Full Steam Ahead, Felix

7. Clever Cat

‘Here we are, sweetheart,’ said Jean Randall to Felix on Christmas Eve 2016. ‘Welcome back! Welcome home.’

Felix gingerly stepped out of the carry case into Jean’s kitchen and had a good old sniff at the strange air of a domestic setting. Huddersfield station is staffed 24/7 – but only 363 days of the year; it always shuts on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Of course, the beloved railway cat was never going to be left alone in the dark and cold of the deserted station. So, when the festivities rolled around each year, Felix got to go on her holidays too, staying with a member of the team who had volunteered to take her home. Jean, who worked in the booking office, was this year lucky to be welcoming Felix for the third time.

The cat certainly seemed pretty comfortable as she had a good nosy about the downstairs of Jean’s cosy cottage, which had been built in 1802. There were two rooms on the ground floor for the holiday-happy cat to prowl about: a long kitchen-diner and the living room, which had shiny wooden floorboards and a striking stone fireplace. Two years before, Felix had caused chaos when she’d tried to get up the chimney – Jean had nearly had a heart attack, having to grab the cat’s hind legs to prevent her from getting away – but this year Jean was steps ahead. Forewarned is forearmed and all that! Even before bringing Felix home, she had made sure to stuff the chimney with an old pillow wrapped in a black cotton blouse, wedging it in tightly to make sure there were no gaps.

Felix, however, seemed to remember where she was – for as soon as she was let out of her box, she swiftly left the kitchen and headed straight for the living room, the scene of her erstwhile escape act. She proceeded to sit slap bang in front of the fireplace, looking up thoughtfully.

‘Ha!’ cried Jean triumphantly. ‘I’ve got you this time, Felix. You’ve no chance.’

At her words, Felix cast a considered look back over her fluffy black shoulder. After a beat, during which her green eyes seemed to flash somewhat mischievously, she turned back to the fireplace and stood up decisively. As Jean watched, Felix tentatively put her paw on the hearth …

Yet she soon seemed to realise, from the distinct lack of a draught coming down the chimney, that her adventures in that direction had been strictly curtailed this time.

‘We are not going through all that again!’ Jean announced firmly. And, after that, Felix paid the fireplace no further attention.

She was far more interested in the French windows in the living room, which looked out on to Jean’s garden. She prowled over to them and looked out curiously. Jean didn’t have any cats of her own, which is why she could host Felix, but her garden was a beloved location for the local cats to wander through. Sure enough, only a few seconds after Felix had taken up her position by the window, a confident tabby cat wandered into view.

Felix’s head swivelled to see him. She leaned forward eagerly, eyes fixed firmly upon this newcomer. The tabby looked straight back somewhat cockily. He was a chubby thing, his weight and handsomely groomed pelt showcasing that somebody somewhere really loved him, and he gazed at Felix with all the arrogance of a cat who knows his own worth, and is free to roam wherever he likes outside. (The latter was a luxury that Felix was prohibited from enjoying while staying at Jean’s – the railway worker daren’t risk losing the famous Felix!)

This was not the first time Felix had encountered her own kind. She’d even had a (celibate) romance once, going off regularly with a feral stray who’d hung about the station waiting for her, courting her with mice he’d killed. (Angie Hunte had not approved of the love affair; she’d thought he was too ‘rough’ for her baby.) But the feral black cat had not been seen for a good few years now.

More recently, Angie had seen Felix interacting with a sleek white cat, who would wait for her by the disused train carriage on platform two. Unlike her more brazen former boyfriend, who used to come right up to the office door to court Felix, the short-haired pale cat seemed to have better manners and never imposed himself in such a way. He was a clean, well-groomed pussy who seemed rather reserved. Angie had never seen Felix go off with him as such, but every now and then the two cats would both sit by the disused carriage and gaze at one another coolly, like two teenagers early on in the night at a school disco who are both too scared to cross the dancefloor and confess their love. Perhaps a romance would blossom between them one day, but it was a little too early to tell.

