by Hiro Arikawa
‘If you like him so much, why do you have to give him away?’
Oh. You threw that pitch right down the middle, didn’t you, Yoshimine? A straight pitch, just like when you stuck your hand inside my basket when we first met.
Satoru looked perplexed and didn’t reply.
‘Never mind,’ Yoshimine said, not pressing the point. ‘If you ever have any trouble, come round, okay? I may not have any marriage prospects or savings, but one thing is certain – farmers never lack for food.’
‘But you see how Chatran and Nana are.’
‘They’re not going to kill each other, and if it comes to that, we can just force them to live together even if they don’t want to. They’re just animals, you really don’t need to worry so much about whether they get on.’
‘That’s absurd. When animals are under too much stress, their fur can fall out.’
‘If it really doesn’t work out, then I’ll set it up so you can stay in one of the unoccupied houses in the village. People are afraid their houses will deteriorate so they want someone to live in them. The village is doing its best to attract young people to come here from the city, too.’
‘Thank you.’ Satoru smiled, but his voice was still a bit shaky. ‘If I really can’t find a solution, then I’ll definitely take you up on that.’
‘Good. I’ll look forward to it.’
Satoru and Yoshimine shook hands firmly.
‘Thank you for everything. I’m pleased I was able to pay a visit to your grandmother’s grave.’
He got into the van, but just before he started the engine Satoru said, ‘Oh, that’s right,’ and rolled down the window. ‘Yoshimine, do you remember the name of that cat I used to have?’
Yoshimine shook his head.
‘He was called Hachi. He looked just like Nana, right down to the marks on his face like the Chinese character for eight. And Nana got his name because his tail looks like the character for seven.’
Yoshimine burst out laughing. ‘You said Chatran’s name was kind of corny, but the names you come up with are cheesy, too.’
‘One names them according to the way they look, and the other is into clichés. I’d say it’s a tie.’
Satoru beeped his horn lightly and drove off down the lane.
‘You shouldn’t act up like that, Nana, getting all upset over a little kitten.’
Ahem. You said you were going to leave me there, but do you really think that’s gonna fly?
‘I am a little relieved, though. That we can go home together.’
This I already knew.
‘Like I promised, do you want to stop by the sea on the way back?’
Sounds great! I wonder how many of the delicacies in my usual gourmet seafood blend are really in there?
So the silver van headed towards the beach. Too much bother to stay in the basket, so I balanced on Satoru’s lap as we bumped down the rough lane towards the sea.
When we got out of the van, Satoru scooped me up and hoofed it down the slope that led to the shore, but me, I clung on for dear life.
‘Hey, Nana. What are you doing with your claws? It hurts!’
No way. No. Way. What is that rushing sound? I’ve never heard anything like it! What is it, that monstrous roar?
And there it was. The sea – spread out before my very eyes. An endless expanse of water rolling relentlessly towards us.
‘Look, Nana. The sea. Aren’t the waves fabulous?’
Fabulous!? What are you talking about? How optimistic humans can be, to think that this enormous mass of rolling water, this soaring energy – is fabulous!? I don’t know about humans, but if any cat got caught up in it, that would be the end of it, for sure!
‘Let’s go down by the water’s edge.’
NO. WAY.
‘Nana! Ouch! That hurts!’
I slipped out of Satoru’s arms, struggled to grasp higher ground, and leapt right up on top of his head, where, I have to admit, there wasn’t much hair.
‘Your claws! Nana, don’t scratch me with your claws!’
This is no good. I need a safer place than Satoru’s head! Humph!
I pushed off and landed on all fours on the ground. Then, scuttling as fast as I could, I dashed in the opposite direction from the shoreline.
‘Nana!’
I ran straight up on to a nearby bluff and settled down at the base of a pine tree growing at an angle from the bare rock.
‘Why do you have to go all the way up there? Come down here!’
Not gonna happen. If I’m not careful, I’ll get swept away by a wave and die!
‘Come on down from there, Nana. It’s too hard for me to climb up!’
In the end, Satoru, with great care and awkwardness, clambered up the bluff to rescue me.
From my first experience of the sea, I learned a valuable lesson.
The sea is where you go to reminisce when you are far away from home.
Delicacies of the sea are not something cats should catch by themselves. It’s quite acceptable to allow humans to prepare them for us.
‘My scalp is full of scratches. It’s going to sting when I shampoo, that’s for sure.’
Satoru muttered a couple more complaints, but then gave a little chuckle.
‘But you know, I never imagined you’d be that afraid of the sea. I’ve seen a side of you I’ve never witnessed before, but it’s good to know you don’t like it.’
I do like it, viewed from a distance. The sea, that is.
The van drove smoothly along the shoreline. I gazed at the glittering dark-blue water, my tail happily raised to the sky.
Until then, my life had been limited to the modest territory of Satoru’s apartment and a small area around it. A decent-sized territory for a cat, really, but pretty modest compared to the vastness of this world.
A cat could never see all the sights the world has to offer in one lifetime. There’s just so much out there.
Satoru?
Since we had embarked on our journey, I’d seen the town where you spent your childhood. And a farming village. And the sea.
