Patricia Ratto: Proceed with Caution: Stories and a Novella

When the server turns toward the counter to relay the orders, I can see her better, her long, long, slender white legs, the very short, naturally blonde hair with bangs swept to one side and one delicate lock tinted green. She’s not Japanese, nor is she some casual tourist, most likely a traveler who has decided to stick around here for a while. Following her, with its tail raised high and probably meowing, is what I take to be a Havana Brown, an exquisite cat, slender and dark, hard to find except in photos; actually I can’t get over my astonishment at having it just a few meters away from me. I’ve never been able to have a cat; to have a cat in Tokyo you practically need to be rich; there’s no space in this city, rental units are tiny and hard to keep up, which is why people come to places like this or else buy stuffed animals in the form of cats and become obsessed with recognizing cat breeds. There’s not much time, either: people spend most of the day rushing from one place to another, working, eating, bathing, sleeping; it’s costly to live here, and exhausting.

A young boy who looks like a sumo wrestler, very fat and with a ponytail, kneels and crawls to get closer to a white Japanese Bobtail with black ears, one of those domestic cats with a short tail like a bunny, orange with brown spots. The sumo wrestler extends his hand, the cat looks at him and allows itself to be petted, then comes close and sits at his side. To the left, a young man walks in wearing torn jeans, the kind that have been ripped on purpose, and a white business shirt like mine; he has on dark glasses and a surgical mask; most likely he’s got the flu, or maybe he’s one of those people who are afraid of germs; he’s wearing the classic gray slippers they offer you when you come in, if you don’t want to go around in stocking feet. It’s not that I know this from personal experience, because I’ve never been inside a neko café, but I have an office mate who sometimes goes to these places, and apparently they’re all similar: when you walk in there’s a hall with cubbies, where you leave your shoes, and there’s a piece of furniture with slippers that are part of the service if you want to put them on; then you need to wash your hands with antiseptic gel in order not to bring bacteria or germs into the place; then you get a card that shows the time you arrived, because you pay by the hour, in addition to paying for whatever you consume; and finally you reach a place that’s like a café, where the cats are, too.

I’m startled by a light tap against my leg; another cyclist has entered the scene; I look at him, annoyed; bicycles swarm around here and there, and pedestrians too; he shrugs and continues on his way. Two more cats, a Manx and a mixed-breed, have climbed up on the sofa where the couple is and watch the Ragdoll eat from a feeding bowl, delicately, what I imagine to be chicken or fish, while the couple drinks their coffee. Now I see that it’s definitely chicken; from the way the Ragdoll chews and swallows, you can infer its texture, more compact than fish, which easily falls apart in the mouth. The truth is that I’m very good at deducing, imagining, hypothesizing; I should have continued my education instead of being a simple office worker, chosen a career where confirming theories and keeping one step ahead of the facts can prove useful.

The blonde server, in her loose white tee shirt, short black skirt, white anklets, and red slippers, waits on other customers who are away from the window, more toward the inside of the place. A very tall, red-haired man has just arrived and takes a seat on a large cushion on the carpet, next to the library. The young man in the dark glasses and surgical mask also walks toward the library to choose a book; from what I’ve been told, all the books in these places have to do with cats, I don’t know how he’s supposed to read in those glasses he never takes off. The redhead pulls out a cell phone, another server comes over swiftly and explains something to him, the man nods, presses a button, then takes a picture, without a flash, of a Serengeti that’s poised before him like a miniature leopard, its face raised, its tail hanging. You’re not allowed to use a flash in these places, so that the animals won’t get frightened or nervous. My office mate didn’t tell me that; I know because I read it in a magazine in a waiting room. The Ragdoll has finished eating and is stretched out next to the young woman of the couple, who’s now rubbing its belly. Ragdolls adore their owners and don’t like to be alone.

A Persian cat jumps down from an individual perch on one of the side walls and looks like it’s about to come my way. The redhead gets up and walks over to another cat, with tiger-like fur, who’s asleep on a perch, with the idea of taking a photo, I suppose. It seems he prefers cats with fur like the larger felines. You’re not allowed to wake or disturb sleeping animals; my office mate didn’t tell me that, either, we don’t talk all that much. I read it recently on the Internet. The Persian comes over to the window and stays there, watching me; it’s not one of my favorite breeds, maybe because I prefer stylized cats with long legs and short hair, like the Devon Rex, but I haven’t seen one of those here, or the exotic Havana Brown, which for a while now has been following the blonde server around. Now she leans over toward him, strokes his head; he arches his back and lifts his tail; she places a little bowl of milk on a low table for him; the Havana leaps on the table, brings his nose over to the milk but doesn’t drink. A couple of cats have gathered around the table, eager, no doubt, for that milk, though it doesn’t look as though they’ll dare fight him over it. The Havana Brown has a bearing and an expression that impose respect. Meanwhile, the Persian cat has arrived at the window and plants itself next to a sign that says: “1000 yen or 10 dollars an hour.” Just now it lifts its paw in the air as though beckoning me to come in; it looks like a copy of the gold maneki-neko that stands on a display table against the window, to the right of the sign, inviting customers inside. Seeing that it’s gotten no response, the Persian turns around indifferently, returns to the center of the place and walks over to a system of tubes that rise to the ceiling, covered in layers and layers of sisal, to which a series of cushion-lined baskets are connected. It leaps up, reaches the first basket, scratches the rough fabric covering the section of tubing within reach of its claws, gathers momentum, takes another leap and rises to the second basket, sniffs it, jumps onto the cushion that covers it and stretches out. The Havana Brown has climbed down from the little table and walks away; then the cats who were anxiously waiting both scramble up and start to drink from the bowl. The Havana Brown jumps on the counter and there he sits; from here I can admire his perfect, effigy-like profile.

Two girls dressed in high-school uniforms, blue blazer with a shield, white shirt, little blue-and-white kerchief around their necks, and short, pleated skirts, are having fun in an area to my left, playing with a gray British Shorthair that resembles a stuffed animal with huge, fat cheeks and round, intensely yellow eyes. One of the girls dangles a cord with tassels and colored ribbons at the end. The cat flips onto its back on the carpet and lifts its front paws to catch the tassels and ribbons. The other girl watches them, laughing, apparently finding it very amusing. The boy with the dark glasses and surgical mask has taken a seat at one of the rear tables with a book he selected from the library. From here I can see that he’s wearing thin latex gloves, the kind nurses or doctors use. I don’t know when he could have put them on, no doubt at some point when my attention was elsewhere. He opens the book at random and, instead of reading, starts observing the other people around him. He’s the strangest of all the characters in the place. I have the idea he’s one of those hypochondriacs who are always on alert, discovering threats to their health everywhere. I find his presence disturbing and at the same time contradictory: if you’re afraid of catching something, the logical decision would be not to go to a relatively small place crowded with people and cats.