Molly and the Cat Cafe

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Molly and the Cat Cafe Page 13

by Melissa Daley

I let out a long yowl of pain as a searing sensation pierced me from the inside. My body convulsed with an agony that seemed to fill my entire being, from my nose to the tip of my tail. I felt like I was being consumed from within and could do nothing except succumb helplessly. I collapsed, breathless, my head lolling over the cushion’s edge.

  ‘Mum, what’s wrong, why is she just lying there?’ I heard Sophie ask nervously.

  ‘Come on, girl, you’re nearly there.’ Debbie was rubbing my cheek in an effort to wake me up.

  ‘She’s gone to sleep, look!’ Sophie lifted one of my eyelids, but my eye had rolled up into my head as I began to drift out of consciousness. ‘How will we get the kitten out, if she won’t push?’

  I didn’t hear Debbie’s response. Everything fell silent as I gratefully sank into a blissful blackness. I don’t know how long I remained that way, but the next thing I knew I was jolted awake by a searing pain. Debbie was on the floor by the windowsill, her face close to mine.

  ‘Come on, Molly, you can do it!’ Her voice was loud and commanding.

  Pain pulled and tugged at every fibre of my being, and I wanted nothing more than to fall back into the delicious darkness of sleep. But Debbie seemed determined not to let me, rubbing me between the ears every time I closed my eyes. Buoyed up by her dedication, I summoned the energy for one final push. In my exhausted state it took longer than before, and I was aware of Debbie and Sophie holding their breath as I bore down one last time.

  They both gasped as my fifth kitten emerged. I collapsed back onto the cushion and panted for a few moments, ecstatic relief mixed with exhaustion flooding through me. I was too weak to prop myself up, so Debbie tended to the kitten, then held it in front of my face for me to see. ‘A bit of a bruiser, this one. Must have smarted a bit. Good on you, girl!’ she said in admiration. I looked at the kitten. He was twice the size of the others and, unlike his siblings, jet-black with a white blob on his chest. Just like his dad, I thought with a smile.

  Before long all five kittens were feeding contentedly. Debbie ran upstairs to find a bottle of champagne, surprising Sophie by giving her a small serving of her own. They clinked glasses but, before taking a sip, Debbie shouted, ‘Hang on a minute, we mustn’t forget the proud mummy!’

  A couple of minutes later she placed a saucer of cream on the windowsill next to me. I purred my appreciation but, before I could even take a lick, I fell fast asleep.

  24

  The following morning Debbie carried me, and my five sleeping kittens, upstairs to the flat. She placed our cushion carefully inside a wide cardboard box next to the living-room fireplace. ‘There you go, Molls,’ she said when I lifted my head drowsily to look around. ‘I thought you might want a bit of peace and quiet.’

  The next few days passed in a haze of contented exhaustion. Debbie and Sophie came and went, eating at the table, watching TV, chatting on the sofa, but their lives receded into a background blur to which I was largely oblivious. I was perpetually tending to the kittens, seemingly feeding or cleaning one of them at all times. Day and night had little meaning for me; I slept whenever the kittens slept, regardless of whether the room was lit by sunshine or moonlight. I occasionally clambered out of the box to eat from the dish that Debbie had placed nearby, but other than that I remained inside our cardboard fortress, interested only in the immediate concerns of my offspring.

  Debbie periodically came upstairs to check on us. She tiptoed over and peered inside the box, beaming when she found all five kittens blissfully kneading me while they fed. ‘Aw, look at them, Molly. Aren’t they gorgeous?’ she clucked, and I basked sleepily in her admiration.

  ‘What are you going to call them?’ I heard Jo’s voice say one evening. She had come up to the flat, to see the kittens for the first time.

  ‘Goodness, I haven’t even thought about names yet,’ Debbie replied. ‘I’m going to have to learn to tell them apart first!’

  The kittens were about ten days old. Their blue eyes were beginning to open and they emitted helpless high-pitched squeaks whenever they were picked up.

  ‘This one’s my favourite,’ said Jo indulgently, lifting one of the tiny tabbies in the palm of her hand. ‘Look at that adorable splodge of white on her pink nose. I could just eat you up!’ she said tenderly to the mewling kitten.

