The Nine Lives of Christmas: Can Battersea's Felicia find a home in time for the holidays?

by Florence McNicoll

Genres: General Fiction; Humor & Satire; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH BATTERSEA DOGS AND CATS HOME Can Battersea's loneliest cat find a home in time for Christmas? It's Christmas at Battersea Dogs and Cats Home and Laura is desperate to find a home for Felicia, a spiky, bad-tempered moggy with a heart of gold. Her boyfriend, Rob, can't understand why she's spending so much time at work, but for Laura, the animals aren't just a job - they're her life. She needs a partner who understands that - doesn't she? As the December snow falls, Laura encounters nine people, all of whom need a little love in their lives and find it in new pets. Everyone needs somebody to curl up with at Christmas, and when the handsome Aaron walks in, he takes not just Felicia, but Laura's heart too... A heart-warming tale about loneliness, love, and the importance of furry friends - perfect to snuggle up with this Christmas.

Release date: November 14, 2019

Publisher: Trapeze

Print pages: 288

Sample

What would a cat do? thought Laura Summers blearily, through the beeps of her alarm clock. She reached out a hand to hit snooze, Rob grumbling beside her before he fell back asleep.

A cat certainly wouldn’t be dragging herself out of bed at 6 a.m. on a cold, dark, winter morning. No, any cat worth her salt would curl right back up under the duvet and sleep until at least ten, probably eleven, before surfacing and demanding food and cuddles and finding the perfect spot by the radiator to keep cosy for the rest of the day.

Laura smiled. The thought of all the cats waiting for her at Battersea was more than enough to get her out of bed, pull on her dressing gown and pad through to the kitchen for a morning cup of tea, and to crack open the very first door on her chocolate advent calendar. Who said chocolate wasn’t an acceptable breakfast? In Laura’s book, in December, all normal dietary rules were off.

Mornings hadn’t always been like this. When she’d been working as a PA at Nimbus, one of London’s top advertising agencies, she’d often been lying awake already before the alarm went off, a tight knot of anxiety in her stomach, worrying about whether she’d sent off those invites, or booked her boss’s taxi for the right time, or any number of other potential disasters. She’d left the agency about two years before, following a particularly vicious dressing-down from her boss after she’d asked if ‘anyone needed a hug’ in a tense client meeting. Pulling herself together in the office loos afterwards by watching some of her all-time favourite cat videos, Laura had seen an advert on Battersea’s Facebook page for a welfare worker in the cattery. It had felt like a sign. Laura had decided she’d go somewhere where her talent for looking after people – well, cats, who were pretty much her favourite people anyway – would be appreciated. And she’d never looked back.

She’d loved her time in welfare, caring for the cats right from the moment they came in, ensuring that they were safe, well-fed, happy and healthy in preparation for their new homes. Just a month or so ago, she’d changed job and was now on the rehoming team, helping prospective owners find their perfect match, and the cats their forever homes. She’d spent time shadowing the rehoming interviews, before practising taking pictures of the cats for their online profiles, and answering phone and email enquiries. Her experience in the welfare team had been a great help, but it had still been a steep learning curve, and Laura was keen to prove herself in this new role – as well as being more than a little nervous. She’d always struggled with her confidence. She often felt like she was the one in the room who didn’t have much of a presence, the one who wasn’t heard, or who muttered and was asked to repeat things. It was one of the reasons she often felt more comfortable being around animals than humans – and, specifically, around cats. She never felt tongue-tied or silly when she was chatting to a cat. Their presence relaxed her, and the flick of a tail, the twitch of an ear, the rumble of a purr all assured her that she was listened to and understood.

Laura finished the last of her tea and tiptoed into the shower, hoping it wouldn’t wake Rob. He’d got in late last night, slightly tipsy, having celebrated landing yet another new client. Rob was the one great thing she’d taken with her from her time at the ad agency. He was a hot-shot account director at Nimbus, charming, confident and completely gorgeous, with his blue eyes and dark-brown hair that flopped over his forehead in a way that still made her stomach flip. Laura had admired him from afar, their conversations generally extending only to him requesting meetings with her boss and sometimes asking her to arrange coffees – she’d always taken special care thinking what biscuits Rob might appreciate – and so she’d been amazed when he’d asked her out for a drink at the company’s Halloween party two years ago, coming over to find her where she was standing in the corner, twisting her fingers and wondering how on earth everyone else found so much to say. Laura liked to think it had been because her biscuit offering that day – a zingy chocolate Bourbon and pink wafer combo – had finally convinced him they were meant to be together, but Rob said it was more to do with the Catwoman outfit she’d been wearing.

