Мелисса Дэйли - Christmas At The Cat Cafe

That was when it struck me: an idea of such self-evident simplicity that I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me before. I sat up on the window cushion and fixed Debbie with a stare. She was looking at Jo intently over the rim of her mug and, in the dancing light from the fire, I thought I could make out the faintest trace of a smile around her lips.

I hoped and prayed she was thinking the same thing as me.

29

I rose before dawn on Christmas morning and slipped outside before anyone else was awake. The sky turned incrementally paler as I made a solitary circuit of the churchyard and, by the time I reached the square, the orange sun had peeped over the skyline to reveal a glittering frost on the rooftops. I sat beneath the elm tree and took a moment to enjoy the peacefulness of the scene, in anticipation of what I knew would be a hectic day. Sure enough, when I returned home, I climbed the stairs to find that the household had come to life during my absence.

A glance into the kitchen revealed the kittens, Jasper and Ming, breakfasting greedily from the food bowls, while in the living room Debbie, Linda and Sophie had gathered in their pyjamas to exchange gifts. I strode towards them with my tail aloft, pausing to look twice at Beau on the rug by Linda’s feet. He was dressed in a lurid green elf costume, complete with jester’s collar, faux buckle-belt around his belly and pointed hat. His face was a picture of abject mortification and, when he saw me looking at him, he lowered his chin miserably onto his paws, causing the tiny bell at the tip of his hat to tinkle.

Sophie was sitting on the floor by the sofa, happily engrossed in the instruction booklet for some new electronic device Linda had given her. Full of smiles, Linda stood up from the sofa and reached for a luxurious-looking gift box.

‘Now, I know we said novelty gifts only, Debs,’ she intoned grandly, ‘but I saw this and . . . well, I just had to get it for you.’

Narrowing her eyes in a look of mild scepticism, Debbie took the box onto her lap and lifted the lid. She hooted with amusement as she unfolded a kitchen apron covered from top to bottom in a lurid montage of cats’ faces, with the words Crazy Cat Lady printed across the front.

‘Gosh, thanks, Linda,’ she said. ‘This makes me feel so much better about what I’ve got for you.’ Her eyes twinkled and she handed over a rather more modestly wrapped gift to her sister.

Linda ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a sweatshirt emblazoned with a photo of Ming wearing a Santa hat. Have a Ming-ing Christmas! the garment exclaimed in shiny gold lettering.

‘I know how much you like Ming merchandise,’ said Debbie mischievously.

Linda pulled the sweater over her head and gave a little twirl on the rug. ‘I love it,’ she gushed, striking a pose for Sophie, who had raised her phone to photograph her aunt. ‘See, I told you Ming would wear the Santa hat!’ she added with an air of vindication.

‘She didn’t,’ Sophie said drily from behind her phone screen. ‘It’s Photoshopped.’

When everyone had showered and dressed, we all moved downstairs to the café. Debbie and Linda went straight into the kitchen to start work on lunch, but Sophie headed for the fireplace, where the pile of gifts from customers sat beneath the tree. ‘Come on, cats,’ she called, and the kittens trotted eagerly after her. Soon there was a frenzy of pouncing and shredding, as Sophie began to unwrap a seemingly endless succession of catnip mice and bags of treats.

‘A laser-pointer – cool!’ Sophie said, opening the last gift in the pile. She tore the pen-like toy from its cardboard packaging and aimed it across the room, making a dot of red light dance on the opposite wall, seemingly of its own accord. ‘Maisie, look!’ she urged, but Maisie and her siblings were more interested in the crinkling shreds of wrapping paper spread across the flagstones than in the dot of light on the far side of the room.

Ming, however, who until now had been observing the unwrapping process from her platform, appeared mesmerized. She jumped lightly down and prowled across the room, transfixed by the shimmering dot dancing across the wall. After a few stealthy wiggles of her hindquarters, she leapt upwards, her front legs outstretched and tail thrashing, trying to catch the wayward dot with her flexed claws.

‘Nice moves, Ming!’ Sophie giggled.

A few weeks earlier I would have delighted in seeing elegant, reserved Ming flinging herself around in such an ungainly fashion, but instead I felt touched that she had, finally, revealed her playful side. I took it as a sign of trust that she felt able, at last, to let down her guard with us.

As the morning wore on, a delicious aroma of roasting turkey began to drift out of the kitchen, drawing Eddie across the room to pace back and forth in front of the counter, sniffing the air hopefully. When John peered furtively through the window from the pavement, Sophie stood up to let him in, making sure to close the café door softly behind him. He placed a bag of gifts in an empty chair and immediately came over to sit beside my window cushion. ‘There you go, Molly,’ he whispered, adjusting my collar carefully with hands that smelt of soap.

John winked at me, then stood up and went over to the counter.

‘Happy Christmas, ladies,’ he shouted through the kitchen doorway. Debbie emerged from the steamy kitchen in her Crazy Cat Lady apron, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. ‘Nice apron,’ John murmured, stretching over the counter to give her a kiss.

‘Suits her, doesn’t it?’ Linda quipped, poking her head through the doorway from the kitchen. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’ she said cheerfully.

‘Already, Linda? We haven’t got the potatoes on yet,’ Debbie replied, glancing anxiously at her watch.

‘Yes, please,’ Sophie piped up from the armchair in front of the stove.

‘I’ll make it. You two take a break for five minutes,’ John said, pulling a stool over for Debbie.

Realizing she was outvoted, Debbie reluctantly sat down.

‘I’ll just get the Fortune Cookies,’ Linda said brightly, as John made his way around the counter.

‘Fortune Cookies?’ Debbie repeated, looking puzzled. ‘They’re not exactly festive, Lind. If you’re hungry, there are mince pies in the—’ But Linda had already followed John into the kitchen, and Debbie found herself addressing the empty doorway. She tutted and rolled her eyes, drumming her fingers on the counter while John and Linda assembled the tea things in the kitchen.

After a couple of minutes, they emerged with a tray full of mugs and the Tupperware box of Fortune Cookies.

‘I’ve got some new mottoes,’ Linda explained, rummaging around inside the box. ‘I’d like to know what you think.’

Debbie gave a defeated shrug and picked up a steaming mug, half-heartedly taking the cellophane-wrapped cookie Linda handed to her.

‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ John said, unwrapping his cookie. ‘ Fortune favours the brave ,’ he read.

Debbie nodded, albeit with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

‘Okay, how about mine,’ Linda said quickly. ‘ Some pursue happiness, others create it .’

Debbie remained taciturn.

Sophie placed her mug on the counter and cleared her throat. ‘ Your heart knows the answer your head has been searching for .’

‘Um, I think—’ Debbie began.

‘You haven’t read yours yet,’ Linda remarked offhandedly, cutting her sister off mid-sentence.

Debbie sighed and unwrapped the twist of cellophane that she had absent-mindedly placed on the counter. ‘ If there is a day to act on the love in your soul, it is today .’ She looked around at their expectant faces and smiled vaguely, as if sensing that diplomacy was called for. ‘They’re good Linda. Although, if I’m honest, I think the last batch was funnier,’ she demurred.