Molly and the Cat Cafe

28

Debbie picked up the phone to call the council first thing on Monday morning.

‘Yes, hello, I’d like to speak to the department that looks after cafés and food outlets. Yes, thank you, I’ll hold . . . ’ She tapped the handset and looked out of the window, waiting to be put through. ‘Oh, yes, hello. This might sound like a bit of a strange enquiry, but I’d like to speak to someone about turning a café into a cat café. Yes, a cat café. No, not a café for cats – a café for people, with cats in it. Okay, yes, I can hold . . . ’

As she was repeatedly put on hold and passed between departments, her initial enthusiasm gave way to frustration. She glanced at her watch and drummed her fingers on the table. No one she spoke to was sure to whom she actually needed to speak; the only thing they were sure of was that it wasn’t them.

‘Oh, yes, hello,’ she repeated wearily, after being put on hold for the fourth time. ‘I’m trying to find out who I need to speak to about opening a cat café. I was just wondering what it might involve . . . Right, I see. Okay, thank you.’

Debbie placed the phone back in its cradle and rolled her head from side to side. I was lying on the dining table next to the phone, hoping that my presence would offer moral support.

‘Well, Molly, apparently we need to write a letter. Why it took the best part of an hour to establish that, I’m not entirely sure. But a letter must be written, so a letter I shall write. Although not until I have had a cup of coffee.’

That evening Jo popped in for a chat and a play with the kittens. ‘So how did you get on with the council this morning?’ she asked, lifting Purdy out of the cardboard box for a cuddle.

Debbie threw her head back in despair. ‘Well, apart from the fact that no one at the council has ever heard of a cat café, and they aren’t sure which department would be responsible for one, plus they don’t know what licences would be required, or what the hygiene regulations might be, or whether animal-welfare organizations need to be consulted . . . Apart from all of that, the answer to your question is: I got on great!’

Jo grimaced, before burying her face in Purdy’s fur to blow a raspberry on her back.

At dinner that evening Debbie relayed her experience with the council to Sophie, and broke the news that the cat-café idea still seemed a long way off. Sophie looked annoyed and opened her mouth to speak, but Debbie cut her off. ‘I know what you’re going to say, Soph – don’t give up. And I’m not giving up, I just wanted to warn you that this isn’t going to be a quick or easy process, and we can’t assume that we’re going to get the answer we want from the council.’

Sophie’s shoulders dropped and she sighed. ‘Well done, Mum. I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.’

That night I was woken by a strange sound. I lifted my head inside the cardboard box, my ears flicking as I tried to detect the source of the noise. I padded out of the living room, my senses on high alert. I could hear gurgling noises from the radiator pipes in the hall, but I could also detect a faint hissing coming from the café. I stood at the top of the stairs, my tail twitching. I knew that I risked Debbie’s anger if she discovered me creeping downstairs under cover of night, but my instincts were telling me something was amiss. In the end it was the thought of my kittens sleeping in the next room that made up my mind: something was wrong, and it was my duty to investigate.

I launched myself at the plyboard panel, scrabbling over the top and knocking it backwards as I dropped onto the stairs. I slipped down the staircase, pausing on the bottom step to take in the sight of the café, which I had not seen since the night I gave birth. I felt a pang of longing when I noticed that my gingham cushion was still in place on the windowsill, as if waiting for my return. I hoped its presence was a sign that Debbie believed I would, one day, be allowed back in the café.

The hissing sound was coming from the kitchen, so I crept past the serving counter through the doorway. Instantly my fur prickled in alarm. The air smelt strangely sweet and thick. It made my nose tingle, and after a few breaths my head started to swim. I followed the sound of hissing to the boiler, which was emitting creaking metallic noises. There was water trickling down the wall behind it, a steady stream that was already forming a pool on the kitchen floor and was spreading out across the tiles.