They’d been together pretty much ever since. She’d left the agency and joined Battersea shortly after they started seeing each other, which Rob had been supportive about. He thought she’d be happier in another role, and that it would be better for them not to work together if they were going to be serious. Then, about a year ago, she’d moved into his beautiful home, in fancy Chelsea. She felt like she’d hit the jackpot, really, especially when she’d been sharing a grotty flat in the outer reaches of north London with three other girls who were big on partying and low on tidying. Rob’s place was an oasis of calm, exquisitely designed in an array of neutral colours.

After a boiling-hot shower and dressing proudly in her Battersea polo shirt and fleece, Laura slipped out of the house, shivering a little in the frosty air, hopped on a bus and began the journey to Battersea. She was determined to be a star rehomer in her new role. Insecurities couldn’t get in the way. She couldn’t bear to think of cats alone for Christmas – they would be well cared-for on Christmas Day by the amazing army of festive Battersea volunteers and staff, but nothing compared to knowing you were home, for good. And there was one particular cat she had in mind.

The bus pulled up outside Battersea’s famous gates and Laura felt a thrill of pride as she buzzed her way in, waving hello to the security team and the receptionist. She crossed the courtyard, taking in the mix of old and new that she loved so much about Battersea. There was the old cattery building in the middle, named Whittington Lodge after the famous Dick Whittington and his cat, with its tiled roof and pretty blue staircase. It was a wonderful reminder of the history of the place. Laura always thought about the many feet – and paws – that had crossed this piece of ground since 1871. What stories they could tell! She got goose bumps at the thought of it.

It was just before eight, and Laura had enough time to pop up to the cattery before the morning meeting – the perfect representation of ‘the new’ in Battersea’s history. The cattery was warm and cosy, with each cat living in an individual ‘pod’, large enough for a cat to exhibit its natural behaviours with lots of places for hiding – and they even had heated floors!

In anticipation of their breakfasts, most of the cats were now at the front mewing – the dawn chorus, as Laura liked to call it. She strolled past the pods, filled with cats of all colours, shapes, ages and personalities, to see the one cat she had a particular soft spot for. Laura’s emotions rose up at the thought of Felicia. It was one of the most amazing, and most difficult, elements of working at Battersea – the emotional attachments you formed with the animals. And there Felicia was, running to the front of her pod as soon as she saw Laura. Laura couldn’t resist opening the door and slipping inside, joy rising in her heart as she heard Felicia’s loud purr of greeting. Laura sat down and Felicia clambered onto her knee for a cuddle.

Felicia had been one of the saddest cases during Laura’s time in welfare. She’d been brought in emaciated and very sick, found by a dog walker in a nearby park. It had been touch and go on those first days as to whether she would survive, but thanks to the care of the veterinary team, Felicia had started to put on weight and recover physically from whatever ordeals she’d been through. Indeed, thought Laura as she held Felicia in her arms, they might have to start watching she didn’t get a little too plump.

But the damage with animals was often so much more than physical. Felicia had been withdrawn and completely untrusting of humans, cowering at the back of her pod and responding with hisses and the occasional nip to those who came too close. Laura had been assigned as Felicia’s ‘consistent carer’ when she was in welfare. Alongside the daily tasks of feeding and cleaning, Laura had started to build up Felicia’s trust, working at the cat’s pace, and often simply spending time sitting at the front of the pod, quietly reading or catching up on emails, to get her used to human company. Laura vividly remembered the day when she’d felt a touch on her leg, and had looked down to see Felicia’s outstretched paw on her knee. The cat had blinked her golden eyes up at Laura, and Laura swallowed, a lump in her throat, elated and moved at this breakthrough moment.

From there, Felicia quickly gained in confidence and was soon climbing onto Laura’s lap for cuddles, bumping her head against Laura’s hand when she felt she was slacking off with the under-chin rubs. Laura would talk to her in a low voice and, even though she knew she’d sound crazy, she could have sworn Felicia understood. Occasionally, a playful side to Felicia would emerge – as an older cat at the ripe old age of eight, she was a rather stately lady most of the time, but she could be roused to action by a carefully twitched catnip mouse. Of course, other staff spent time with her too, but it was Laura she had a special bond with. Felicia took time to warm to people, that was for sure. Choosy, Laura thought, but she knew some would see it as unfriendliness if they didn’t give her a chance. Then, one proud day, Felicia was assessed to be suitable for rehoming, and was moved to the first floor where she could meet her public.

