‘What? Why would I be cross? What’ve you got there, Linda?’ Debbie asked, a slight note of anxiety in her voice.
I looked sideways to see Linda standing on the doormat holding a large cardboard box. Smiling with excitement, she walked across the café and, with great care, placed the box on the counter.
‘I know you said no more gifts,’ she explained, ‘but I thought this would be the exception. It’s for the business really. I think it’s just what the café needs.’
I sat up on my cushion, wondering what the café could possibly need that it didn’t already have. I craned forward attentively as Debbie, with a look of trepidation, pulled the box towards her and flipped open its cardboard flaps. What I saw made my stomach contract: from inside the box, a pair of dark-brown, pointed ears appeared, quickly followed by the fine-boned face of a Siamese cat.
‘This is Ming!’ Linda exclaimed.
Debbie’s mouth had fallen open. Speechless, she stared at the cat, who was looking around in wide-eyed alarm.
‘Linda! What have you . . . ? You’re not – you can’t . . .’ Debbie stammered.
‘Now look, Debs. I know what you’re going to say, but just hear me out,’ Linda insisted. ‘I’ve been working here for a week, and I think you’re missing a trick. Molly and her kittens are lovely, of course, but they are – well, just moggies. I think it would really add to the café’s appeal to have something a little more exotic in the mix. You know, to give the customers something a bit special to look at.’
‘Linda, this is ridiculous,’ Debbie replied with a mirthless laugh. ‘We’re talking about cats, not . . . clothes, or soft furnishings. You can’t just throw a new cat into the mix. Our cats are a colony, for goodness’ sake. This . . . Ming . . . will be an outsider.’ She looked in desperation at the Siamese cat, whose disembodied, dismayed face was still peering out from between the box’s cardboard flaps.
As Debbie talked, Ming turned to face her and let out a throaty, plaintive yowl. Debbie raised her eyebrows in surprise at the noise, which was far deeper and louder than anything I or the kittens could produce. Her expression softened and she instinctively reached to stroke Ming between the ears. I watched with narrowed eyes, feeling the hairs on my back bristle with envy.
When Linda next spoke, her voice was wheedling. ‘Ming’s owners put an ad in the paper. They’re expecting a baby, so decided to rehome her. How anyone could give away such a beautiful creature is beyond me . . .’ Linda trailed off, leaving the thought of such wanton cruelty hanging in the air. ‘She’s two years old, and has been spayed and vaccinated,’ she added matter-of-factly, as if this would surely clinch the deal.
Debbie withdrew her hand from the box and began to rub her forehead in consternation. ‘But, Linda, it’s not that simple, is it?’ she frowned. ‘This is a cat café. What if Ming’s temperament doesn’t suit it here? She might hate living with other cats. And they might not like her.’
‘Well, okay, that’s a possibility,’ Linda shrugged dismissively. ‘But we won’t know till we try, will we?’ She looked shrewdly at her sister, sensing that Debbie’s resolve was wavering. ‘Why don’t you give it some time and see how Ming settles in? If she seems unhappy, then you can rehome her. But at least give her a chance. What’s the worst that can happen?’
I fixed my eyes on the back of Linda’s head, allowing images of the worst things that could happen – both to Ming and to Linda – to run through my mind.
Debbie groaned and slumped against the serving counter. Just say No! I wanted to scream, wishing I could jump onto the counter and slam the cardboard flaps shut on Ming’s beautiful, bemused face.
‘Okay, fine,’ Debbie said at last, looking at Linda across the tips of Ming’s ears. ‘We’ll give her a few days and see how she gets on.’
Linda started to bounce up and down on the spot with excitement.
‘But only as a trial,’ Debbie added sternly. ‘This is not a done deal. The cats’ welfare comes first.’ She leant over the side of the box and I heard the resonant rumble of Ming’s purr as Debbie began to stroke her.
I had seen enough. I jumped down from the windowsill and crept, unnoticed by the sisters, past the counter and upstairs to the flat. Beau was lying in the hallway, and lifted his head drowsily as I passed. There was no aggression in the gesture, but I growled at him anyway. He instinctively averted his head, frightened I would take my anger out on his scab-covered nose. I strode past him into the living room, jumped onto the armchair and began to wash myself. But as I licked my flank furiously, Linda’s words played on a permanent loop in my head. ‘They are . . . just moggies,’ she repeated over and over again, the disdain in her voice amplifying each time.
8
The following morning I crept downstairs early. The cardboard box had been moved to the floor between the serving counter and the fireplace. It looked empty and, as I moved silently across the floor, I indulged myself in the fantasy that Ming had escaped through the cat flap overnight and was at this very moment roaming the streets of Stourton, frightened and alone. But as I picked a path between the tables and chairs, I noticed Eddie sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, gazing in rapt concentration at one of the armchairs.
‘Have you . . . seen?’ he asked.
I stepped closer and followed his eye-line. Curled up in a perfect crescent on the armchair, Ming lay sound asleep. Everything about her cream-and-chestnut-toned body oozed elegance, from her chiselled cheekbones to her dainty feet, which looked as if they had been dipped in liquid chocolate from ankle to toe.
‘Who is she?’ Eddie whispered.
‘Her name’s Ming. Linda brought her last night,’ I replied curtly.
At that moment Ming’s body twitched and her huge eyes opened dramatically, to reveal two orbs of the most intense blue I had ever seen. Beside me, Eddie gasped in surprise, or possibly admiration. Still prostrate on the cushion, Ming blinked, then unfurled her slender legs into a sideways stretch, throwing her head back against the cushion. As her mouth opened into a yawn, I saw the curve of her pink tongue behind pristine white teeth. Fully awake now, she looked around, and her azure eyes focused on me and Eddie on the flagstones before her.
She tilted her head quizzically to one side but said nothing, and I felt Eddie shifting uncomfortably next to me.
‘I’m Molly, and this is Eddie,’ I said, aware that my words didn’t quite convey the authoritative tone I had hoped for. If anything, they seemed to confirm our status as supplicants eager for Ming’s attention.
Her eyes narrowed slightly and flicked from Eddie’s face to mine, but still she said nothing. I began to feel an impotent rage fizz in the pit of my stomach. How dare she! Who does she think she is? My cheeks burnt under my fur as I tried to preserve some semblance of dignity in the face of such insolence.
Within a couple of minutes, the patter of paws in the stairwell heralded the arrival of the other kittens. Maisie appeared first, raising her tail and heading across the room to greet me and Eddie. She jumped in alarm, on noticing Ming on the chair above us, instinctively diving behind me for protection. Purdy, Abby and Bella were not far behind, and soon they too were prowling around the hearth, throwing curious glances up at the feline stranger. Ming, meanwhile, lay resplendent on the armchair, looking down superciliously at us all.
I surveyed Ming with mounting dislike. I’ve had enough of this, I thought. Aloof, superior, rude . . . Ming seemed to possess every attribute that I had tried hard not to encourage in the kittens.