Felix The Railway Cat

5. First Day on the Job

Gareth Hope quietly eased open the door to the announcer’s office and crept inside. Announcers didn’t work nights, so he wasn’t tag-teaming with anyone else – it was just him, slipping like a pale ghost inside the door, just before 6 a.m. His long hair swung around his ears as he turned at the doorway and surveyed the scene before him.

It was amazing. No other word for it. There was this tiny ball of black-and-white fluff on the reddish-pink carpet that he knew so well, the tiniest little thing – and it was moving. It was alive! The kitten was just wandering around the office, having been at the station for less than twenty-four hours, and was clearly still quite confused and trying to take it all in. His white plastic food bowl dwarfed him, he was so small.

Gareth almost couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Hello, station cat,’ he whispered. For a long time, he just stood in the doorway, staring at the little creature. After all his campaigning, all his eager enthusiasm and blustering banter, one of his ideas had actually come off. He had achieved something. And now the kitten was before him: living, breathing proof that when Gareth put his mind to something, he really could make things happen, no matter how much he might doubt himself at times.

Gareth bent down to say hello, and the kitten, naturally inquisitive, though still somewhat timid, trotted over to sniff out this newcomer with caution. Gareth let the cat’s velvety black nose fully investigate his hand, before pressing his fingers firmly into the kitten’s fluffy black fur and giving him a friendly stroke.

‘Hello, I’m Gareth,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve been waiting a long, long time to meet you, little cat.’

The announcer’s office had a window that looked out onto Platform 1, and Gareth could see, even as he crouched on the carpet next to the cat, that the platforms were already filling up with the morning commuters. Soon, the early trains to Manchester and Leeds and York would be pulling into the station – and Gareth needed to be ready to announce them. But he didn’t want to say goodbye to his new friend just yet, so he scooped him up and placed him on the desk where he worked.

The workspace had a keyboard, four large screens showing both the train arrivals and the CCTV images, and a black freestanding microphone for making announcements, as well as the usual office detritus: a computer mouse, a few pens, a clipboard for making notes and a telephone. The kitten padded about on the desktop as Gareth settled himself in his chair, and then curled up, right on top of the keyboard – his bottom on the keys and his head on the desk – and fell fast asleep.

Gareth chuckled to himself. It was just as he had imagined. The kitten was only eight weeks old and had been at the station for less than a day, and he was already taking over. Gareth couldn’t bear to disturb him, so he ‘worked’ (as little as possible, it must be said) around the sleeping form throughout that very first morning rush hour that the station cat was on duty. If anyone came to the window with an enquiry, he would gently lift the kitten – who fitted into the palm of one of his hands – into his cupped hand and carry him over to where he could more easily assist the customer, not wanting to let the little animal out of his sight even for an instant.

Those first customers to catch a glimpse of the kitten were naturally somewhat surprised to see a railwayman bringing a snoozing moggy to the window, but Gareth barely registered their reaction. He had eyes only for the new station cat, and spent most of the shift cuddling him or watching him as the kitten once again adopted what was fast becoming a favourite position: hugging the computer keyboard with a paw stretched out across it. Seeing him shiver, Gareth scurried to get a blanket and draped it around the ball of fur, before returning to his obsessive observation of every slumbering sigh, whisker wriggle and tail twitch as the cat snoozed away the hours.

And that was how Angie Hunte found them when she clocked on for her shift that day. As soon as she locked eyes on the kitten, it was love at first sight. She fell hook, line and sinker for this little creature and, as Angie herself put it, ‘There was no work done that day whatsoever. Everything was just second best that day.’

Gareth and Angie couldn’t stop staring at him. He was possibly the fluffiest cat they’d ever seen – totally gorgeous. He had ebony black fur, but his bib, paws and belly were the snowiest white. His belly was almost all white, they realised, except for a black splodge just below his heart. White, too, were the inner tufts of his pointy ears, while his tail had just a smidgeon of silver to it at the very, very tip. He was so small that, when curled in a ball atop the keyboard, he still left Gareth plenty of room to type softly around him, for he occupied only the space from the return key to the letter V.

Angie, who had grown up with cats but hadn’t had the pleasure of caring for one in over twenty-five years, felt blessed. To be given responsibility for this wondrous little creature felt very, very special indeed. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got him,’ she breathed softly to Gareth. ‘I never thought in a million years we’d ever actually get one.’

As the kitten dozed and Angie and Gareth fussed over him, they also assessed the larger surroundings of the announcer’s office. Given the small contingent of anti-cat folk on the team, neither Angie nor Gareth wanted to give a colleague any excuse to complain. So they covered the floor with newspaper – and just as well, for it turned out that the kitten was a rather messy eater and drinker. As he was not yet used to his new bowls at the station, both food and water would get everywhere when he dined. Just as his mother Lexi had taught him, however, he was very good about using the litter tray laid out for him, and very few ‘accidents’ occurred. Whether in the litter tray or elsewhere, the kitten’s mess was cleaned up instantly, to make sure it didn’t disturb anyone in the office who might have an axe to grind.

