‘We should do the same, Mum. It’s obvious! We can keep Molly and the kittens, and the customers will love it.’
Debbie started to smile uncertainly.‘But that isn’t … We couldn’t … Surely it can’t be that straightforward?’
‘It could be, Mum,’ Sophie laughed. ‘There’s not just one of these places – they’re popping up all over the world. Cat caf?s are the in-thing right now, and in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Sophie gestured to the kittens, who had jumped onto the dining chairs and were now scaling the tabletop, ‘we’ve got the cats and we’ve got the caf?, so we’re practically there already!’
Debbie’s face wore a look of half-excitement, half-consternation, but Sophie was not done yet.
‘And I’ve been thinking, Mum. You can tweak the menu, you know? Cat-shaped cookies, cupcakes with whiskers – that sort of thing. The tourists will go crazy for it.’
Debbie laughed nervously.‘I don’t know, Sophie. It sounds lovely, but … could it really work?’
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out,’ Sophie answered decisively. ‘You need to ring the council and ask.’
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I could feel my stomach lurch with excitement. But, like Debbie, I couldn’t let myself get carried away. A voice in my head urged caution. It all sounded too good to be true.
28 [Êàðòèíêà: i_009.jpg]
Debbie picked up the phone to call the council first thing on Monday morning.
‘Yes, hello, I’d like to speak to the department that looks after caf?s and food outlets. Yes, thank you, I’ll hold … ’ She tapped the handset and looked out of the window, waiting to be put through. ‘Oh, yes, hello. This might sound like a bit of a strange enquiry, but I’d like tospeak to someone about turning a caf? into a cat caf?. Yes, acat caf?. No, not a caf? for cats – a caf? for people, with cats in it. Okay, yes, I can hold … ’
As she was repeatedly put on hold and passed between departments, her initial enthusiasm gave way to frustration. She glanced at her watch and drummed her fingers on the table. No one she spoke to was sure to whom she actually needed to speak; the only thing they were sure of was that it wasn’t them.
‘Oh, yes, hello,’ she repeated wearily, after being put on hold for the fourth time. ‘I’m trying to find out who I need to speak to about opening a cat caf?. I was just wondering what it might involve … Right, I see. Okay, thank you.’
Debbie placed the phone back in its cradle and rolled her head from side to side. I was lying on the dining table next to the phone, hoping that my presence would offer moral support.
‘Well, Molly, apparently we need to write a letter. Why it took the best part of an hour to establish that, I’m not entirely sure. But a letter must be written, so a letter I shall write. Although not until I have had a cup of coffee.’
That evening Jo popped in for a chat and a play with the kittens.‘So how did you get on with the council this morning?’ she asked, lifting Purdy out of the cardboard box for a cuddle.
Debbie threw her head back in despair.‘Well, apart from the fact that no one at the council has ever heard of a cat caf?, and they aren’t sure which department would be responsible for one, plus they don’t know what licences would be required, or what the hygiene regulations might be, or whether animal-welfare organizations needto be consulted … Apart from all of that, the answer to your question is: I got on great!’
Jo grimaced, before burying her face in Purdy’s fur to blow a raspberry on her back.
At dinner that evening Debbie relayed her experience with the council to Sophie, and broke the news that the cat-caf? idea still seemed a long way off. Sophie looked annoyed and opened her mouth to speak, but Debbie cut her off. ‘I know what you’re going to say, Soph – don’t give up. And I’m not giving up, I just wanted to warn you that this isn’t going to be a quick or easy process, and we can’t assume that we’re going to get the answer we want from the council.’
Sophie’s shoulders dropped and she sighed. ‘Well done, Mum. I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.’
That night I was woken by a strange sound. I lifted my head inside the cardboard box, my ears flicking as I tried to detect the source of the noise. I padded out of the living room, my senses on high alert. I could hear gurgling noises from the radiator pipes in the hall, but I could also detect a faint hissing coming from the caf?. I stood at the top of the stairs, my tail twitching. I knew that I risked Debbie’s anger if she discovered me creeping downstairs under cover of night, but my instincts were telling me something was amiss. In the end it was the thought of my kittens sleeping in the next room that made up my mind: something was wrong, and it was my duty to investigate.
I launched myself at the plyboard panel, scrabbling over the top and knocking it backwards as I dropped onto the stairs. I slipped down the staircase, pausing on the bottom step to take in the sight of the caf?, which I had not seen since the night I gave birth. I felt a pang of longing when I noticed that my gingham cushion was still in place on the windowsill, as if waiting for my return. I hoped its presence was a sign that Debbie believed I would, one day, be allowed back in the caf?.
The hissing sound was coming from the kitchen, so I crept past the serving counter through the doorway. Instantly my fur prickled in alarm. The air smelt strangely sweet and thick. It made my nose tingle, and after a few breaths my head started to swim. I followed the sound of hissing to the boiler, which was emitting creaking metallic noises. There was water trickling down the wall behind it, a steady stream that was already forming a pool on the kitchen floor and was spreading out across the tiles.
I turned and made my way quickly out of the kitchen and upstairs to the flat. I paused to take some deep breaths of clean air in the hallway, before running up the second flight of stairs to Debbie’s bedroom. Debbie was fast asleep and did not stir when I jumped onto the quilt beside her, or when I walked alongside her body and stood next to her face. I lifted one paw and tapped her lightly on the cheek. Her nose wrinkled and she lifted her hand, as if swatting a fly away, but her eyes remained closed. I patted her again, more insistently. This time she opened her eyes, startled to find me looming in front of her face. ‘Oh, Molly, it’s you,’ she murmured sleepily.
I meowed, trying to convey the urgency of the situation.
‘Shh, girl,’ she said, lifting her hand sleepily to stroke my back. I meowed again, louder this time, and patted her cheek for a third time. ‘Molly, I’m sleeping – leave me alone,’ she protested. She closed her eyes and rolled away from me, pulling her pillow over her head.
In desperation, I jumped from the bed onto her dressing table which was crowded with plastic bottles and pots of make-up and old lipsticks. It was hard to find space for my feet among the cotton-wool pads and hairbrushes. After all the weeks I had spent chastising my kittens for destructive behaviour, I was aware of the irony of my current predicament. I felt guilty even contemplating it, but I knew what I had to do: I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, then swiped firmly across the contents of the dressing table with my paw.
Immediately there was a loud clattering, as the first bottle toppled over and knocked those around it, which in turn dislodged some small plastic pots and a wooden cup full of make-up brushes. In a matter of seconds half the contents of Debbie’s personal toilette had rolled off the dressing table and bounced across the bedroom floor. The cacophony had the desired effect. Debbie threw the pillow across the bed and sat bolt upright, her hair sticking to one side of her face.
‘Molly, what on earth are you playing at?’ she shouted angrily. I jumped onto the bed and stood across her legs, meowing in the most commanding tone I could manage. Debbie leant over and switched on her bedside lamp, looking at me irritably. ‘Molly, what is it?’ I jumped down from the bed and scratched at her bedroom door, looking at her over my shoulder. She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘This had better be good, Molls.’