Her black coat shines in the sun let in by the window, lids falling over clear, green eyes. She lowers her head as though meditating, the bridge of her nose glistening. This is Binx, the café’s only black cat, who has wedged herself in the corner of the window ledge. Quiet, content, and happy to be alive.
At the café’s far end, a starkly contrasted white cat potters around, quiet and soft as the first snowfall. Aptly named, Snowy looks awfully photogenic next to the giant pumpkin plush.
This is PAWS Café, in the heart of Shrewsbury. Being a cat lover, it’s hard for me to believe I haven’t ventured here before. The café has been open for around four years and houses 11 happy kitties of varying personalities. You can meet them all here.
Due to number restrictions, booking is required. A 30-minute slot is £6 and an hour’s slot is £12. During this time, you can have any non-alcoholic drink you like for free (or two drinks for the longer slot). Of course, you can have more than that, including food and alcoholic drinks, but that will incur extra charges. My treat was a chai tea and takeaway coffee for the inclusive drinks, and I also chose to pay for a delicious slice of carrot cake. Covers are given with the little jugs of milk that come with the drinks. Why? Find out next.
I pour half the milk into my tea, replacing the jug’s cover. Darwin, the Maine Coon, sits on the sofa opposite. I sink back into the comfort of my wingback chair, feeling like we are sharing a relaxed morning tea together. The more we sit here, however, the more I sense that Darwin’s eyes are not on me but my jug of milk. In an instant he slides onto the table and raises his paw in the air, before swinging it down on to the jug cover. My hand shoots out reflexively, saving the jug by a whisker! Darwin stares at me with disdain. He has failed. Our morning tea has ended.
Minutes later, Blue, a beautifully big British shorthair, puts his front legs on the table and tries to do the same! He’s so heavy he shakes the whole table. Once again, I remove the jug. It won’t take long for the others to get the memo, so I’m grateful when the jug is taken away (by a human). Cats being cats though … without the milk, I wonder if they’ll even bother with me. Spoiler: they don’t.
In their grey-carpeted play area, the cats are simply not interested in my attempts to engage with them. Lady Grey looks at the bell I’m shaking like it’s the most boring thing in the world, with even less interest in the person shaking it. Strangely, they seem to love playing with the cat book lying on the carpet, which I assumed was for reading. That’s right, the cats are playing with a book. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Eventually I realise that Lady (a lady indeed) Grey will engage with the orange coil. A bit of a tease and throw, and she’ll go after it. Success? Pawsibly.
The only cat that really lets me stroke it and tickle under its chin is Cappuccino, one of three tortoiseshell sisters (mind you, this is in the last THREE minutes of my time slot; are you FUR REAL?). I have a soft spot for torties — the sisters, including Mocha (with her half & half face) and Lady Grey, are no exception.
I leave the café with a flat white in hand, content in my pawsitive experience. One thing I was reminded of on my visit is this — cats will be cats, and that’s why we love them!
The Dark Alive 