Kate Moore - Felix - Die Bahnhofskatze

A lovely book that makes you happy and warm, whether you are a cat lover or not

This book made me laugh, and it made me cry what more could you want from a book?

A little ray of sunshine in a bleak world

I have just finished reading this delightful story, written with great warmth and humour by Kate Moore, who has captured the essence of this fantastic feline and her warm-hearted friends

A lovely story about a world-famous, floofy cat

A heart-warming tale, demonstrating, without a doubt, the amazing intelligence and empathy of cats

A sweet and gentle read. Cat lovers will thoroughly enjoy it

PENGUIN BOOKS

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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

First published 2019

Text copyright First TransPennine Express Limited, 2019
Written by Kate Moore www.kate-moore.com

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover photo Rachel Oates with additional images Alamy (hat) and Shutterstock (tag)

Amy McWalters

The royalties from the sale of this book will be donated equally between Action for Children and Huddersfield Samaritans (registered charity numbers 1097940 and 219432 respectively).

ISBN: 978-1-405-93882-2

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

For all the team at Huddersfield station

At precisely 5 a.m. the first shafts of sunlight spilled across St Georges Square. A summers day was dawning in Huddersfield, Yorkshire, in July 2016.

The light was muted at that early hour, gently illuminating the bronze statue that stood in the squares centre and the figures who topped the surrounding buildings: the trident-wielding Lady Britannia and the curly-maned big cat who stalked on the rooftop of the Lion Building. That striking structure was Grade II-listed, but that wasnt unusual in this historic town: Huddersfield was home to over 200 listed buildings the most in Yorkshire and each of them was bathed in ever-increasing brightness as the sun began to climb higher in the sky.

The town was still and almost silent at that time of day. Here and there sparked the first signs of life: a delivery driver parking up, his hazard lights flashing, to drop off his goods; a still-the-worse-for-wear group of lads meandering down the street, their unsteady zigzag walk revealing that they were still sobering up from the night before, having not yet gone to bed. A pigeon squawked and fluttered on its corrugated-iron perch. A big black crow became airborne. And a fluffy black-and-white tail flicked steadily back and forth as a diligent animal patrolled her patch.

The rising suns strengthening beams also picked out a handful of solitary figures who were hurrying across the pedestrianised square in the early-morning light. There was a middle-aged man in a dark suit with a briefcase, a fresh-faced lass in pink-and-black workout gear, and a pregnant woman in a summer dress who was dragging a holiday suitcase behind her. From all walks of life, they were all drawn like magnets to perhaps the grandest listed building of them all: Huddersfield railway station. It stood at the top of St Georges Square, directly opposite Leo the Lion, and seemed to face the coming day with a dependability born of its centuries of service.

Never had a station looked so welcoming or so grand. Completed in 1850, the magnificent building had a spectacular classical portico with imposing Corinthian columns, the latter of which stretched all the way along the stations 416-feet faade. Its sandstone walls gleamed in the sunshine, looking just as inviting as its newly opened blue front door. As steadfast as the sunrise, Huddersfield station opened its doors promptly at 5 a.m. every morning, and today was running as smoothly as the clockwork in its railway clocks.

And so the passengers scurried onwards, up the steps and into the station, each of them bleary-eyed or bushy-tailed, and all intent on reaching their final destinations. As one chap crossed the threshold, a yawn took hold of him and he stretched his jaws wide, wearily smoothing down his black beard afterwards. There were not many upsides to being up at that hour but these passengers were about to discover one.

There were a few clues, had they cared to look around. A brightly coloured packet of Dreamies that was poking out of the pocket of the TransPennine Express (TPE) team member manning the gateline that morning A fish-shaped squishy toy covered in yellow-and-red polka dots that lay abandoned on the concourse floor And what was that in the corner? That thing with a black-and-white cartoon image on it, and five purple letters arched over its window? Was that a cat flap? In a station?

Those in the know kept their eyes peeled as they journeyed through the station, crossing the gateline with a twist of disappointment that they had not yet caught sight of the vision that they sought. She was there to greet passengers at the door most mornings, but she was not there today. Often, she took up residence at one of the five serving windows in the booking office, just to the left of the main entrance, but the office was not due to open until 5.45 a.m., so she was not on duty there yet. Blind white shutters covered those windows, their blankness only serving to emphasise that she was not present.

You could almost tell who was in on the poorly kept secret and who was not. Those who streamed through the barriers, their eyes focused only on the display boards overhead, were not part of the privileged few. It was those who moved slowly, eyes darting this way and that, who knew what they were looking for. Those same people tended to turn left once they made it through the gateline, where they walked along the concrete catwalk that was platform number one.

They saw the sign almost as soon as they had passed the Coffee Xpress concession, where the tempting aroma of freshly ground coffee beans was already scenting the station air. The sign jutted from the sandstone walls with prominent importance. Customer Information and Assistance it read. Below it an open door invited customers into a small lobby with a thin grey carpet and a single serving hatch. As you approached from the main station entrance, it was impossible to see round the corner to the hatch. You almost had to be facing the door square on before you could see if she was there.

And, this morning, she was. Chest puffed up and proud, she sat with a regal air atop the desk, waiting to assist in whatever way she could. Her snow-capped front paws were pressed neatly together, as though she felt that when on duty she should be professionally turned out: no slouching or spread-eagled limbs here. Her white bib shone brightly in the dawn light, making for a vivid contrast to the ebony fur that gleamed elsewhere on her ever-so-fluffy little black body. Americans describe such colourings as tuxedo and it did indeed seem that she had slipped on her most expensive designer black tie to come to work. Nothing but the best for her customers.