As for Felix, she found that the fuss over her was really quite extraordinary. If she was out on a patrol and a fan spotted her, all hell would break loose. That fan would run to her, exclaiming with glee, taking pictures and stroking her. And their excitement would cause all the other commuters on the platform to look around wildly.
‘What’s going on?’ they would say, curiously.
Then they’d spot the cat, and her celebrity would precede her, making her immediately recognisable. In an instant their cameras would be in their hands and they’d all be calling to her.
As the news spread that the station cat was out and about, it was as though the sun was slowly emerging from behind a grey Yorkshire cloud, lighting up the faces of all those present. People’s expressions literally changed from shadow to smile as they rushed to record their meeting with Queen Felix. Some curtseyed to her as they met; others became really chatty. A four-year-old girl in a purple padded coat and hot-pink trousers plonked herself happily next to Felix on the floor one afternoon and proceeded to tell her all about her brand-new shoes, which were pink and turquoise and covered with images of smiling cartoon cats. Others burst into tears upon meeting her, because she had grown to mean so much to them and they couldn’t believe they were finally getting to stroke and cuddle this very special cat.
Though it must have been intimidating, Felix held court as though the dedicated attention and heartfelt emotion were nothing less than her due. Her tail would be straight up, proud and perfect, its little white tip acting like a tour guide’s clipboard, held aloft to indicate that people should follow. She caused a commotion wherever she went: a saunter through the concourse via the booking office, for example, would see all the people in the queue sigh dreamily. So intent would they be on photographing Felix that they’d unwittingly lose their place in the queue and have to start their wait all over again. Yet any half-hearted complaint would soon fade to silence as they scrolled through their smartphone and caught sight again of their fluffy friend, now caught forever on film.
Out on the platforms, meanwhile, people would literally follow Felix as she strolled along the platform, snapping away. At such moments, she prowled along as though the platform was a catwalk at a fashion show and she had been headhunted to model the latest trends. From left to right, her bottom would wiggle gaily, while her white-capped paws padded with perfect timing so that those watching could capture the glory of her glamourpuss saunter. She was a proper little poser, in fact – holding still with professional poise as a man with purple headphones angled his phone to take her portrait, and moving again only once his work was complete.
As though conscious of the commotion she caused, however, Felix’s favourite spot for a meet-and-greet remained the former customer-information point, which was tucked out of the way so she didn’t hold up the station’s business. It was Felix’s happy place. From here, she could hear what was going on in the back office – the slam of doors, laughing voices and even the occasional decisive stamp of a stapler – yet also keep an eye and ear on the proceedings out on the platform. She liked to face into the wind, which would at times bend her white whiskers, enjoying the breeze blowing through her fur. It acted almost as a natural hairdryer, styling her for her next celebrity appearance.
But Felix wasn’t always ready to meet her fans. So many came these days that it was inevitable that Felix, eventually, would run out of patience, something her fans didn’t always understand. She might have willingly spent time posing, but after a while she would stalk off, her independent feline spirit summoning her away. Some fans, however, followed her, bent double as they walked, so that they could keep on stroking her. Others walked along backwards, snapping her like a pack of paparazzi.
One afternoon, a big group of excited lads surrounded her. They had loud voices that echoed around the station as they struggled to pull their posh camera kits out of their bags to snap the station cat. At their boisterous cries, Felix’s green eyes widened in alarm.
Luckily, just at that moment, one of her colleagues happened to come along. He opened the door leading to the back office as he went through it and Felix, seizing her chance, darted swiftly after him. The door closed firmly behind them both.
‘Bollocks,’ brayed a young man harshly, as the cat disappeared from view.
For Angie Hunte, Angela Dunn and all the other team members, Felix’s welfare had to come first. That was more important than ever, now that so many people were coming to meet her. They soon learned to ‘read’ Felix, and began to know whether she was in the mood for meeting fans or not. If she was having a doze in the ladies’ locker room and some fans came calling – ‘Is Felix playing out?’ one little girl once asked – Angie Hunte would respectfully knock on the door before entering to see if Felix was free. Felix was still Angie’s little girl, so she treated her with the same care and kindness that she would any child of hers who was being woken from a nap.
‘Felix,’ she would call softly, tapping gently on the door and opening it slowly so as not to cause alarm. ‘There’s somebody here to see you …’
Sometimes Felix was more than willing to make her fans’ dreams come true and would happily come out to say hello. At other times, it was all too much, especially if she’d already been in demand that day. On such occasions, she would fix Angie with a strong, non-negotiable look in her green eyes that clearly said, ‘You just try disturbing me, missus.’ At such a time, even a single step towards her would provoke a guttural growl and Angie would know to back away and go out to break the bad news. The broken looks of disappointment were hard to bear, especially if they were children or had travelled a long way, but the team had to put Felix first.
Angie learned to interpret Felix’s moods when she was out and about, too. If the cat had chosen to sit on one of the metal benches that were spaced along the platforms, she very much wanted attention and eagerly sought out strokes with insistent prods of her fluffy black head. If she was sat up at the erstwhile customer-information desk or curled up on the lobby’s grey striped carpet, meanwhile, she was in an easy-come-easy-go mood, and would be pretty laid-back if anyone approached her. When she chose to sit at the bike racks, she normally wanted to be left alone. That was ‘her’ space and ‘her’ time, and she did not always look kindly on having it disturbed.
All manner of people came to see her at the station: men and women, old and young, locals and people on their travels. For team leader David Jackson, however, there was one visitor – or should I say four? – that he would never forget.
It happened on one of those early spring days, when you can feel the promise of warmer weather on its way. David was out on the platforms that afternoon when he was approached rather officiously by a lady in a short-sleeved shirt. She carried two cotton tote bags, one over each shoulder, and had a manic energy to her, as though excitement was buzzing through her veins.
‘I’ve come to see Felix!’ she announced, straight to the point.
As with all the other members of the Huddersfield team, this was a statement that David had already heard several times this shift. He already knew that Felix was off on a patrol somewhere, so he apologetically broke the news. ‘I’m sorry, but Felix is out and about and we don’t know where she is.’
‘But …’ the woman began, as though she couldn’t process that response. ‘But I’ve brought my cats to see her!’
At this extraordinary statement, David looked closer at the two bags that were resting upon her shoulders. Sure enough, they were moving, as though each held a couple of animals …
‘Er, how many cats do you have?’ David asked, uncertainly.
‘Four!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Look, this little one looks just like Felix, so I had to bring him down!’