.. or not .... Iggy as pictured above has become known as the Tynemouth Station Cat but in fact he belongs ( insofar as a cat ever belongs ) to our next door neighbour Clare . But even in these inclement temperatures when even at the coast we have had great piles of snow and the pc widget has shown minus five degrees celcius , Iggy has been at his post on the passenger benches by the tracks , offering solace and warmth to travellers like myself ( car off the road , brake disc cracked ) who sit down next to him whilst watching for the next train .
At the weekends when the flea market operates at the station Iggy is much in evidence , strolling between his favourite stallholders , spoiled for choice . There are many Iggy-Urban-legends , most of them true . The stallholder travelling thirty odd miles one Saturday to provide him with his tuna and cream even though that day she was not setting up her stall . The time he lost the end of his tail when a taxi rank opened at one end of the station and Iggy and the taxi drivers had not yet fully resolved their Turf Wars . An operation fixed this and he was soon back on duty . The cushions and fleece blankets provided on many of the stalls for his comfort and the signs offering a photo of the buyer with Iggy , proceeds to charity .
We know him best in this house as the boy who sits on our window staring in at our cats , whilst they stare out , and then , at some given signal , all start polishing the windows with their paws in some frenzied silent battle . My sister calls him Fluffles .