I turned and made my way quickly out of the kitchen and upstairs to the flat. I paused to take some deep breaths of clean air in the hallway, before running up the second flight of stairs to Debbie’s bedroom. Debbie was fast asleep and did not stir when I jumped onto the quilt beside her, or when I walked alongside her body and stood next to her face. I lifted one paw and tapped her lightly on the cheek. Her nose wrinkled and she lifted her hand, as if swatting a fly away, but her eyes remained closed. I patted her again, more insistently. This time she opened her eyes, startled to find me looming in front of her face. ‘Oh, Molly, it’s you,’ she murmured sleepily.

I meowed, trying to convey the urgency of the situation.

‘Shh, girl,’ she said, lifting her hand sleepily to stroke my back. I meowed again, louder this time, and patted her cheek for a third time. ‘Molly, I’m sleeping – leave me alone,’ she protested. She closed her eyes and rolled away from me, pulling her pillow over her head.

In desperation, I jumped from the bed onto her dressing table which was crowded with plastic bottles and pots of make-up and old lipsticks. It was hard to find space for my feet among the cotton-wool pads and hairbrushes. After all the weeks I had spent chastising my kittens for destructive behaviour, I was aware of the irony of my current predicament. I felt guilty even contemplating it, but I knew what I had to do: I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then swiped firmly across the contents of the dressing table with my paw.

Immediately there was a loud clattering, as the first bottle toppled over and knocked those around it, which in turn dislodged some small plastic pots and a wooden cup full of make-up brushes. In a matter of seconds half the contents of Debbie’s personal toilette had rolled off the dressing table and bounced across the bedroom floor. The cacophony had the desired effect. Debbie threw the pillow across the bed and sat bolt upright, her hair sticking to one side of her face.

‘Molly, what on earth are you playing at?’ she shouted angrily. I jumped onto the bed and stood across her legs, meowing in the most commanding tone I could manage. Debbie leant over and switched on her bedside lamp, looking at me irritably. ‘Molly, what is it?’ I jumped down from the bed and scratched at her bedroom door, looking at her over my shoulder. She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘This had better be good, Molls.’

I ran down the stairs to the landing. Debbie followed at an infuriatingly slow pace, pulling on her dressing gown as she stumbled sleepily along the hall. I ran to the end of the hallway and waited for her at the top of the stairs to the café. As she got nearer, Debbie noticed the piece of plyboard lying on the floor.

‘Molly, where do you think you’re going? You’re not allowed down there,’ she said sternly. I walked over the plyboard and placed one foot on the first step, trying to entice her to come after me. ‘Hey, Molly, I said you’re not allowed down there.’ She moved along the dark hallway and bent down to scoop me up. As she was about to lift me off the floor, she stopped. She stood up straight and sniffed. ‘Oh, my God, is that gas?’ she said, suddenly alert.

She raced past me down the stairs past me and I heard her run into the kitchen below.

‘Oh, my God, the gas is leaking! What do I do?’ she shrieked.

As I ran after her into the kitchen I saw that the pool of water underneath the boiler had spread across the kitchen floor. The air was thick with the pungent smell of gas, making my throat constrict and my eyes water. Debbie was standing in front of the boiler, one hand over her mouth in shock.

‘Windows!’ she shouted, and ran to the back of the kitchen to throw open the windows onto the alley. Then she grabbed the key to the back door and opened that too. She ran past me into the café and did the same in there, and soon the cool night breeze was blowing from the cobbled street in front to the alley at the back. Debbie stood by the kitchen door, swinging it back and forth by the handle, to increase the flow of fresh air into the room. The smell of gas quickly began to disperse, although the ominous hissing sound and the dripping of water onto the kitchen floor continued.

‘Sophie!’ she exclaimed suddenly. She closed the kitchen door and stood for a moment with her hand on the key, looking uncertain. ‘Door open or door shut, Molly?’ she asked me desperately. I chirruped helplessly, wishing I knew which was the correct answer. ‘You’re right, Molly. Better to leave it open. You’ll watch out for burglars, won’t you? I’ll just be a second.’ I stood dutifully by the open door while Debbie sprinted through the kitchen, then took the stairs two at a time up to the flat. I could hear her shouting as she ran along the hallway, ‘Sophie! You need to wake up, sweetheart. We’ve got a gas leak!’