Romance was definitely not on the cards that Christmas Eve at Jean’s house, as Felix glared at the fat tabby cat through the French windows. It was more of a stand-off. The tabby, however, ultimately had the upper paw, being free to come and go as he pleased, while Felix was trapped behind glass. In the end, it was the tabby who triumphantly declared the stand-off over. He sauntered smugly on, the sassy wiggle of his ample backside seeming to sneer at Felix as he went.

He returned a few times before it got dark that day, appearing to enjoy taunting her. Nor was he the only visitor to the garden. Felix watched them all come. It was almost as though she had set up a post there by the windows: a diligent lookout set to defend Jean’s home. She observed not only the returning tabby, but another three cats as well: an all-black moggy, a piebald short-haired and a lean tortoiseshell, who seemed to show off by demonstrating her skills for catching birds. Felix gazed impassively at them all, unable to join in the fun.

Watching her, Jean couldn’t help but feel pity. She went off to set up a little display for Felix on her dining-room table: all the presents she would get to open the following day.

Well, ‘little’ may not be an accurate description, as Felix’s fans had been incredibly generous; the cat had been sent enough gifts to fill a huge Christmas gift bag. In fact, there had been even more presents – but there were only so many toys and treats that Felix could play with or eat in one lifetime. Therefore Felix’s lady-in-waiting, Angela Dunn, had arranged for the extra presents to be passed along to a local cats’ charity, so that cats less fortunate than Felix would also receive a gift that Christmas.

Hearing the intriguing rustling sound of gift-wrapped packages, Felix soon came trotting over to investigate. She leapt up on to the bare wood table to have a nosy round. The gift bag was a close-up illustration of Father Christmas’s belly – of the buttons and the belt round his middle, which were straining from his girth. Jean allowed Felix to have a happy little sniff at the tantalising scents emanating from the gift bag – much as an indulgent mother might let an excited child shake the boxes under the tree – but eventually she encouraged the cat to move on.

‘Now, now,’ she scolded lightly. ‘No more of that. You’re not allowed to have them till tomorrow.’

Jean was really looking forward to a nice, chilled Christmas with Felix: just the two of them hanging out together on the festive day. Jean was an avid reader, currently right in the middle of devouring How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn, and she was anticipating cosying up on the settee with Felix for hours on end as she turned the pages and listened to the cat’s contented purring.

Before they settled in for the night that Christmas Eve, Jean outlined to Felix one last house rule. She was about to go upstairs to get changed – and she didn’t want Felix to follow her. As she tried to sneak out of the living room, Felix came charging towards her, wanting to come too.

‘No, Felix,’ Jean said, apologetically.

Jean kept a tall glass vase on her stairs and had a bright white duvet in her bedroom, and neither seemed likely to survive long with a black-haired station cat on the loose. Gently, she eased out of the room, managing to shut the glass-paned door with Felix on the other side of it. The glass in the door was clear, so she could still see Felix, who looked back at her with a mournful expression.

‘Stay here,’ Jean said. ‘I’ll be right back, I promise.’

When she returned a short while later, Felix was still sat waiting for her behind the glass, like a convict in prison on visiting day. Jean felt bad, but she knew it was for the best. She carefully opened the door and crept inside. Felix seemed not to have any hard feelings though, for as she took out her book and sat down on her sofa, Felix leapt up on to her knee and climbed over her shoulder to the back of the settee. There, she spread herself out, all along the back of it, looking like a discarded stole in a film starlet’s dressing room. Calm and content, it was a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve night. And tomorrow, Jean knew, would be more of the same.

Ding-dong!

Jean and Felix looked at each other in surprise. Though some of Jean’s family were due to pop by later, it was 9 a.m. on Christmas morning and she wasn’t expecting any guests yet.

‘Who’s that at this time?’ she asked Felix in confusion, as she went to answer the door.

