"Hey, Neko-chan!" Something soft and nerfy hit my forehead and I jumped up confused.
A yellow tom tilted his head at me, then said, "The Queen wants her crème. Chop-chop, otherwise, /chop chop!/" He leapt right and disappeared off the table top.
"What just happened?" I whispered, blinking, realizing quickly nothing I saw made sense. I sat on a colorful Catalina tile top café table, feeling drugged. Looking further, I saw dozens of tables but no other furniture.
Coffee houses had more than tables, right?
Elite cats with snooty noses in the air—Siamese, Persian, Abyssinian, Bengal, Egyptian Rex—sat on these tables, with little rose decorated porcelain bowls before them, tiny lace napkins beside them, and lumps of sugar and a milk pitcher at the center between them. Conversation ebbed and flowed, but sounded like a muffled prelude to a cat fight.
Beyond, I saw a bar. It was all dark wood, rounded, with a bright Catalina tile surface, appointed with brass. All domestics "manned" the espresso machine, washed dishes, and managed order slips: an American Shorthair and two Wirehairs. One operated the filter holder, banging out grounds; another poured into a blender. I watched them doing this, but still couldn't figure out how they did it with paws. They just did. My head wasn't working, though I apparently was working—waiting tables!
"Chop-chop!" called the yellow tom. My heart jumped into my throat. My head insisted there had to be furniture to sit on, but why if table tops were perfectly large enough? I looked over the edge of a three story drop to the tile floor and gulped, suddenly finding I couldn't move, as if I were paralyzed.
Worse, I realized I looked down at /paws./ I had a coat of light grey with dark grey stripes. With effort, as if pushing through molasses, I managed to brush one paw against the grain to feel how soft it— no, /I/ was.
This wasn't right...
Something softly patted my nose. I expected to hear "Chop-chop" and to see the tom. The world tilted. Seeing my fur, the table, and being patted all occurred in the same space of nonsense reality.
Pat-pat.
/Pat-pat./
/PAT-PAT!/
"Gah!" With a gasp, I opened my eyes. Mau-mau, our little Siamese sat there, blue eyes on me, paw pulled back, obviously wondering what happened. My right ear felt crushed against a hard surface. I'd lain my head on a table.
Mau-mau cautiously touched my nose.
"Sleeping on the job, again?" Alex, our busser asked.
I shot upright, causing Mau-mau to hiss and jump away. 3 PM weekdays, /Cat Café Plush/ was always dead. I glanced around to see our café chairs with green cushions had returned, as had the plates and silverware. A single patron sat on a green corduroy sofa, surrounded by cats vying for his warm lap. He had all our hosts and hostesses to himself.
I smelled the coffee, before Alex clacked down a double shot before me. "Sakura will be back any time. Wake up. Chop-chop!"
I smiled up at the blond guy. "Thanks."
"No problem."
I drank it with a spoon of turbinado sugar. I rubbed the fine hair on my wrist and thought about the three story drop from the table top and shivered.