We proceeded down a long, carpeted corridor lined on both sides with doors. Debbie rapped gently on one of them and, as she eased open the handle, the food smells in the hallway gave way to the scent of lavender. More than anything else, it was this fragrance that instantly transported me back to my life with Margery, when every item of clothing and piece of furniture was infused with her lavender eau de toilette. I inhaled deeply, and peered through the wire door of the carrier at the L-shaped room, which was like a pared-down version of the bungalow we had shared. All around me were familiar pictures, ornaments and knick-knacks; the bed was draped with the same blue-and-yellow crocheted blanket that I used to sleep on, and the darkwood chest of drawers was covered with framed photographs of her family, just as I remembered it.
A recess next to the bathroom had space for two armchairs in front of a window that overlooked the care home’s landscaped grounds. Margery sat hunched in one of the chairs, silhouetted by the bright light pouring through the windowpane beyond. As we moved closer, I made out the wispy waves of her silver hair, which appeared almost translucent in the sunlight.
‘Hello, Margery – it’s Debbie from the cat café. How are you?’ Debbie said brightly.
Margery lifted her head slightly and her papery skin creased into a smile. ‘Well now, who’s this?’ she asked, catching sight of the carrier. My heart swelled at the sound of her soft, tremulous voice.
‘This is Molly. She used to be your cat,’ Debbie answered.
‘Molly, what a lovely name!’ Margery said.
Debbie fiddled with the clasp on the carrier door and I walked over to sit by Margery’s feet. She tilted the top half of her body sideways to look at me over the arm of her chair, her watery blue eyes gazing into mine. When she lowered a shaky hand towards me, I immediately rose up on my hind legs to rub her knuckles affectionately with my cheek.
‘Molly, eh? What a pretty cat,’ Margery cooed.
‘She used to be your cat, Margery,’ replied Debbie from the corner of the room, where she was filling a kettle at the sink. ‘She lives with me at the café now, but I’ve brought her to visit you.’
‘Oh, how lovely,’ Margery clucked, tickling my ears as best she could with her stiff, crooked fingers. ‘She looks like she’s wanting a cuddle,’ she smiled, leaning back in her chair and smoothing down her pleated wool skirt. I hopped up, making sure that I landed softly on her thin legs, with my claws fully retracted. I steadied myself in the centre of Margery’s lap and gazed up at her face, allowing a deep purr to rumble in my chest as she stroked me.
Debbie carried over two cups of tea and sat down on the armchair opposite Margery’s. ‘I’ve brought you a Cat’s Whiskers Cookie from the café. I know they’re your favourite.’ She pulled a paper bag out of her handbag and handed it to Margery.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ Margery repeated, carefully placing the bag on the arm of her chair.
They sipped tea and Margery took delicate bites of her cookie while Debbie chatted about the café, the kittens and the weather. As they talked, I allowed myself to drift into a doze on Margery’s lap, savouring the fact that, for the first time since Linda had turned up at the café, I felt truly relaxed. There was something inherently comforting about Margery’s small, tidy room overlooking the manicured lawns; whenever I was here, I felt as if all the responsibilities and irritations of adulthood had fallen away and that I was a kitten again, and life was simply a matter of feeling safe, warm and loved. I let out a contented noise that was part purr, part chirrup, and stretched out luxuriously on Margery’s legs. I would have been happy to stay in that calm, sweet-smelling room, with the two people who meant most to me in the world, forever.
My purring stopped momentarily when Debbie drew her phone out of her bag and brought up a picture of Ming. ‘We’ve got a new cat staying with us at the moment. A Siamese – look,’ she said, handing the device above my head to Margery.
‘A what?’ Margery said, her brow furrowing. She plucked her glasses from the cord around her neck and pushed them onto her nose. ‘Ooh, very fancy,’ she remarked, and I felt my fur begin to bristle as she studied the screen. She handed the phone back to Debbie with pursed lips. ‘But those fancy-looking cats are terribly fussy,’ she added gravely.
‘Well, you might be right, Margery. We’ll have to wait and see.’ Debbie chuckled, dropping the phone back into her bag. My purr resumed even more loudly than before, and I burrowed my face into the folds of Margery’s skirt.
The comforting ambience of Margery’s room stayed with me for the entire journey home, right up to the point where Debbie pushed open the café door and carried me inside. I was greeted by what, at first, appeared to be the usual Sunday afternoon scene: Maisie was scratching vigorously at the trunk of the cat tree, and I was aware of Abby and Bella racing up the wooden walkway that zigzagged up the wall by the door. As Debbie lowered the carrier to the floor, I saw Jasper washing on one of the armchairs in front of the stove, while Eddie chased a catnip mouse across the flagstones. My eyes followed him as he scampered towards the window, deftly batting the stuffed mouse back and forth between his front paws.
Only when Eddie reached the skirting board did I notice Ming watching him, motionless and sphinx-like, from the windowsill above. From my cushion. Eddie crouched victoriously over the mouse, and I saw him glance up at Ming. The look he gave her was one he had given me on many occasions. It was a look that said, Want to play? Ming stared back at him, her head tilted, her blue gaze curious.
I was seized by a sudden feeling of panic that, locked inside my carrier, I seemed to be invisible to all the other cats in the room. The warm feeling of well-being that I had carried since seeing Margery was giving way to an ice-cold rage. I had been gone for just a morning, and already Ming had taken my place, both literally and figuratively, while all I could do was watch from behind the bars of my carrier. And the worst of it was that neither Jasper nor any of the kittens appeared to think anything was wrong.
10
‘Because it’s my cushion, that’s why.’
Jasper had followed me out onto the doorstep and was looking at me with a mixture of bafflement and concern. ‘But, you weren’t here. How was Ming supposed to know the cushion’s yours?’
My tail thrashed angrily by my feet; my initial shocked dismay had been replaced by unadulterated fury, and Jasper’s attempts to reason with me were making things worse. ‘You could have told her!’ I hissed, turning to face him, my eyes narrowed. ‘But then I suppose you were all too busy playing happy families to think about me.’
I turned away to look down the parade, feeling my eyes prickle and my heart thump. I was cross not only with Jasper, but also with the kittens, for not telling Ming that the window cushion belonged to me; they should have known I would not take kindly to such an invasion of my personal territory. But it wasn’t just the fact that she had been on my cushion that had upset me. It was something intangible that I had sensed as I observed them from the carrier: an atmosphere of relaxed familiarity, which had seemed to pervade the whole room and suggested, to me, that the kittens and Jasper felt quite comfortable in Ming’s presence, and she in theirs.
Jasper sat beside me, looking contrite, but I was not in a forgiving mood.
‘Oh, never mind,’ I muttered, pushing past him and back through the cat flap. With as much dignity as I could muster, and keeping my eyes fixed on the flagstones in front of me, I strode through the café and upstairs to the flat.