I wondered what new scenes we would see together before this journey was over.
3
SUGI AND CHIKAKO’S HOTEL FOR PETS
RELAX WITH YOUR beloved pet while enjoying a breathtaking view of Mount Fuji.
This was the slogan with which Shusuke Sugi and his wife Chikako launched their bed and breakfast three years ago.
The whole thing came about when the company Sugi worked for started to struggle and began to explore the idea of voluntary redundancy. Around that time, a B&B next to the fruit orchards owned by Chikako’s parents came up for sale at a greatly reduced price, and the couple bought it, lock, stock and barrel, and opened it up for business. They considered part of its appeal would be to offer a discount to guests wanting to do pick-your-own in the orchards next door. This worked both ways, for it would benefit the orchard business to have customers referred to them, which was another reason they decided to take the plunge.
In the end, though, the B&B’s biggest selling point was that they allowed pets.
It was Chikako who came up with the idea.
Using the first and second floors, plus a small cottage in the grounds, they were able to lodge guests with dogs or cats separately. Dogs and cats each had their own floor and, as long as they got on with their own kind, they could enjoy life off the lead or outside their basket. Issues of compatibility were left to the owners’ discretion.
Very few B&Bs in the area allowed both dogs and cats; most places catered just for dogs. Some of the larger inns accepted both, but most of them demanded that pets remain on a lead or in a basket.
Sugi was more of a dog person, so at first he wasn’t sure about his wife’s idea, but after the B&B had been running for three years he had to admit she’d been very perceptive.
In addition to Chikako’s family business, there were plenty of other orchards and wineries nearby, and within their prefecture this a
rea attracted a lot of tourists – but a B&B where cats could stay, stress-free, was almost unheard of. Word of mouth and repeat business led to an increase in cat-owning guests, and these days, guests with cats outnumbered those with dogs.
Chikako loved all cats, and cat-owning guests always received a warm welcome, but she’d never been happier than with the guests who were arriving today.
Chikako had been on the second floor making the bed in the sunniest twin room and now, dirty linen in hand and humming a tune, she made her way downstairs.
‘You seem pretty upbeat,’ Sugi said. He’d tried to make it sound casual, but it came out sounding oddly churlish. Chikako looked at him, puzzled.
‘Aren’t you happy? Satoru Miyawaki is bringing his cat for the very first time.’
‘Of course I am, but …’ Sugi said hurriedly, trying to gloss it over. ‘I was just wondering if his cat will get on with our pets.’
Their own pets were a dog – a Kai Ken breed – and a brown tabby cat. The Kai Ken was a three-year-old male named Toramaru, while the brown tabby cat was a twelve-year-old female named Momo. Toramaru (tora meaning ‘tiger’) got his name from the distinctive orangey brindle fur that certain Kai Ken dogs have, while Momo, which means ‘peach’, was named after the main crop of the orchard.
‘Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine. Our little ones are used to having guests.’
Sugi persisted, despite Chikako’s teasing smile. ‘Satoru is giving away his cat, you know. I’m sure he can’t be too happy about that.’
The man they were expecting was their mutual high-school friend Satoru Miyawaki.
An email had arrived in Sugi’s inbox saying that, though Satoru loved his cat very much, there was a compelling reason why he couldn’t keep him any longer, and he was looking for someone to take care of him.
No explanation of what this compelling reason was, but when Sugi noticed in the newspaper that a large corporation had started to lay off employees, he didn’t pursue the matter. Satoru’s company, as he recalled, was a subsidiary of that corporation.
If an organization that big is beginning to lay people off, Sugi pondered, then I guess it’s only to be expected that my old company would do the same. He was lucky to have left his local firm when he did.
‘But if we take on his cat, we can give him back at any time, can’t we?’ Chikako said, and laughed. ‘I’m thinking of it more as a temporary arrangement. I’ll take good care of him while we have him, of course. That goes without saying.’
A temporary arrangement. Sugi hadn’t considered that. Chikako was always so positive and forward-thinking. Always looking on the bright side. Calling Sugi prudent made it sound positive, but the fact was he tended to be far less optimistic, the exact opposite of Chikako.
‘There really must be some sound reason for him to give away his cat all of a sudden … But one day, I know, Satoru will come back for him.’
Chikako seemed to believe categorically that Satoru’s love for his cat would overcome all obstacles. When it came to cat love, the two of them had always been on the same wavelength.
Bed linen in hand, Chikako went into the laundry room. ‘Get down, Momo.’ Their cat seemed to be asleep on top of the washing machine. ‘Satoru says his cat is named Nana. Make sure you get on with him now.’ Chikako sounded like she was singing as she said this. ‘Oh!’ she called loudly. ‘Darling, make sure you tell Tora the same thing.’
Both dog and cat were equally important to them, but, in practical terms, there was a clear division of duties. Chikako, the cat person, was in charge of Momo, while Sugi, more on the dog side of the divide, handled all things Toramaru.
Whenever there’s anything major happening in our family we need to inform both our dog and cat – this proposal by Chikako had become a firm family rule.