A few moments later Debbie came tearing down the stairs again, a dishevelled Sophie staggering sleepily behind her. Sophie screwed up her face as the smell of gas hit her for the first time.

‘Right, everybody onto the street,’ Debbie ordered.

‘Are you kidding, Mum? It’s freezing out there. Can’t we just wait inside?’ Sophie protested.

‘Sophie. In case you hadn’t noticed, we have a gas leak, which could not only be poisonous, but is also highly flammable. No, we cannot wait inside.’ Debbie bustled Sophie through the café door and out into the cobbles. ‘Come on, Molly, you need to come with us,’ she said impatiently, as I stood in the middle of the café twitching my tail. ‘Molly! Come on!’ Debbie shouted, her patience wearing thin. She dashed back inside and tried to put her arms around me to lift me up, but I wriggled and twisted out of her grip. As soon as I had struggled free I ran back towards the stairs. ‘Molly, what are you playing at? You need to come outside!’ Debbie had never shouted at me like this before, but I was not about to let her anger deter me.

‘She wants to get her kittens, Mum,’ I heard Sophie say from the street. ‘She doesn’t want to leave them upstairs.’

Debbie groaned. ‘Oh, of course, the kittens.’ I could hear the exasperation in her voice.

I started to creep stealthily up the stairs, knowing that, if necessary, I could carry all the kittens to safety without her help.

‘Okay, Molly – fair enough, but we’ll have to be quick. Sophie, you stay there and don’t move.’

‘Are you kidding, Mum? I’m not going to stand out here on my own in the middle of the night! Besides, there are five kittens, and only one of you. It’ll be quicker if I come.’ Sophie was standing in the café doorway, hands on her hips, silhouetted by the street light behind. Debbie stood between us, clutching her hair as she tried to decide what to do. Still waiting on the stairs, I was losing patience with her procrastinating.

‘Oh, all right then, come on!’ Debbie cried, and the three of us stampeded upstairs to the flat. ‘I’ll need to find the carrier,’ Debbie gasped, trying to catch her breath after running up the stairs for the second time in a matter of minutes. ‘And then I’ll need to join the gym,’ she panted, as she steadied herself against the banister.

Sophie and I left her throwing coats and shoes out of the hallway cupboard as we ran into the living room. All the kittens were inside the cardboard box, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding around them.

‘Got it!’ Debbie shouted in a voice that was verging on hysterical. She appeared in the living-room doorway, triumphantly clutching the carrier, even more flustered and red-faced than she had been before. She ran across the room to the cardboard box, unlocking the front of the carrier as she went. ‘Right, come on Soph, gently does it,’ she said.

The kittens started to squirm as she and Sophie picked them up, one by one, and placed them swiftly inside the carrier. By the time all five were inside they were wide awake, mewing and clambering over each other, confused at finding themselves incarcerated in a plastic box. I stayed close to the carrier as Debbie used both hands to lift it and we made our way, in a clumsy huddle, back along the hallway and down the narrow staircase.

Outside on the street, Debbie plonked the carrier down on the cobbles and sighed with relief. ‘They’re heavier than they look, you know!’ she said to Sophie, by way of explanation for her shortness of breath. She slipped her hand into her dressing-gown pocket and pulled out her phone.

It was chilly outside and I could see goosebumps on Debbie’s legs as she stood next to a shivering Sophie. She pressed the screen of her phone, then held it to her ear.

‘Come on, come on – please pick up,’ she whispered, bouncing up and down on the spot in agitation. She stopped moving suddenly and I heard a faint voice at the other end of the line. ‘Oh, hi, John. I’m really sorry to call you so late. It’s Debbie.’