‘You’re not tempted to take her yourself?’ Jasmine had asked. Jasmine worked between intake and rehoming and was Laura’s best friend at Battersea. Best friend full-stop, really.

Laura had shaken her head sadly. This was a major point of contention between her and Rob. He just didn’t like cats, he didn’t want one in the flat, using all his fancy mid-century furniture as a scratching post and getting hairs in the vinyl collection. Laura knew they could provide a perfect home for a cat – they had a small garden too – but Rob was adamant. He had a beautifully kept tank of tropical fish, and he’d said Laura could name a few of those. She hadn’t had the heart to explain that it wasn’t the same, much as she’d tried to bond with the newly christened Flotsam and Jetsam.

‘How are you this morning, missy?’ whispered Laura into Felicia’s fur, receiving a louder purr in response. ‘Ready for your breakfast?’

That received a small ‘Miaow!’ and Laura laughed, sure that Felicia understood. She put the cat back down and carefully let herself out of the pod, making her way to the morning meeting, where her team would go through all the cats on ‘The List’ who were currently up for adoption, as well as checking with the welfare team to see if there were new cats who were now ready to be rehomed. As it was 1 December, Laura made a mental note to get some Christmas decorations up in the cattery – Christmas songs had already been playing on the radio for weeks.

‘Still no home for Felicia?’ said Laura’s boss, Sally, when they came to the cat’s name during the meeting rundown.

Laura shook her head sadly. ‘It’ll have to be the right person. She’s a special cat, she just needs someone to notice her, and who’ll understand she needs the time and space to settle in. Plus someone who can cope with her medical needs.’

This was another element that had to be considered for Felicia. She’d tested positive for FIV – feline immunodeficiency virus. The virus was a slow-acting one, and many cats went on to enjoy normal lifespans with minimal health implications, but that wasn’t always the case. There was the possibility that a FIV cat would have a weakened immune system, and be more prone to infections and other diseases. In order to protect other cats from contracting the virus, and an FIV cat from being exposed to illnesses from other cats, Battersea required that gardens were enclosed in any prospective new homes. This was simple to do with the right fencing, but understandably people could be reluctant to take on a cat with extra needs, and FIV cats took the longest to rehome. The staff always bonded with these cats, as they were in the cattery for so long, and when they finally did find their forever homes, they were given a special send-off with everyone gathered to say goodbye.

Sally nodded. ‘Well, she’ll be safe here with us for as long as it takes. But let’s hope she finds her home soon. She’s looking at being one of our longest-ever stays, poor girl.’

Laura did some mental arithmetic and realised that Felicia had been at Battersea for almost one hundred days. With cats counted as a ‘long stay’ after thirty days, she was already at more than three times that. Laura swallowed. Some cats just couldn’t catch a break. Felicia was a bit older, and she was black and white – which for some reason proved to be an unpopular colour. As well as her FIV, she also had a heart murmur that could potentially lead to veterinary treatment, and people were understandably wary about extra costs, but Laura just knew the right match was out there. Felicia could bring someone a lot of joy. All Laura had to do was to keep believing and keep trying. This was to be her Christmas wish, then. Or, rather, her Christmas challenge: find Felicia her forever home, by Christmas Eve.

After the meeting, Laura was soon caught up in the flurry of emails and enquiries she received from potential rehomers. A huge part of the job was responding to these, as well as offering support and aftercare to new owners as the cats adjusted to their new homes, and the morning flew by. She hurried over to meet Jasmine for a quick sandwich in the on-site café.

‘The first mince pie of the season!’ Jasmine said, as they moved on to dessert. Last year, she and Jasmine had tasted pretty much every mince pie going from every major retailer, from the cheapest to the poshest, under the excuse of scientifically finding the best one. ‘Shall I get the mince pie spreadsheet going again?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Laura, through a mouthful of pastry. ‘The world needs to know the truth.’

‘We’re scientific pioneers, really,’ said Jasmine.

‘They should give us the Nobel Prize!’

‘Nobel Pies!’ said Jasmine, causing Laura to groan.

‘Jas, we’re not quite close enough to Christmas for me to cope with your cracker jokes just yet.’

Jasmine held up her hands in surrender. ‘All right, all right. So, tell me how things are with you. How’s rehoming?’

Laura took a breath. ‘Well. I love it. I’m proud to be doing it. But I’m a bit nervous, I have to admit. The thought of doing a lot of interviews on my own – it’s intimidating.’

‘You will be completely fine,’ said Jasmine. ‘You’ve done all the shadowing and the training, and you won’t be alone – you know we’re a team effort and there will always be help if you need it.’