‘Hiya!’ exclaimed an old friend cheerily on the doorstep. ‘We just thought we’d pop by to say hello!’

She stepped swiftly inside, ushering her grown-up daughter with her, whom Jean hadn’t seen for many years. Once inside, the two of them looked around curiously, her friend immediately clocking that the living-room door was shut, which was unusual. It meant only one thing, much as it does when the Queen of England’s Royal Standard flag is flown at Buckingham Palace: Queen Felix was in residence.

‘Oh!’ her friend said mock-innocently, as though only just remembering. ‘You’ve got Felix this Christmas, haven’t you?’

‘I have,’ said Jean with wry amusement. She was under no illusion that they had come to see her – the station cat was clearly the main attraction. ‘Would you like to meet her?’

‘Oh yes please!’ both women chorused happily, clapping their hands together with joy. So Jean introduced them. They had their cuddle and then – after only another five minutes of chatting – they swiftly took their leave.

Not half an hour after their departure, the doorbell rang again. Once more, Jean heaved herself off the sofa and went to answer the door.

‘Happy Christmas!’ cried a young man on the doorstep. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages, Jean!’ There was a beat. The railway worker waited patiently, knowing all too well what was coming. ‘Am I right in remembering that you have Felix this year …?’

‘I do,’ said Jean, opening the door wide and shaking her head with resigned acceptance of her lowly position in her own household. ‘Come on in, you.’

So he too entered and had a Christmas selfie with the station cat before making his way off for lunch with his family.

Not half an hour later, the doorbell rang once more.

‘Surprise!’ chorused some old family friends. ‘We were just driving past and we thought we’d dash in to see you …’

Jean replied drily, ‘She’s in the living room.’

Nor was that the last of them. All morning, Jean was up and down like a yo-yo. She’d never had so many guests on Christmas Day. So much for her quiet Christmas! She took to calling out, ‘Felix, come here! Somebody has come to see you,’ as each visitor arrived. Though the guests were genuine friends, very often they’d be followed by someone that Jean had never met before. ‘I’ve brought so-and-so with me,’ her friend would say, rather breezily. ‘She’s such a huge Felix fan. I hope you don’t mind …?’

And Jean didn’t – for she knew first-hand what a very special cat Felix was.

Felix seemed to relish the attention. It was helpful that the guests had unknowingly staggered their arrival, for Felix sometimes struggled to meet big groups all at once, but, as first one friend and then another stopped by, Felix was quite happy to meet these individuals one-on-one. In fact, she had a whale of a time. She looked much more like a star at a red-carpet film premiere than a cat at Christmastime, as the cameras snapped and her fans fawned dreamily over her.

Sometimes, however, Felix looked at her visitors lazily, choosing not to comprehend their requests for a more dynamic shot. In such instances, Jean would intervene.

‘Let me try this,’ she’d say brightly. She picked up one of the toys from Felix’s Christmas gifts – a long wooden stick with a hot-pink feather on the end – and energetically waved it in front of Felix’s black-velvet nose.

Well, that always got the railway cat moving, like a train pulling swiftly out of the station.

Swipe! Felix’s paw stretched out and reached for it.

Pounce! She was up on her feet and dancing like a boxer in the ring.

Grab! It will be mine!

Jean could entertain her for hours with it, as her friends (and their friends) snapped away with their smartphones, taking lots of shots of the station cat in action.

By lunchtime, there was a lull in visitors – enough for Felix finally to be formally given her gift bag of presents. Jean knew what a clever cat Felix was, and that she didn’t need any help opening them. Felix was five – she’d been given plenty of gifts over the years, so she knew all about how to unwrap them. Jean fetched the gift bag from the dining-room table and placed it on the floor for Felix.