  I lay in my box, vicariously enjoying the praise being lavished on my brood.

  ‘Yes, she is a cutie, isn’t she?’ Debbie agreed. ‘Well, I think she’s a she. Of course we can’t be sure just yet.’

  ‘She looks like a Purdy to me,’ Jo said, grinning sideways at Debbie.

  ‘Purdy,’ Debbie repeated thoughtfully, taking the kitten from Jo’s hands and examining it closely. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ she agreed, and Jo clapped her hands like an excited child. ‘Purdy pink-nose,’ Debbie said.

  ‘With a white splodge,’ Jo added.

  ‘Yes, that might help me to recognize her,’ Debbie said seriously.

  Having decided on a name for one kitten, Debbie felt obliged to do the same for the rest of the litter, and she and Sophie spent an evening on the living-room floor studying them closely, looking for inspiration in their markings and nascent personalities.

  ‘I think this little one’s a Maisie,’ Debbie said about the smallest tabby, who was already showing signs of being the shyest of the five. ‘And this big brute of a thing,’ she said, picking up the squirming jet-black boy, ‘needs a proper boy’s name.’

  Unable to come to any agreement, Sophie moved to the sofa to consult cat-naming websites on her phone. As the evening wore on, they dismissed countless names with increasing alacrity.

  ‘Jeffrey? You can’t call a cat Jeffrey!’ Sophie jeered, as Debbie held the black kitten aloft.

  ‘I think it sounds very distinguished,’ Debbie said defensively.

  ‘Mum, it’s a middle-aged accountant’s name. You can’t do that to him!’

  It was a long evening, but Debbie would not go to bed until they had agreed on names for the whole litter. Eventually, with the help of Sophie’s phone, they had reached a consensus on names for all five. Debbie knelt down next to the cardboard box and pointed to each kitten in turn.

  ‘Tabby-with-white-splodge: Purdy. Tabby-without-white-splodge: Bella. Tabby-with-white-tail-tip: Abby. Shy-tabby: Maisie. Black-and-white-boy: Eddie. Agreed?’

  Sophie nodded wearily.

  ‘Phew, thanks goodness for that,’ Debbie said, holding her hand up to high-five Sophie. ‘We can go to bed now.’

  By the time they entered their fourth week the kittens were becoming more sociable, beginning to clamber out of the cardboard box and explore the room beyond. I revelled in their proud exhibitionism, loving the way they egged each other on into acts of increasingly acrobatic dexterity. They played energetically for hours, before falling suddenly asleep mid-game, huddled together on the rug or sofa cushion.

  I had begun to leave them alone for short periods, allowing myself brief trips downstairs to the café and the street outside. Spring was in full swing: the air smelt heady with pollen, and songbirds were busy tending to their young in the trees. I never stayed out for long, knowing that the kittens became distressed if they noticed my absence. Nevertheless I savoured the brief moments I had to myself, appreciating every second of my rediscovered independence.

  Some of the café’s regular customers, noticing that I no longer slept in the window, had asked after me. Debbie explained that I was on ‘maternity leave’ from the café and had moved upstairs to the flat for the time being. Whenever I appeared at the bottom of the stairs, customers would turn and look, keen to give me a stroke and congratulate me on motherhood. I lapped up their attention, grateful that for once I was being fussed over, rather than the kittens.

  One Saturday morning I was lying in the cardboard box feeding the kittens while Debbie and Sophie ate breakfast. Debbie tore open a letter as she sipped her tea. ‘Oh, my God.’ She placed her hand over her mouth in shock.

  ‘What is it
?’ Sophie asked, alarmed. Debbie’s hand was shaking as she reread the contents of the letter. ‘Mum, tell me!’ Sophie insisted.

  ‘It’s from the Environmental Health,’ Debbie replied. ‘Someone has reported the café for a breach of health-and-safety – for having a cat on the premises.’ Her face had gone pale and her lip was starting to tremble. ‘“The café licence clearly states that no animals are to be allowed on the premises,”’ she read. ‘“Breach of this regulation will result in the immediate closure of the business on hygiene grounds.”’

  She and Sophie stared at each other across the table in silence.