Laura nodded. It was easy for Jasmine to say – she could chat to absolutely everyone. She was just one of those people who lit up a room with her presence and her raucous laugh.

‘I can tell you’re stressing,’ said Jasmine, reaching out a hand to pat Laura’s arm. ‘But don’t. I’ve seen you with people – you’ve got that talent of getting people to open up to you, so you can find just the cat that suits them.’

Laura smiled. ‘Thanks, Jas. That’s really kind. What about you? Any hot gossip?’

‘Not really. Just enjoying a bit of routine before the next foster rescue mission arrives.’

Jasmine was one of Battersea’s foster carers, taking in cats who needed special care, or who were too stressed by life in the cattery.

‘And are you ready for Christmas?’

Jasmine grimaced, and her face fell. ‘As I’ll ever be. Not my favourite time of year, I have to say. I’ve signed up to spend the day here, can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.’ Laura knew that Jasmine had had a rough year, splitting up with her husband after she’d found out he was cheating on her last Christmas. She’d declared herself ‘quite happy to be a crazy cat lady, thanks very much’, but Laura knew this Christmas would be a tough time for her. Jasmine was strong and proud, but Laura knew how deeply she’d been hurt.

‘We can’t tempt you to spend Christmas Day down here?’ asked Jas. ‘It is pretty amazing. Santa comes to visit, and there might even be a drop of prosecco at lunch.’

‘I doubt Rob could be persuaded,’ Laura said, with a sigh. They were scheduled to go to his parents in Surrey for Christmas, which she couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about. Malcolm and Izzy were perfectly pleasant, but were from the Very Confident School of Life, just like Rob. They were a family that liked an occasion – there were many photos of Rob’s boisterous childhood birthday parties in the house. He loved to reminisce about those days and how much fun they were, and Laura admittedly loved looking at the pictures of Rob as a cute kid, his delighted face smeared with chocolate cake, a grin from ear to ear. Christmas would be a noisy day of playing charades and commenting with great expertise on wines – just like last year. She’d struggled to recognise most of the films and plays that had come up in charades, and had overheard Izzy saying to Rob in the kitchen, ‘She’s as quiet as a little mouse!’ ‘Just give her time,’ Rob had said, but the comment had thundered in her ears and she’d become even more quiet, retiring to bed as early as possible and wishing she was different.

‘You know he’s not keen on cats,’ said Laura, breaking out of her reverie. ‘So he’s probably not going to be up for cleaning litter trays on Christmas Day.’

Laura had frequently tried to persuade Rob to come and see the cats at Battersea – she was convinced that if he’d just get to know the right one, he’d realise what a wonderful addition to their little household a cat would be.

‘Ah yes, Mr Perfect,’ grinned Jasmine. ‘Apart from that one little oversight. What are you going to get him, then?’

‘Not sure,’ mused Laura. ‘I want to get him something really special.’

‘You two are just the perfect couple,’ teased Jasmine, but when Laura didn’t respond, her tone became more serious. ‘Hey, I’m just messing about. Everything’s okay, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ Laura said. Why did she suddenly feel like everything wasn’t okay with Rob? Why was she suddenly anxious about Christmas Day at his parents’? ‘I suppose we’re not seeing much of each other. He’s so busy with work, so when we do spend time together, it’s more collapsing on the sofa and staring at the telly rather than into each other’s eyes.’

‘Sounds completely normal to me,’ said Jasmine, reaching over to squeeze her hand. ‘What you need is to make time for each other a bit. Date nights! Do something fun, surprise each other. You’ll get that spark back in no time.’

Laura nodded, liking this idea. Jasmine was right – she and Rob just needed to get that sparkle back. And what better time than in the run-up to Christmas? She remembered their first few months together: a whirlwind of romantic dinners, trips to the theatre, and lazy Sundays in bed. Then, as they’d become more established as a couple, endless holidays with Rob’s glamorous friends, or freebie trips that Rob could somehow make happen through his advertising connections. He’d whisked her off for a night or two at the end of a shoot in some amazing location more times than she could remember, often refusing to tell her where she was going and simply saying what kind of wardrobe she needed to bring. She’d always buzzed with excitement to get to the airport and find out where she was going. Right then, that was mission number two – a little bit of Christmas magic.

Laura stood in front of one of the posh make-up counters in John Lewis, Oxford Street, and looked doubtfully at herself in the mirror. She’d been mad to come up here after work in the first week of December. All thoughts of a leisurely festive shopping trip to browse gifts for Rob had been elbowed out of the way – quite literally – as soon as she’d had to force her way out of the underground station, carried up towards the fresh air and glittering lights by a . . .