The kitten slept for most of Gareth’s shift that first day, but he was awake for a little bit, blinking those kitten-blue eyes at his new friend – and Gareth decided, looking at the way the creature’s eyes fixed firmly on him, that what the kitten really needed, in this new home of his that was in many ways so transient, with people coming and going on shifts all the time, was a permanent friend to call his own. Leaving Angie gazing adoringly at the kitten, he went to knock on the door of the lost-property office.

‘Hiya, Gareth,’ cried the woman in charge of it, cheerily. She was called Angela Dunn, a friendly lady with short blonde hair and shaded glasses, known for being both practical and kind-hearted.

Gareth subtly scanned the shelves behind her in the office. They were filled with a rather sad-looking collection of abandoned umbrellas and left-behind bags, forgotten coats and jumpers, and much more besides. The loneliest of all the items, though, were the lost-property toys.

They sat morosely on the shelves, their beaded eyes dull and blank, their once-much-loved woollen bodies misshapen and worn, never to be hugged again by their owners, many of whom were now grown up. There were bunnies and teddies and soft brown bears; dolls and ducks and dinosaurs. Angela kept them as long as she was able to, hoping to facilitate a reunion with a child and its favourite dropped toy, but more often than not the months and then years would pass by and, eventually, as the office grew too full, Angela would gather up the long-lost items with a sad sigh and they’d be redistributed to charity – where, she hoped, they would find another loving home.

‘I was wondering,’ said Gareth, looking hopefully at Angela, ‘is there a cuddly toy we could give to the cat?’

Angela smiled affectionately at him. The lost-property lady was definitely a pro-cat enthusiast and she had already fallen for their little ball of fluff. ‘Let me see now,’ she mused aloud, ‘I’m sure there’s something we can do.’

From the rows of toys who had been abandoned longest, she and Gareth picked out a pale-brown cuddly bear. The kitten was so tiny that the bear was about the same size as him on that very first day, but they knew that as he grew older the pair would be well-matched. The bear was made of a fleecy material, a light, malleable creature who could sit upright and be safely chewed – and loved. Gareth thanked Angela for her help, then went to introduce the bear to his new best friend.

The kitten gazed quizzically at it for a second and gave it a good sniff all over and a little taste with his rough pink tongue. Then he curled up right next to it and fell asleep, his head tucked into the bear’s neck, looking as happy as Larry, and just as content as if he was snuggled next to Luther or Spadge or Max or Percy, the siblings with whom he had spent his first eight weeks.

‘There you go,’ said Gareth, tenderly. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

It was some hours later, as acting station manager Andy Croughan was clocking on for the night shift, that the manager paused outside the door to the announcer’s office, little knowing what he would find inside. Andy had been off on holiday for a few days, so he was utterly confused by the sign the team had pinned on the door:

PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN YOU OPEN

THIS DOOR

What’s going on here? Andy thought in confusion. Why do I have to be careful?

And then, as he eased open the door, he saw exactly why. This being night-time, the nocturnal kitten appeared to have woken up – and was ready to party. As Andy eased the door open and looked ahead of him into the room, a tiny dark flash shot past him, chasing a ball of paper that Gareth had thrown. The kitten was darting around like a mad thing, tumbling over his legs and paws and even his own head, just as he had once done at the Briscoes’. He shot across the room, then hid under the table with a squeaky little miaow, observing the newcomer from his place of safety.

Oh my God! thought Andy. The cat! We’ve got the cat!

He peered more closely at the ball of fluff, but all he could see were massive ears and massive eyes amid the downy ebony fur; ears which were way too big for the kitten, but the perfect size for the cat he would become. Andy shook his head in disbelief – and then heard a giggling noise coming from the announcer’s chair.

Gareth was sitting there sheepishly, just giggling to himself: an irrepressible burble of joy that burst forth. It was hard to control that kind of happiness. Andy found himself smiling back at his colleague and long-term partner in crime.

‘We did it!’ Gareth cried, leaping from his chair and offering his palm for Andy to high-five. ‘All those crazy ideas – and we actually pulled one off!’

Andy – somewhat self-consciously, as he wasn’t keen on high-fives – smacked the proffered palm and gave himself up to the grin. Gareth was right: they had done it.

There was only one, tiny niggle dampening the announcer’s happiness. The cat had arrived; they had approval from head office: everything should have been grand. But Gareth couldn’t help but recall how many times Paul, the former station manager, had said ‘no’ to him when he’d begged and chivvied for a cat. And although Andy, acting up, had green-lit the idea, Huddersfield was still Paul’s station. He was only absent on secondment; he hadn’t resigned. And that secondment, as Gareth was horribly aware, was coming to an end in about one week’s time. Then Andy would be demoted, and Paul would once more be in charge.

The station cat had landed, it was true. He was here, and Gareth was stroking him and cuddling him and laughing at his funny little antics. But there was a nervousness to those giggles, despite his joy, because a growing terror at the back of Gareth’s mind now started gnawing at him.

He pictured Paul coming back onto the concourse. Heading to the office, opening the door, and seeing the cat curled up on the keyboard.

What if his manager took one look at the kitten and said brusquely, ‘It’s got to go’?