Felix The Railway Cat

21. Curtain Up

Felix had already proved herself a consummate performer. When interacting with the team, she had soon learned that mastering some little tricks made it much more likely she would be able to elicit a treat or two from them. (For with the station cat’s weight now normal and a formal feeding regime in place under the direction of the team leaders, the rules about giving the occasional cat treat had been relaxed a little.)

So Felix had learned how to sit at a colleague’s desk and raise one white-tipped paw, Oliver-style, to ask, ‘Please, sir, can I have some more?’ She had also perfected the most starving-hungry, Puss-in-Boots look with her great, green eyes, which rendered admirers powerless to resist her pleas for just one more treat …

With food-laden customers present every day on the platforms, it hadn’t been long before Felix had started plying her trade with them, too. She’d developed a sixth sense for knowing when someone was about to eat. Even before the flapjack had been unwrapped or the sandwich taken from its packaging, she would be in position a short distance away but still within the person’s eyeline. Closer and closer she would creep. Her tail would wag charmingly. She’d lick her lips in anticipation. Surely, any moment now …

And if this opening performance failed to elicit a response, she would up the ante. Sometimes she’d jump right into the customers’ laps if they were sitting on the benches with food. Inches from their faces she would stare fixedly at them, imploring them to give her just one little titbit, it was all she asked … and often they would feel so guilty under her gaze that they gave in. At times Felix would even hold people hostage, leaping onto their suitcases if she suspected they had food; the team thought it very likely that some people had even missed their trains because of her, not wanting to shift her but instead choosing to wait for the next service so they could have a few more minutes playing with the famous station cat. Even though her colleagues always told her off for this shocking behaviour – both the begging and the hostage-taking – Felix was Her Majesty, and she did as she pleased.

Some regular customers began bringing in cat treats for her, and Felix was delighted to see bags of Dreamies emerging from rucksacks and handbags as she waited on the platform and begged with those big green eyes. But Felix was a remarkably clever cat and knew all too well that the bags weren’t empty when they went back into their owner’s luggage. How could she get even more treats?

She started putting on a little show, in order to get as much as she possibly could. She could already sit on command, and now began expanding her repertoire. People used to say to her, ‘Come up for it,’ holding the treat above her head, so Felix learned to balance on her hind legs and reach for the stars. She would grab the customer’s proffered hand with her front paw and then take the treat, as though accepting it from them with a formal handshake. Or she might eat the treat directly from their hand, gobbling it down in one greedy guzzle. Then came the showstopper, the party piece, the big finish: Felix learned to catch treats with her two front paws.

She’d be balanced on her hind legs, watching the treat dangling above her, preparing to catch it with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. The treat-giver would ask her, ‘Ready …?’ Then they’d drop the treat. And Felix, clever little Felix, would slam her paws together and capture the titbit between them on its way down. Nom, nom, nom …

Naturally enough, Felix was rewarded for her antics and was more than happy to keep performing them; they became a regular spectacle at Huddersfield station. People would get out their cameras and smartphones and snap away – and the cat proved herself to be quite the poser, a performer who never suffered stage fright and would merrily execute her tricks for the cameras … at a price, of course (one cat treat). Across the local area, Felix soon became well-known for her talents.

Which was partly why, in July 2013, she got the call to join the world of entertainment. The station cat – for one day only – was asked to swap her railway duties for a turn in the spotlight, on stage at the Alhambra Theatre in Bradford.

The producers there had spotted the rising star and invited her to make her theatrical debut. They were putting on a production of Rising Damp and needed to cast a brilliant cat in the role of Vienna, Rigsby’s moggy. Felix bore a real resemblance to the cat who’d played the role in the 1970s TV series, so as soon as the creative team learned of her existence – and saw her adorable face in the local paper – they knew she had to join the cast.

At the time the call came in, Felix was already familiar with some of the razzle-dazzle of drama and dance. The Head of Steam wasn’t the only pub in the station to have a live-music night; the King’s Head regularly played host to several bands, too. So Felix was accustomed to hearing the strains of the musical instruments drifting out over the platforms, and she and Angie would often walk along together in rhythm with the tunes.

‘Come on, Felix,’ Angie would say, ‘let’s have a little boogie!’

