Кейт Мур - Full Steam Ahead, Felix

‘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.