back and forth that tail would go, just like a wagging dog’s.

It was the opinion of Jean Randall, in the booking office, that Felix was having a bit of an identity crisis. There were never any other cats on the station concourse, but by this time in her life Felix had observed a fair few dogs being taken on day trips on the train. They wagged their tails when they were happy … Felix did the same. They followed their owners around obediently, trotting at their heels … Felix did the same. They sat on command, especially if a reward was on offer … and Felix did the same. It was as if she thought she was a puppy.

And, just like a little dog, one of Felix’s favourite games on the night shift was a flat-out race.

It was usually team-leader Andy Croughan who would challenge her to the contest. It would be bang in the middle of the night, with the station absolutely deserted. Platform 1 would be empty and wide and just too tempting to resist. If Felix was hanging around at the top of the stairs on the platform, and Andy happened to find her there on his way back to the office, he would assume a position beside her, as though they were each in lanes at the starting blocks.

‘I’ll race you to the office, Felix,’ he’d tell her, seriously. The office was located at the other end of the platform, so it was a fair distance – enough time to get up a bit of speed. ‘Reckon you can beat me?’ he challenged.

Felix would look over at him with a withering stare. ‘What do you think, mister?’ she seemed to say. She’d be up on her feet, and Andy would crouch down a little, the two of them locking eyes.

‘On your marks, get set, go!’ Andy would cry. Then he and Felix would sprint along the deserted platform to the office door. Felix just loved it: she’d bound along as fast as her little legs would carry her – and she was fast. All that time sleeping meant that when she was awake she had heaps of energy, and the team found they had to find ways of helping her burn it off – or they’d get no peace. They would still throw her favourite brown bear for her to catch, and they’d also throw the odd treat down the long corridor too, so that she would run, run, run for it, like a Marine released for war, before taking down her prey with one military manoeuvre: a satisfying swallow and a lick of her lips. Then her tongue would be out again, almost as though she was panting, ‘Come on, I’m ready for the next one!’ and they’d fling a second treat and all you could hear was a clattering as Felix went tearing down the corridor again.

Felix was good company on the night shift. There were only two human team members on duty, and each had their own responsibilities, so it could be a lonely and even, at times, intimidating shift to work. But with Felix there, it was as if she were an extra person. She kept them going. ‘Come on, lovey, let’s go down here,’ Angie would say, as they wandered into one isolated corner or another. Felix would follow, and her presence would take their minds off what could be waiting in the dark …

Before the doors were shut at half past midnight, one of the major jobs of the team leaders was to organise the shunt movements of the carriages. At Huddersfield, there are some sidings – essentially, a train ‘car park’ – alongside the main tracks. Innumerable trains came in at night, which would then lie dormant until the early-morning services the following day, and the team leaders had to find them all somewhere to sleep. Yet it was a complicated process. The trains would arrive in a higgledy-piggledy order, but the team leaders had to make sure that they ‘slept’ in a pattern that would enable the early-morning services to run on time. The team leaders were told the night before which train would be leaving at 5 a.m. and which at 5.25, for example, so they had to ensure that the 5 a.m. train wasn’t stuck behind the 5.25, even if the earlier train had come in first. The shunt movements were the movements of all these carriages late at night, and executing the movements successfully was rather like completing a Rubik’s cube, as one ‘twisted’ and transported the trains first one way and then another.

An additional complication was that customer services were still running while the shunt movements were going on, and these of course took priority. Platforms 1, 4 and 8 had to be kept clear at all times for express services, and God forbid there was any hold-up.

In order to keep track of it all, one of the team leaders’ jobs was to sort out what was called a ‘unit diagram’. A ‘unit’ meant the train or carriage; it was a diagram of all the station platforms and the sidings, showing which unit had to sleep where, so that they could be shunted into the relevant positions before the station shut down for the night.

Frankly, Felix felt exhausted just watching them do it. She, of course, remained safely on Platform 1, observing the activity from a distance, as the team leader directed proceedings and the shunt drivers, in their orange hi-vis outfits, moved the trains to the sidings, then crunched back along the gravelled tracks to return to the platforms. It was a collegiate sort of atmosphere, late at night, and Felix’s ears would twitch as she heard the cheery human voices carrying easily in the still air, and then again as the drivers started to leave and their car engines would fire up, then fade away to nothing.

