Precious Teacups

Teacups are special. They arrived at the tearoom from almost every source imaginable. They came in every shape, colour and size. Some were from my mother, my grandmother and my Dad even gave me some. A few came in from the girls at Joannie's next door and quite a few more were brought in special from customers who were pleased that they had found a good home for their treasures. We obtained some cups from yard sales and estate sales; including a stash from my special group of ladies that would visit every Thursday. I regarded all of the teacups in the tearoom as precious. Each had its own story and was hopeful to be dubbed this is my favourite by a customer.

One morning in the wee, dark hours I lay awake planning the next day's baking, pondering soup and specials. It was then that I realized I could hear a faint rattle of teacups. I laid there listening intently to the sound and realized it was coming from the dining area of the tearoom. Suddenly there was a crash and clatter.

Not my teacups! I cried, bolting out of bed and cursing the family cat we loving named Kitten. He had grown to a monstrous size and was not to be in the tearoom ever! What would the customers think with having cat hair flying about? What would the health inspector think? No, Kitten was to stay in the attic and that is where he lived. Somehow he must have got downstairs. It was like a small apartment in the attic. There was a living room, two bedrooms, which my daughters slept in, and a bathroom. Kitten had an eight-foot tall post that he perched on top of to sleep and had numerous toys to keep him occupied. Despite all of that he would still make a run for the door every chance he got.

I was frantically pulling on my robe when my husband Mark awoke and asked what I was doing. I, with fire in my eyes and the adrenaline of a fire-fighter to match, stated that somebody let the damn cat out and I needed to catch him before he broke every teacup we owned. With that, I flew down the stairs to the dining area where I had carefully placed and stacked the teacups the evening before. It was nearing the busy season so I had already moved the sideboard from its winter spot in the parlour over to the big window in the Roman Garden Room. Cats love windows and that is exactly where I expected to find him.

I paused to listen for his whereabouts. A faint rattle came from the window behind the sideboard. I carefully tiptoed over to catch him in the act. There was silence. As I came closer to the picture window I put on my happy voice and called to Kitten.

Silence.

Leaning over the teacups to have a look, I was surprised that none were broken. I checked the floor for shards of china and porcelain but found nothing. I suddenly felt odd. Where was the cat? I had definitely heard crashing teacups. I was certain of that. Just then I heard more rattling. Maybe it was coming from the kitchen? I headed in that direction.

Walking through the gift shop in the dark was always a creepy experience. This time was no different and shuddering, I headed toward the noise. Upon entering the kitchen I could faintly make out the outline of the countertop and sink. I flicked on the kitchen light for good measure. If he was in there I was going to catch him and get him back to the attic where he belonged. Nothing. Kitten; huge and grey with arrogance and poise, could not have slunk away without my noticing.

I checked through the tearoom once more and found nothing. Tired and agitated I made my way up the stairs cursing under my breath at the very idea of even owning a cat. Once I passed the landing with the stained glass window I noticed that the door to the attic was closed. I paused, wondering how the cat could get downstairs with it closed. I opened the heavy wooden door and went up to the attic. If he was downstairs he was going to need this door left open so he could get to his food and litter box. I climbed the narrow staircase and looked up to the top of Kitten's sitting post. My gaze was met with shining green eyes that were groggy with sleep. A flick of his tail told me that he was most annoyed that I had disturbed his highnesses sleep.

Guilt came over me in a wave. I whispered, I'm sorry Kitten. and made my way down the stairs, being careful to close the door tight behind me.

Standing in the hallway I realized that our other grey cat; the ghostly one, must have been the culprit. I stood there shaking my head while going over the numerous times the family had witnessed sightings of the mysterious grey cat. Our feline ghost was smokier in colour than Kitten and didn't hang around long enough for anyone to really acknowledge his presence. We were sure that he came with us from the apartment we used to live in on Green Street in Port Elgin. He would often be spotted sitting on the back of the coach or hanging out in the kitchen. One day he was bold enough to walk past everyone in the tearoom while we sat having dinner.

Since the teacup incident, the grey cat has been caught sitting on chairs at the dining tables in the parlour. Sometimes he crosses through the gift shop and heads up the stairs. My eldest daughter was never a believer in ghosts but this all changed after a visit from the grey cat. In the wee hours of the morning, she was awoken from a deep sleep. It was the sudden padding of fury paws landing near her head that brought her awake. It was dark and the cat's purring was loud in her ears. She immediately sat up and the cat ran under the bed with Cassie in hot pursuit. She found herself shouting and cursing, scrambling under her bed pushing boxes and bags out of the way. She saw him hiding in the back, eyes shining like buttons. He was crouched and ready to pounce. She couldn't reach him and begrudgingly went back to sleep. In the morning she came downstairs and told me her story to which I replied. Honey the cat doesn't live here anymore. Remember, he's living at Tanya's house now?

She forgot that we had given Kitten away. A few seconds passed, Oh no, mom, not your ghost cat!

Cassie turned and headed back up to her room, shaking her head. Later she confessed that it was pretty funny and that she felt pretty ridiculous. She also admitted that she definitely saw, felt and heard the ghost cat.