Miniature World

Miss Mabel will happily tell you she's been running Thrift & Thyme for years.

Mr. Blue, however, believes he's been in charge all along.

"Morning, honey!" Miss Mabel called as the little bell above the door jingled.

"Oh, don't mind him," she laughed, pointing toward the faded armchair in the corner. "He likes to inspect everybody before I do."

Curled into what everyone simply called his chair was Mr. Blue, the fluffiest ragdoll cat anyone had ever seen. His bright blue eyes opened just enough to examine the newcomer before he stretched, yawned, and decided they looked trustworthy enough to ignore.

"Good," Miss Mabel whispered. "You've passed the interview."

Nobody remembered exactly how Mr. Blue became part of the shop. One regular customer had brought him in as a tiny kitten years ago, insisting every proper garden centre needed a cat. The kitten never went home.

He simply chose his chair.

And eventually the chair became his.

Miss Mabel wandered over to water a fern, only to discover she'd walked across the room carrying the watering can without ever filling it.

"Well, would you look at that," she chuckled. "That explains why these plants have been giving me funny looks."

She wandered back to the sink, humming to herself before spotting an old watering can she'd forgotten she'd polished the day before.

"Oh, sweetie, isn't that pretty?" she said to no one in particular. "Now where did I decide to put that?"

A customer smiled.

"You mean the one you're holding?"

Miss Mabel looked down at her own hands and burst into laughter.

"Well, honey... that certainly narrows the search."

By now Mr. Blue had decided enough conversation had taken place without him.

He leaped gracefully onto the counter, rubbed his face against Miss Mabel's shoulder, and settled himself directly in front of the cash register.

"Oh yes," she sighed. "Now everyone thinks you're the owner."

Mr. Blue blinked slowly.

The customers laughed.

Miss Mabel scratched behind his ears.

"I suppose," she said, "he isn't entirely wrong."

From that day on, every first-time visitor received exactly the same welcome.

First, an inspection from Mr. Blue.

Then a cheerful smile from Miss Mabel.

And before long, everyone felt like they'd been coming to Thrift & Thyme for years.

Sorry, Honey... The Chair Isn't for Sale

There are thousands of things for sale at Thrift & Thyme.

Mr. Blue's chair isn't one of them.

It all started one rainy Tuesday afternoon when a gentleman wandered into the shop, taking his time browsing through old watering cans, vintage signs, and shelves of well-loved treasures.

Then he spotted it.

An old carved armchair tucked into the corner beneath the front window.

Its faded upholstery had seen better days, one arm wobbled ever so slightly, and the wood carried enough scratches to tell a lifetime of stories.

Curled up in the middle of it, fast asleep, was Mr. Blue.

The gentleman smiled.

"I'll take that chair."

Miss Mabel looked over the top of her glasses.

"Oh, honey..."

She smiled kindly.

"I'm afraid that one isn't for sale."

The gentleman laughed.

"Everything's for sale."

Miss Mabel shook her head.

"Not that chair."

He pointed again.

"The chair."

"No, sweetie."

"The chair."

"No."

"Five hundred dollars."

Miss Mabel folded her arms.

"No."

"A thousand."

"No."

"Name your price."

She chuckled.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, lowering her voice as though sharing a great secret, "it doesn't belong to me."

The gentleman looked puzzled.

"But... it's in your shop."

"Yes."

"You own the shop."

"Yes."

"So you own the chair."

Miss Mabel smiled.

"Oh, honey... that's where you're mistaken."

Just then Mr. Blue opened one brilliant blue eye.

He looked at the gentleman.

Then at Miss Mabel.

Then, very deliberately, stretched all four paws across the chair, fluffed his magnificent tail, and settled himself even deeper into the cushions.

The gentleman burst out laughing.

"I think he's making his opinion known."

Miss Mabel nodded.

"I've been trying to tell folks that for years."

The gentleman wasn't ready to give up.

"What if I offered two thousand?"

"No."

"Three thousand?"

"No."

"Five thousand?"

"No."

"What if I bought every plant in the shop?"

