The Real Ale Trail is a drinkers’ voyage through the best real ale pubs in the region, all of which are located a stone’s throw from a railway station, so that revellers can hop on and off trains while imbibing their favourite beverages all night long. It’s rather like a traditional pub crawl on steroids. And though many fun-seekers pursued their passion for real ales with grace and decorum, others were not quite as considerate of their fellow passengers and more than a few ended up steaming drunk. (A poster of guidelines for the trail that hung at the station tellingly included the obvious advice: ‘Use the pub toilets, not the platform!’) Team leader Dan took to nicknaming the ‘witching hour’ when these pubs would kick out their worse-for-wear revellers as ‘idiot o’clock’. It wasn’t unusual for screaming drunks to holler at each other across St George’s Square on such an evening, or to sprawl across the front steps of the station with pizza boxes and bottles of beer, before continuing their anti-social debauchery within the station, as they sought to get home via a late-night train. Felix, sensibly, always took this as her cue to clock off; she would tuck herself away in one of her hidey-holes to avoid a confrontation with the inebriated travellers.
The rest of the time, however, she usually felt pretty safe at the station. She had once had a bad experience, when she was much younger, which had made her wary for a while, but she had long since managed to get over that. So when a chap who had been on the razzle all morning, downing drinks in the sunshine, suddenly appeared at the station midway through one weekend afternoon, she didn’t immediately sense any danger. It wasn’t idiot o’clock, nor even night-time, and Felix thought there was nothing to fear.
She was out by the benches on platform one that day, twisting her way lovingly between the legs of anyone who would let her. As she wandered, she heard the familiar hiss of a train’s brakes as a service pulled into the station. She was so used to the noise by now that it did not faze her, but she did glance up along the platform to observe passengers disembarking. Were any of them new friends, come to visit the station cat?
As she watched, she spotted a potential target for affection as he stumbled awkwardly off the train. Eagerly, Felix began trotting up to the young man, her attention also caught by the bright-yellow hi-vis vests worn by the two people who accompanied him, and who were now talking sternly to him.
But these people were not Felix’s TPE colleagues – nor even Adam Taylor and the Friends of Huddersfield Station. The hi-vis vests belonged to two officers from the British Transport Police. And the man they were talking to was in deep trouble.
He had been taken off the train for fare evasion. He was trying to argue back, slurring his words, as the officers discussed the matter with him, their voices calm as they tried to de-escalate the drama. They sat him down on a nearby bench while they stood beside him, continuing to reprimand him for his crime.
Felix, watching, took the action of the man sitting down on one of ‘her’ benches as an invitation to come closer. She approached insouciantly, her interest piqued. The man within her sights was a young lad in his early twenties, who was casually dressed for his day out drinking. As Felix received attention from such a wide variety of people, it seemed to her that he was just as likely to be a fan of hers as a child or an elderly lady. Basically, in Felix’s mind, anyone was fair game when she was in the mood for attention. She trotted nearer, quite happily, occasionally dipping her head to the ground to sniff out secrets, her fluffy tail flicking back and forth.
The young man raised his hands irritably, remonstrating with the male and female officers and getting more and more worked up. Felix, however, perhaps thought his gesture a game, for she walked even closer.
As she did so, the movement caught the eye of the young man. He watched her wander closer, his eyes narrowing tightly. His cross frown was etched fully into his forehead. His cheeks were flushed with rage. He was really angry, but somehow Felix did not seem to see it. Uncharacteristically unable to sense the tension, she merely drew nearer, her tail flicking lazily with the knowledge that she was queen of all she surveyed and no one could or would dare to attack her.
But that was where Felix was wrong.
Felix continued to walk nearer; the cops continued to rebuke the man. Further down the platform, team leader Dan suddenly noticed the way the fare-dodger’s eyes were fixed meanly on Felix. Dan had been staying out of the situation, leaving the officers to do their jobs, but as he saw Felix step closer to the troubled young man, his heart began to pound with fear.
His instincts were justified. As soon as Felix was close enough, the man petulantly lashed out his leg at the innocent cat, trying his hardest to kick her.
Seeing the man’s cruel, violent action, a switch flipped in Dan and he barrelled down the platform towards his fluffy friend, running as fast as he could. He felt rage rising within him, his fear for Felix making his voice sharp.
‘You: off!’ he shouted at the man. ‘Off the station now. Officers, he needs to leave this station immediately. He tried to kick Felix. That’s animal abuse! Get him off this station now!’
Colour flushed into Dan’s cheeks, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. Though he had no children, he nevertheless felt a fatherly protection towards Felix. It was as if the young man had tried to kick his daughter – and he was not having it! While Dan had respectfully kept his distance, Felix had not known to do the same. She was a cat, after all. Yet the man had not seen that innocence. He had only seen red.
Now he saw only the station whizzing by as the officers acted on Dan’s instruction, also outraged by the man’s attack on Felix. He was urged to leave at once – and escorted off the premises sharpish.
Dan watched him go, but he felt no sense of triumph, only concern for Felix. He quickly bent down to tend to her. Very luckily, the man had not made contact, but an inch or two could have made all the difference.
‘Are you OK, Felix?’ Dan asked the cat worriedly, his fingers fumbling through her fur as he checked for any damage.
Felix pressed her head against his hand, as if to reassure him. She had darted out of the way of the man and had suffered no bruising at all. But it was a reminder that not all humans could be trusted.
That perhaps explained why, in June, she reverted to her old wary ways. That month, the Sky Sports presenter Jeff Stelling made a visit to Huddersfield station as part of his fifteen-day March for Men charity walk: a 400-mile trek through which he hoped to raise £500,000 for Prostate Cancer UK. As that was the same charity for which Felix had raised funds from her bestselling book, a suggestion was made that Jeff should meet Felix as he came through Huddersfield on his walk. A media photo call was duly scheduled and the two famous fundraisers were introduced on film.
It was the station manager, Andy Croughan, who brought Felix out to meet Jeff on the front steps of the station on that cloudy summer’s day. She seemed a little grumpy, having just been woken from a nap, but deigned to pose for the camera in Andy’s arms as the silver-haired Jeff grinned tiredly. He was absolutely exhausted after his endeavours, but valiantly tickled Felix on the cheek and beamed beside her. Unusually, Felix often turned her head away from the many cameras trained upon her. She seemed rather more interested in this man who was sharing her limelight. She sniffed hard at Jeff’s face and looked him square in the eye, as though trying to determine who this interloper was. Felix was used to being a solo star.