  ‘Oh, my God, Soph, what are we going to do?’ Debbie asked, her voice wavering. She looked over at the kittens, who had finished their feed and were scrambling out of the cardboard box, ready to play. ‘If they could close us down for having one cat, what will they do when they find out there are six!’ she said, pressing the palm of her hand against her cheek.

  Sophie took the letter from her mum to read it herself. ‘Look, don’t panic, Mum. It’s just talking about the café. It doesn’t say anything about the flat. As long as we keep them up here, we’re not in breach of anything.’

  ‘Keep them up here?’ Debbie laughed mirthlessly. ‘That’s fine for a few more weeks, but look at them, Soph – they’re on the move already. This flat’s hardly big enough for you, me and Molly, as it is. Let alone with six of them! And Molly needs to go outside – it’s cruel to keep her cooped up in here.’ Debbie looked like she was about to burst into tears.

  Sophie stood up and put an arm around her mother’s shoulder in a show of support. ‘Oh, Mum, it’ll be all right. We’ll find a way round it,’ she soothed.

  ‘It’s just so typical, Soph. Just as things were starting to go right, for a change.’ Debbie started to sob, impervious to Sophie’s attempts to reassure her.

  I climbed out of the box and walked over to Debbie, partly because I felt she needed me, but also because I needed reassurance myself. Debbie’s reaction to the letter was ominous, and I was frightened to think what it might mean for me and my kittens.

  Debbie lifted me carefully onto her lap and held my face between her hands. ‘Oh, Molly,’ she said sadly.

  I looked into her tear-filled eyes, waiting for her to tell me that things weren’t as bad as she feared and that everything would be okay, but she didn’t say a word. As I watched the fat tears roll down her cheeks, I felt the first pangs of alarm that my happy life in the café might be about to come to an end.

  25

  ‘But who would have reported us? All the customers love Molly.’ Debbie’s toast lay uneaten on her plate as the letter’s meaning began to sink in.

  She stood up and began to pace across the room, clutching the letter in her hand. Eddie crouched on the rug, wiggling his bottom from side to side as he prepared to pounce on her feet. Oblivious to his presence Debbie dropped onto the sofa, her face a picture of consternation. Within seconds, Eddie had scampered across the rug and started to climb up her trouser leg.

  ‘I think I can guess who did it,’ Sophie said glumly.

  Debbie looked up, confused.

  ‘There’s an old lady who walks past the café every day,’ Sophie continued, sitting down on the sofa next to Debbie. ‘Dyed hair, face like she’s sucking a lemon.’

  ‘With the shopping trolley?’ Debbie interjected. Sophie nodded. ‘I know the one.’ A puzzled frown was beginning to form on Debbie’s brow. ‘But she’s never said a word to me. What’s the café to her?’

  ‘Well, she has spoken to me. Lots of times,’ Sophie replied, lowering her eyes.

  Debbie stared at Sophie, confused. ‘When? What’s she said?’

  ‘She’s usually at the bus stop when I get back from school,’ Sophie said quietly. ‘At first she just gave me dirty looks, then she started muttering about how people like us are ruining the town – that we’re not welcome here and never will be.’

  ‘People like us?’ Debbie repeated, the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sophie shrugged. Debbie’s face was flushed with anger and indignation. She looked like she was about to speak, but she bit her lip and told Sophie to carry on.

  ‘It just kind of grew from there. Every time she passed she would make some comment, usually about you. Stupid stuff, like “She’ll run that business into the ground” or “No one in their right mind would eat food that she’s prepared.” I just ignored her, I thought she was crazy.’

  Debbie’s mouth fell open. ‘What the . . . ? How dare she, the miserable old—’ She stopped in mid-sentence as a thought struck her. ‘But, Sophie, why haven’t you told me any of this before?’

  Sophie looked down, avoiding her mother’s gaze. Purdy had crawled onto her lap and was washing herself proudly, showing off the grooming techniques that I had taught her.

  ‘I figured she was just a mad old woman. And I didn’t want to worry you, Mum. You were so down about the business already. I thought it would be the last straw.’

  ‘So you kept it to yourself? Oh, Soph, you shouldn’t have done that.’ Debbie’s eyes were brimming with tears, and when I looked across at Sophie, I noticed that hers were the same.

  ‘I was really scared, Mum. You kept saying how the café was your new start, and I knew you were worried about the locals not accepting you. I thought if you knew what she was saying, you’d decide to have another fresh start somewhere else.’