Miss Mabel grinned.

"Well... I'd certainly appreciate that."

She leaned in just a little closer.

"But you'd still be going home without the chair."

From that day forward, it became something of a tradition.

Every time the gentleman stopped by, he'd ask,

"Still won't sell me the chair?"

Miss Mabel never missed a beat.

"Nope."

"Ten thousand?"

"Nope."

"One million?"

She'd simply point toward the corner.

"If you can convince the owner..."

By then Mr. Blue would usually lift his head just long enough to stare at him with the unmistakable expression of a cat who had already made his decision years ago.

The chair wasn't for sale.

It never had been.

And as far as Mr. Blue was concerned...

It never would be.

There are days at Thrift & Thyme when everything runs as smoothly as a freshly watered garden.

And then...

...there was The Mouse Incident.

Miss Mabel was helping a customer choose between two climbing roses while another pair of shoppers wandered upstairs, admiring old quilts and vintage treasures.

Mr. Blue was asleep in his chair.

Naturally.

Just as Miss Mabel turned to reach for a watering can, she spotted it.

A tiny brown mouse.

It scampered across the floor like it owned the place.

"Oh... dear," she whispered.

Now, Miss Mabel wasn't frightened of mice.

She simply preferred that her customers didn't discover one shopping alongside them.

The little fellow disappeared beneath an old display table.

"Maybe he'll just..." she murmured hopefully.

At that exact moment, the customer began strolling across the shop.

Unfortunately...

So did the mouse.

Miss Mabel watched in horror as the tiny creature trotted directly behind the unsuspecting customer as though they had arrived together.

Thinking quickly—or perhaps not thinking at all—Miss Mabel grabbed the nearest thing she could find.

A tea towel.

With surprising accuracy for a woman who claimed she couldn't find her own glasses half the time, she tossed it.

Whoosh!

Perfect landing.

The tea towel covered the mouse completely.

"Oh!" she smiled nervously. "Problem solved."

It was not.

The tea towel began...

...to bounce.

Not just wiggle.

Bounce.

Little mouse feet were working overtime underneath, making the tea towel hop across the floor like it had developed a personality of its own.

That was when Mr. Blue opened one eye.

He wasn't interested in mice.

Never had been.

But a dancing tea towel?

Now that deserved investigating.

He leaped gracefully from his chair, stalked toward the mysterious bouncing bundle, lowered himself into perfect hunting position...

...and gave it one enormous swipe.

BOING!

The tea towel bounced.

Mr. Blue bounced backward.

Then pounced again.

The customer finally turned around.

"What on earth is—"

She looked down.

The towel bounced again.

Mr. Blue attacked it with both paws.

"Ohhhhhh!" she shrieked.

"IT'S A MOUSE!"

The two customers upstairs came thundering down the staircase.

"What's happened?"

"Is everyone alright?"

"Why is the cat boxing a towel?"

Meanwhile, Mr. Blue had decided this was the greatest game ever invented.

He pounced.

He batted.

He skidded across the floor.

The tea towel bounced one way.

The cat bounced the other.

Miss Mabel threw both hands into the air.

"Oh, honestly!"

She scooped up the wriggling tea towel before Mr. Blue could launch another attack.

"Excuse me just a moment, honey."

She hurried out the front door, carefully carrying her unexpected little guest.

A few seconds later she returned, slightly out of breath, brushing her hands together.

"There," she announced cheerfully.

"Everyone's happy now."

The customers stared.

"Did you... save the mouse?"

"Of course I did."

"And the cat?"

"Oh, he'll recover."

Mr. Blue sat in the middle of the floor looking deeply offended.

He glanced toward the door.

Then at the tea towel.

Then back at Miss Mabel.

His expression seemed to say,

"I was winning."

Miss Mabel bent down and scratched behind his ears.

"No, sweetheart," she whispered.

"You were entertaining the customers."

To this day, whenever someone asks if Mr. Blue is a good mouser, Miss Mabel just laughs.

"Oh, not at all.

But if you ever have a tea towel that needs chasing...

he's absolutely first-rate."