Мелисса Дэйли - Molly And The Cat Cafe

‘Because you drank it the night the kittens were born,’ Sophie replied drily.

‘Well, I should have bought some more to replace it,’ Debbie yelled. ‘Anyone would think we don’t have enough things to celebrate in this flat!’ A few moments later she reappeared, carrying a bottle and two wine glasses on a tray. ‘Right, I’m afraid this is the best I can do,’ she said, placing the tray on the dining table.

‘Oh, Mum, what is that?’ Sophie asked, picking up the bottle dubiously. ‘Lambrini Cherry? Are you kidding?’

‘I know, but it’s the best we’ve got. I won it at the tombola at the school Christmas fair, remember?’ She peeled off a paper raffle ticket, which had been taped to the neck of the bottle, then poured the fizzing pink liquid into the glasses.

‘To Molly’s Cat Café!’ Debbie toasted merrily, clinking her glass against Sophie’s.

Sophie took a sip, winced, then ran into the kitchen to spit her mouthful into the sink. ‘Urgh, that’s rank, Mum,’ she shouted, rinsing her mouth with tap water.

Debbie picked up the bottle and examined the label. ‘Hmm. Expiry date was October of last year. That might explain the vinegary tang. Never mind.’ She took the bottle into the kitchen and emptied it down the plughole.

The following fortnight passed in a state of frenetic activity as Debbie prepared for a final inspection by Environmental Health. She spent her days making adjustments to the café, while I listened to the goings-on from behind the plyboard panel at the top of the stairs. The installation of a new gate next to the serving counter – designed to block feline access to the kitchen – was of little interest to me, but my ears pricked up with curiosity when I heard her accept a large delivery from a pet-supplies van parked outside. When John was set to work in the alleyway with a saw and long pieces of timber, I pressed my nose against the living-room window, eager to see what he was building, but all I could make out were the offcuts of wood that he threw into the recycling bin. Debbie spent her evenings in the flat with Sophie, whose exams were at last finished, and together they devised dishes for the new cat-themed menu.

‘How about Tummy Tickler Teacakes?’ she asked Sophie, tapping her cheek thoughtfully with her pen.

Sophie nodded enthusiastically. ‘Frosty Paws Cake-Pops?’ she suggested in return, while Debbie scribbled keenly on her notepad.

‘We’ve got to have some tuna on there somewhere. It’s Molly’s favourite, after all,’ Debbie insisted. ‘What about tuna-melt muffins, with grated cheese?’ Sophie suggested. ‘Perfect,’ Debbie smiled, as my mouth began to water.

When the day of the inspection arrived, Debbie was agitated. She paced around the flat, unable to eat any breakfast, and smiled wanly when Sophie shouted, ‘Don’t worry, Mum, it’ll be fine,’ on her way out.

At the appointed time, Debbie ran down to the café and I listened from the top of the stairs as she showed the Environmental Health Inspector around the premises. She sounded calm and businesslike as she answered his questions, proudly displaying her colour-coded cleaning materials – red for the cat area, blue for the kitchen – and showing him our vaccination certificates. At last Debbie walked the inspector to the café door, bidding him farewell and closing it carefully behind him. Then I heard her squeal and she raced up the stairs.

‘Guess what, Molly – we passed!’ she shrieked, leaping over the plyboard panel and scooping me up into the air.

Her excitement was infectious and I let her spin me around in the air, even though it made me dizzy.

‘Would you like to go downstairs and explore your café?’ Debbie asked the kittens as they frolicked around her, sensing her mood. With mock-solemnity, she removed the plyboard barrier and ushered them onto the top step.

Purdy led the charge, with the others following behind, all of them torn between excitement and fear. I brought up the rear of the procession alongside Maisie, who preferred to stick close to me for reassurance. When she reached the bottom step, Purdy paused, suddenly cowed by the size and unfamiliarity of the café. Behind her, the kittens formed a nervous queue. I slipped past them to stand on the café floor, encouraging them to follow me. They inched slowly forwards, taking cautious, precise steps across the flagstones as they gazed around them, their eyes wide with wonder.

Only when they had all stepped onto the flagstones did I turn to look too. The café felt instantly familiar. I quickly spotted my trail of paw prints on the floor, and my gingham cushion in the window. But dotted around the café, between the tables and chairs, were scratching posts, polythene play tunnels and platform towers. Debbie had placed two cosy armchairs in front of the stove, each with a cushion reading ‘Reserved for the cat’ propped against its back. On the floor between the armchairs was a basket full of cat toys, which Abby and Bella wasted no time in emptying onto the floor, where they began to bat a catnip mouse between them.

When I turned around I saw that John had fixed wooden planks to one of the walls in a zigzag formation, to make a walkway that led up to a small hammock suspended from the ceiling. Purdy immediately mounted the lowest plank and, flicking her tail from side to side, sashayed up to the hammock at the top. She climbed inside and stared triumphantly down at her siblings.

Debbie and I stood in the middle of the café, watching them play. ‘Do you think they like it, Molly?’ she asked, and I purred at her. I knew they loved it. I did too.

32

Molly’s Cat Café opened for business the following week. I took my role as the café’s figurehead seriously, sitting on my cushion in the window, looking out onto the street with pride. There was a noticeable buzz around the café on launch day: Debbie had draped bunting in the window, and a large chalkboard stood on the pavement outside, declaring the café ‘Open for Coffee, Cake and Cuddles’. Inquisitive passers-by gathered in front of the glass to peer inside, and a glimpse of the kittens was often enough to tempt them through the door.

Just before lunchtime, my meditative daze was interrupted by the sound of wheels rattling on the cobblestones outside. I opened my eyes to see the old lady with the shopping trolley striding past the café, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. I instinctively braced myself for confrontation, but she kept her eyes fixed on the pavement, determined not to look in my direction. Watching her trundle away, I felt a glow of satisfaction. Behind me, Debbie was happily handing out menus and taking orders, while delighted customers played with the kittens. The old woman’s attempt to sabotage the café had failed, and there was nothing more she could do to hurt us.

In those early days I sometimes had to open my eyes and look around, to be sure that the cat café was not a dream. Ever since my incarceration in the flat I had prepared myself for the worst, imagining the regretful look on Debbie’s face as she broke the news that she had found new homes for the kittens and me. I had rehearsed the scene in my mind so many times that it felt real, and I would sometimes wake from a nap with a jolt, convinced that when I opened my eyes I would find that the kittens had gone.

About a week after the café’s relaunch, I was woken by the tinkling of the bell on the door. Still half-asleep and momentarily panicked, I scanned the café to check that all the kittens were present. Reassured that there was no cause for alarm, I watched drowsily as a woman pushed an elderly lady in a wheelchair through the café to a table.

I lowered my chin to my paws and closed my eyes, but something prevented me from drifting off. There was a scent in the air that I recognized, but could not place. Unable to sleep, I jumped down from the armchair and followed the scent trail across the café. Unaware that I was stalking up behind them, the two customers murmured to each other as they perused their menus. My feeling of unease was growing, evoking a sensation that I could only describe as homesickness. When I was a few paces away from the customers, I stopped dead in my tracks. My mind and senses were suddenly alert with recognition: the scent was lavender.