Sugi slipped his feet into the sandals he had left at the entrance and went outside. When the weather was fine, during the day they let Toramaru have free run of a special fenced-off space in the front yard. Sugi’s father-in-law, who prided himself on his carpentry skills, had built a kennel for Toramaru.
‘Tora!’
Hearing his name, Tora wagged his curled tail energetically and leapt up to his owner. He could jump so high it looked like he might one day bound over the high fence, so, to be on the safe side, whenever guests arrived, they put him on a lead tied to his kennel. The expert who had given them the dog told them how the breed divided into two types – the slimmer types who were built for chasing deer, and the thicker-set types who were good at chasing wild boar. Toramaru was a textbook deer type.
For two days, Satoru would be the only guest, so Sugi had let Tora off his lead.
‘Satoru is coming this evening. The friend I told you about.’
Sugi had acquired Toramaru three years earlier when they first opened the B&B, but right about that time, Satoru was moved over to a busy section of his company and had little free time to visit him and Chikako. Sugi had been able to see him occasionally when he went into Tokyo to purchase food for the B&B, but it would be the first time in three years that Chikako had seen him, and the very first time for Toramaru.
Satoru had always seemed very busy with work, so Sugi presumed his job must be secure, but with staffing cutbacks there could be many factors at play.
‘This is the first time you’ll meet Satoru and Nana, Tora, and I hope you’ll get on with them.’
Sugi gave Toramaru’s head a brisk rub, and the dog gave a throaty growl. Rough stroking like this was one of the real pleasures of having a dog. If he tried the same with Momo, he thought, she’d probably lunge at him, claws bared.
‘You be on your best behaviour, okay?’
Toramaru looked searchingly into Sugi’s eyes, then gave another husky growl.
THAT DAY, THERE was no doves-about-to-pop-out kind of music playing in the silver van.
Perhaps thinking he’d have a break from the car stereo, Satoru had the radio on instead. A little while ago, a refined-sounding older gentleman had been enthusiastically introducing a book on some programme or other. Apparently, he was an actor.
He talked elegantly, yet occasionally he would use unexpected language: words like ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’, and even for a mere cat like myself, hearing this gentleman rattle on and on about how awesome a book was really made me smile.
All well and good, but no matter how appealing a book might be, I can’t read it. As I explained earlier, most animals are multilingual when it comes to listening, but reading is beyond us. Reading and writing seem to belong to a special linguistic system that only humans possess.
‘Hmm, if Mr Kodama, the host of the programme, likes the book so much, maybe I should read it,’ Satoru murmured. When he was at home, he spent more time reading books than watching TV; he’d even been known to shed the occasional tear as he turned the pages. If he ever caught me watching him during one of these moments, he would look embarrassed and say, ‘Stop staring.’
The book programme came to an end, and after a while a nursery song began to play.
Put your head above the clouds, look down on all the other mountains around …
Sometimes it’s nice to hear this kind of gentle singing. Though the melody was making me sleepy.
Hear the thunder roll above …
Mount Fuji is the highest mountain in all of Japan …
Hm? At this last line, I sat up, rested my paws on the passenger-seat window and craned my neck to see out.
For a while now, there had been a huge triangular mountain plonked down in the distance.
‘Oh, did you make the connection, Nana?’
Humans always underestimate our language skills. Just ’cause they can read and write, there’s no need to act all high and mighty.
‘That’s right, it’s a song about Mount Fuji. Great timing, don’t you think?’
When that triangular-shaped mountain, with its base spread so wide, loomed closer, Satoru said, ‘That’s Mount Fuji.’
On TV
and in photos, it looks just like a triangle that has flopped down on to the earth, but when you see it in real life it feels overwhelming, like it’s closing in on you.
It’s the highest mountain in Japan at 3,776 metres, and there’s even a mnemonic device for people to remember the elevation: Let’s all be like Fuji-san, Fuji-san no yo ni mi [three] na [seven] ni na [seven] rou [six] – there are many higher mountains around the world, but as a free-standing single mountain it’s unusually high. Satoru rattled on and on, explaining all kinds of facts in great detail.
I get it, how great it is. You don’t need to go on and on. It makes total sense why there is a song dedicated to it. Yada yada.
You really have to see it with your own eyes, though. If you’ve only seen it on TV or in photos, it’ll always remain just a triangular mountain sitting there. Like it was to me until right this moment.
Being big has its advantages. Just as being a big cat makes it easier to get by in life.
Still, this mountain was pretty darn amazing.
I wonder how many cats in Japan have seen the actual Mount Fuji. Unless they live around here, there can’t be too many.
Our silver van was like a magic carriage. Every time I got into it, it carried me to a place I’d never been before.
At that moment, we were without doubt the greatest travellers in the world. And I was the world’s greatest travelling cat.
The van veered off the main road and drove into a thick, lush forest.
The branches of the trees on either side had bunches of white paper bags hanging from them, apparently to protect the peaches growing on them – to keep the insects off and help the fruit ripen.
After zigzagging for quite some time, finally a large white house appeared in front of us.
‘We’re here, Nana.’
This must be the bed and breakfast Satoru had talked about – the inn, run by some friends, that accepts pets. Today, the place was reserved just for us.