It was Paul, the station manager, who took the call from the big-shot producers, and he and Dave Chin were the ones who drove Felix to her appointment in the limelight. She wouldn’t be performing live – instead, she had been invited onto the set to meet the cast, and with them would be having some staged photographs taken which would be used in publicity and on the theatrical posters displayed outside the theatre. Given her temperamental disposition at the time, however, neither Paul nor Dave was quite sure how she would behave. This would be one of the first times Felix had been taken away from the station and into an uncontrolled environment …

The Alhambra is a Grade II-listed building, named after the Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain. As that heritage suggests, it is a supremely grand edifice, with a domed turret supported by striking Corinthian columns. Inside, Paul, Dave and Felix could see that it was just as magnificent: the theatre was exquisitely adorned with highly decorated gold-and-ivory plasterwork curving below the balconies, elaborate boxes for the well-to-do theatregoers, and traditional scarlet seating in the stalls and circles. Felix was making her stage debut in a proper theatre with 1,456 seats.

The cast were already on stage when they walked in. There were handshakes all round, and then it was time for Felix to meet her new colleagues and compatriots.

Dave bent down and gently opened the door of the cat carrier. Felix – looking a little grumpy, as always, at her enforced imprisonment – emerged somewhat uncertainly, then stood on the stage, taking it all in. Her quizzical expression very evidently said: ‘Where on earth am I?’

It must have been confusing for her. For not only was the theatre itself a never-before-seen and rather glamorous landscape, but in her immediate vicinity, on the stage itself, was the set for the production. Rigsby’s living room had been recreated. Felix’s green gaze took in the centrally placed settee, the chairs, the scenery, the false walls … She looked back at Dave. ‘Where on earth am I?’ her confused look seemed to say once more.

There was only one way for her to find out. Let loose, Felix the railway cat started to explore. She wandered all over the stage, twisting between the legs of the chairs and tables, sniffing at all the props and the people and giving everything a thorough investigation. The theatre folk asked if it was OK to let her wander around and Dave reassured them confidently: ‘Yeah, let’s just leave her, she’ll be all right.’

The humans continued to talk; then Dave suddenly said, ‘Where’s she gone now?’

For Felix was thoroughly enjoying her adventure. Having given the ‘living room’ a comprehensive examination, she had now turned her attention to what went on behind the scenes. Flicking that fluffy black-and-white tail that had so enamoured the producers, she had disappeared off-set, weaving her way behind the scenery and the fake walls and figuring everything out in her super-smart way.

Only once she had completed her study of the entire set did she return centre stage and leap up onto the sofa – and onto the lap of the gentleman who was playing her owner. The cast gathered around, and with Felix positioned at the heart of the group the photographer stepped up and started snapping away. Just as she did at the station when the customers pulled out their camera phones, Felix posed and postured and vogued with all the swagger of a supermodel. Oh, she had a whale of a time! The actors made a great fuss of her. But in Felix’s opinion, of course, that was just as it should be. After all, she was their leading lady.

The photographer took a number of shots. Felix sat with all the cast behind her as the flashbulbs popped, looking for all the world like a feline West End star launching her latest theatrical triumph. She was as good as gold and every bit the professional.

Paul and Dave felt rather proud of her as they drove her back to Huddersfield later that day. Of course, to the station team she was already a pin-up and a poster girl, for snapshots of Felix from throughout her life decorated the staff noticeboards back at the station – just as much in pride of place as the formal school photographs of beloved offspring in houses up and down the country.

As for any parent, though, with the good comes the bad. A little later, pride in Felix wasn’t quite the emotion Paul was feeling. Owing to her bad begging habits, Felix, very occasionally, scoffed something that really didn’t agree with her system. And one day she’d evidently eaten something that she shouldn’t have. Rather than take herself off to any number of places that might have been more suitable, however, Felix chose to call on Paul.

He was sitting doing some paperwork at his desk. In strutted Felix and leapt up onto the wooden surface of the table. Paul had recently discovered that he was allergic to cats, after finding himself sneezing violently anytime Felix sat on his lap, so she rarely came into the station manager’s office these days. Paul looked at her enquiringly and wondered what she wanted.

What she wanted … was to vomit all over his desk. Then she neatly leapt down, and walked out.

Well, she was a diva. Paul could clear it up.

And he did.