Hiro Arikawa - The Travelling Cat Chronicles

‘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.

Sometimes it’s nice to hear this kind of gentle singing. Though the melody was making me sleepy.

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.