Upon arrival at Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium Peter and I were presented with a set of rules:
1. Don't feed the cats café food.
2. Don't pick up the cats.
3. Don't disturb the cats while they are sleeping.
4. No flash photography.
These all seemed simple enough, and the explanations for them more than obvious; how would you like it if strangers started prodding you while you slept? Especially if you needed to sleep for an average of 16 hours per day!
We entered the café expectantly. It seemed simple enough; small but quaint. Moreover, there were cats, CATS EVERYWHERE! This was a dream come true, my own personal East London Disneyland. I nearly fell down the stairs because I was staring at the cats in the hammock sleeping above my head. We made our way to a small table downstairs where there were three seats; one for Peter, one for me, and the other occupied by an adorable semi-tabby cat who lay slumbering. We said a cordial 'hello' to our whiskered friend and observed the menu.
I have two criticisms with the restaurant and I will start with the most subtle of the two, simply because the other bares a longer and more demonic explanation. So there we sat, the menu was minimal, mainly comprised of cakes and cream teas than substantial food. Despite the fact we had made dinner reservations we decided to cut our loses and order the cream tea for two. Placing our order at 19:10, we sat back and took a good look at our surroundings. All the cats were asleep. Not just our own accomplice, but all of them... and they were adorable. We were almost whispering so as not to wake them.
Despite the initial pleasantness there was something sinister stirring in the atmosphere! One woman sat beside me sadistically whipping a cat toy to and fro, while another lady was shaking an adorable black cat awake, before I knew it a fat child had rolled before me following a ginger kitty. It all made sense now, these cats had been enlisted into a petting prison camp. The ginger cat that was chased took refuge under my skirt, wide eyed and frightened. He sat there for a while tense, wired and waiting. In those moments we formed a bond, I, Miep Geis, and the cat, Anne Frank. The tabby who lay next to me was literally sleeping with one eye open too. I looked up at the hammock above the stairs and the tops of the cupboards; most of the cats were hiding on high ground to avoid a fate worse than a dog house.
Time was ticking on and nothing changed. Peter and I sat on one of the six tables in the whole café, yet both two tables surrounding us (including ourselves) had still not received their very basic orders. A shabby dressed hipster came downstairs to tell us there had been a "mix up in the kitchen", but how long could it possibly take to put a scone on a plate and bring it downstairs? Forty minutes apparently. One of the criticisms was the extremely poor service and shabby menu, but hey they have only been open a month. While teething problems are excusable however, animal cruelty isn't. None of the staff were adhering to the rules they had put in place, allowing the cats to be disturbed while sleeping and overlooking the flash photography that was disturbing both felines and me!
After eating I didn't want to leave, although I had barely touched my tabby cat accomplice, I felt deeply over protective over this little kitty. His safety was at stake, if I left then any number of the crazy cat people circling like vultures were a threat to his being. The whole experience caused an intolerable inner pull that could not be ignored, the knocking of my consciousness that was screaming this is wrong! What's worse? No one seemed to understand, it appeared as though they cared more about getting their fair share of 'cat-fun' then caring how much fun the cats were having. I want to commission a film about this place: 12 Month A Slave!
Moreover, why couldn't anyone else see how blatantly cruel the whole establishment is? It almost seems like the café is a premise for some evil Hunger Games-esque dystopia; twelve cats shoved into a tiny arena, facing the elements of sadistic humanity, with only death or escape to end the madness. To be honest, the cat café could work if people actually adhered to the rules given upon entry, and if the rules were successfully monitored. Yet staff seem to be too busy taking half an hour to get a lemonade from the kitchen then to watch out for the animals they swore to protect.
Needless to say, unless you want to go and see for yourself the sort of mistreatment and sadness that the cats experience most working hours of the day, then I certainly do not recommend Lady Dinah's Cat Café. If people went there and genuinely found entertainment from that establishment then you are either sadistic or oblivious, because the cats do not enjoy being shaken from slumber, or chased through the building, or cameras being constantly shoved in their face! It is rare for me to leave a restaurant with the full intention of creating a petition to shut the place down! Think of the kittys people, the kittys!
Above: One of the cats hiding behind a chair while two tourists seek out his unwanted company.