  ‘Oh, Soph, I would never do that,’ Debbie protested.

  ‘But you’d already done it once, Mum. You made the decision to come here, didn’t you? You took me out of school, made me leave all my friends. I never asked to come here, did I? How was I to know you wouldn’t do the same thing again?’

  Debbie’s head dropped and I saw tears falling onto Eddie, who was rolling in her lap, batting the tassels on the hem of her jumper. Debbie wiped her eyes and turned to face Sophie. ‘I promise you, Soph, I will never make a decision like that again without talking to you first. And I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this on your own. I should have known something was going on.’ She put her hand on Sophie’s leg, where it was immediately pounced on by Purdy.

  Sophie nodded and smiled tearfully, gently trying to prise Purdy off her mother’s hand. Purdy immediately twisted round to attack Sophie’s fingers, biting her thumb as ferociously as she could with her tiny teeth. ‘I don’t know why, Mum, but for some reason that woman’s had it in for you from the start. I guess seeing Molly in the window just gave her the excuse she needed.’

  By now, all five kittens had joined Debbie and Sophie on the sofa. Bella and Abby were walking along the cushions behind them, their tails veering from side to side as they tried to maintain their balance; Purdy and Eddie were playing on Sophie and Debbie’s laps, and Maisie was washing on the sofa arm by Debbie’s elbow.

  ‘And now look at us!’ Debbie said, wiping her eyes and gesturing towards the kittens surrounding them. ‘The old battleaxe would have a field day. She thought one cat was bad. What would she do if she knew there were six?’

  Sophie laughed and stroked Purdy, who, worn out by playing, had curled up in a tight ball next to her leg. ‘But seriously, Mum, what are we going to do with them? Can we really keep them all in the flat?’

  Hidden inside the cardboard box, I pricked up my ears.

  ‘For now we don’t have any other choice,’ Debbie answered. ‘The kittens aren’t even a month old yet – they’re too young to be separated from Molly. But beyond that . . . I’m not sure, Soph. It’s a small flat, and Molly’s not used to being solely an indoor cat. We’ll have to think of what’s best for her.’

  Debbie’s response worried me. She had sidestepped the question and there was something in her tone that suggested resignation. The only certainty I could take from her words was that, as long as the kittens were dependent on me, we would remain in the flat. It wasn’t much comfort, but it was all I had.

  The next time I stepped into the hall, I d
iscovered that a large piece of plyboard had been placed across the top of the stairs, blocking my access to the café. Although I understood that Debbie had no alternative, I felt my throat constrict every time I looked at it. It was a stark reminder that I was now confined upstairs and, in effect, a prisoner in the flat.

  Gazing at the skyline from the living-room window was a poor substitute for being able to come and go as I pleased. My loss of liberty was largely symbolic – since the kittens were born I had chosen to spend most of my waking hours with them in the flat – but I bitterly missed my short forays into the café and the outside world. They had been fleeting moments of independence for me, when I was – however briefly – free from the responsibilities of motherhood. Meeting customers in the café, or being out in the fresh air, reminded me that life outside the flat continued, and that I still had an identity beyond being a mother to my kittens.

  Knowing there was nothing I could do about my confinement, I devoted all my energy and attention to the kittens. They were becoming more adventurous and sociable by the day, and I was constantly surprised by their physical and emotional development. Although Eddie had remained significantly larger than the others, he had a gentle, diffident nature and was easily cowed into submission by his sisters. Maisie was the most nervous of the five, springing into the air with her tail fluffed at any sudden noise or movement. Bella and Abby were a tight duo, always play-fighting together, and Purdy was by far the most mischievous and extroverted of the litter. She was always the first to explore new parts of the flat, prising open doors with her paw while the others watched intently from the sidelines.

  Watching my kittens grow was a bittersweet experience. I found them endlessly fascinating and longed to see what changes their development would bring next. But with those changes came the certainty that, eventually, they would no longer be dependent on me. When that time came, I knew Debbie would have to decide what was going to happen to us. I tried to put thoughts of the future out of my mind but, when the kittens were asleep, I couldn’t help but wonder where they would end up and what my future would hold when they had gone.

 

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