Wiggle wiggle wiggle went the cat’s whiskers, as she investigated the gift bag thoroughly. Sniff sniff sniff went her nose. She could smell that there were Christmas treats in there … And, with a cat like Felix, once she had identified that a treat was in the vicinity, there was literally no stopping her. Not thirty seconds after Jean had put the bag on the floor, Felix had dived upon it to make it tumble to its side; and not thirty seconds after that, she was head-first inside Santa’s big belly. She was in her element then, pulling out package after package, tearing off the wrapping paper with her sharp white teeth and revealing just what a good kitty cat she’d been all year. As well as the treats, there were catnip pillows and mechanical mice, and yet more sticks with feathers on the end. Though the treats, understandably, garnered most of her attention at the beginning, later on she singled out a yellow felt mouse that she happily played with all afternoon.

Eventually, darkness fell beyond the French windows. ‘We can chill out now, Felix,’ Jean announced. ‘Surely nobody else is going to come round now!’

In fact, they did have one more visitor after sunset, the final fan in a very busy day, but after they had left Jean felt it was safe to batten down the hatches and truly relax in her favourite pink dressing gown. Wanting to wash away the day first, she went upstairs to have a quick shower before changing. She went on to autopilot as she climbed the stairs, her brain already turning back to Llewellyn’s classic book and the convoluted lives of its characters. What is going to happen next? she wondered. Who will live and who will die? What secrets might be revealed next?

Not until she started to descend the stairs, wrapped up in her cosy pink dressing gown and with herself rather pink from the hot shower too, did Jean suddenly remember that she hadn’t closed the door. Oh no, she thought, her heart beginning to pound. Just what mischief will that cat have got up to now …?

First one step, then the next; slowly, she walked down her stairs. She imagined all manner of chaos – the glass vase knocked over, stolen food … Or might Felix have even hidden herself away upstairs somewhere, so that Jean would have to spend the rest of the night hunting for her? Felix was known to be a fan of hide-and-seek at the station and was really rather good at it. Oh dear God, Jean thought with increasing panic, what if I can’t find her …?

But as Jean rounded the corner of the stairs she saw there was no need to worry at all. Though the glass-paned door was wide open – just as she had left it – Felix sat in the exact same spot she would have done if it had been closed. It was as if there was an invisible line marked on the threshold of the living room and Felix had not crossed it. Knowing the rules – knowing that Jean had said she could not come upstairs – Felix had listened and obeyed.

Well, that was a turn-up for the books! Jean felt her heart melt to see her sitting there so obedient and mature. The rampaging kitten she had once nurtured – and chastised – at the station was long gone. It was almost as if Felix had sat and passed a test; in her knowledge of the rules and decision to abide by them, it really showed that she was out of her kitten phase and undeniably an adult.

There was something a little sad in that moment for Jean, to know that Felix’s childhood – even her adolescence – was now well and truly over. But mostly she just felt proud. ‘You clever cat, Felix,’ she told her warmly. ‘What a very good girl you are.’

There was a final twist in the tale. After an evening spent reading on the sofa, Jean gave a yawn and decided to retire to bed. She went round turning off the lights and locking up the house, ready to head upstairs and slip beneath her snow-white duvet.

She was very nearly done in her preparations; all she had left to do was to shut Felix in. At the living-room door, she paused for a second, looking down at the lovely little black-and-white cat. Felix had been following her around like a shadow, but as they’d reached the threshold she’d stopped patiently in the doorway, knowing that she could not pass.

Felix looked at Jean. She blinked those big green eyes and Jean felt something dislodge inside her. ‘I was so good earlier,’ those eyes seemed to say, so very persuasively. ‘Don’t you think I deserve a reward …?’

Jean wavered only one moment more. ‘Oh, come on then,’ she said indulgently. ‘Come on upstairs with me, Felix.’

The cat didn’t need telling twice. Formally given the green light, she shot up those stairs faster than Usain Bolt. And the station cat went to sleep that night not in a cat basket or on a cat blanket downstairs, but curled up with Jean in her cosy bed … atop the finest white linen money could buy.

She really was a very clever cat.