After that, it was just Felix, the two team members and the cleaners on duty, who steadily made their way around all the sleeping trains, dragging Henry the Hoover behind them. As for Henry, Felix would follow him closely with her eyes as he rattled along the platforms, as though he was some sort of scarlet smiley animal that she had to keep tabs on – but he never did anything but noisily trundle along before disappearing inside the dark, slumbering trains.

Felix perhaps liked the station best at night. There were no roaring trains; the crows were fast asleep. It was a time when it truly became her domain – and she asserted herself as soon as the heavy front doors were locked. Every night, as soon as the huge pole had been bolted across the towering doors, Felix would prowl around, running her own security checks, as though to find out: ‘What have those humans been doing with my kingdom today?’ She investigated every corner of the concourse, casing the joint with her emerald eyes, leaving no stone unturned. She padded silently on her four white paws. Though often, in the daytime, if she shook her head or leapt from floor to desk her pink metal heart tag would jangle against her collar, at night she seemed to have perfected the art of the silent assassin, and not a footfall could be heard as she tiptoed through the station. She moved thoughtfully, not rushing as she sometimes did: the station cat was very much in charge.

Silence reigned everywhere. The ticket office windows had been closed since 8 p.m.; the room behind their drawn shades was dark and still. At either end of Platform 1, both pubs had long since shut for business, and the clink of the beer bottles joining their fellows in the recycling bins and the raucous laughter of the revellers had long since faded away. Above Felix’s head, as she continued to stalk along Platform 1, the train display boards no longer showed a continuous list of services, the orange digits updating every few minutes. Only three services ran at night, and in between their arrival and departure Felix ruled the roost.

She faded into the shadows along Platform 1, her inky black fur camouflaging her in the dark. Only every now and again would an observer see a flash of white at her tail, neck or paws. If she was looking in a certain direction, her white patches concealed from view, you wouldn’t spot her at all. Only when she moved would you realise: cat, not shadow.

But there were still plenty of jobs for the station cat to do. The team in the office would print out the reservation stubs at night, and Felix took it upon herself to oversee proceedings. She liked to watch as the details were printed out on the thick white card, as though checking that no customer was going to be without their booked seat – not on her watch. The Metro man would drop off his delivery of newspapers and Felix would sometimes observe as he threw them into the pink metal display holder that stored them in the concourse, ready for the commuters to collect in a few hours’ time. Felix was always fed at night, too, so she made it her number-one priority to hassle whichever team leader was on duty as soon as she felt a bit peckish. She would miaow demandingly for food, her tail wagging constantly in anticipation, licking her lips, until her meaty meal – made by the cat-food company ‘Felix’ – had been squeezed from its shiny pouch into her bowl and she could devour it hungrily.

At 05.00 every morning, the team leader would once again walk to the main entrance and slide back the bolt to throw open the doors. The night shift was almost over. The station lights were on a timer, so as soon as the first streaks of sunrise started to show themselves in the sky, a sensor would be alerted. As daylight began to spill across the station, the electric lights would automatically switch off.

In the April of 2012, however, the night shift being over didn’t mean that night-time was. Sunrise was around half past six when the month began, so it was still dark as Felix and her colleagues at the station went about opening up their world again: pulling up the shades in the ticket office, which opened at 5.45 a.m.; firing up the coffee machines in the catering concessions, so that the scent of freshly ground beans began to fill the air; wiping down the paintwork and the walls with a clean damp cloth to make sure that everything was shipshape before the working day really began. The sleeping trains on the platforms stirred, engines starting to rumble and whir. Many headed off immediately, due to begin their services at other stations, while others waited expectantly for the customers who would be boarding at Huddersfield.

Felix was often on duty for the morning rush hour, too, though she tended to avoid the evening crush. As she waited by the bike racks, seeing the sun come up, the little station cat seemed very much at home. She listened as Martin made his announcements; watched as her colleagues strode about, assisting and guiding customers on the platforms. Everybody was hard at work.

Felix was too, of course. She had a routine by now, which usually involved a stint or two at the customer-information desk. She had proved that she was great with customers, and she had saved the day in several stressful situations. All in all, she was a fantastic colleague – everyone agreed.

There was just one problem.

With Felix approaching her first birthday, the so-called ‘pest controller’ had still not caught a single mouse.