Genki Kawamura - If Cats Disappeared from the World

“Your father was actually pretty fast on his feet back in the old days.”

I remembered what my mother had said as I dashed around, trying to keep up with my father, who despite his compact, muscular frame, ran around the hot-spring resort with surprising grace.

It was high season and all of the inns were full. We ran around trying everywhere, but were turned away time and time again. Some places only one of us would try, others we went to together, pleading with the inn-keepers. We just couldn’t leave Mom without a decent place to stay. We wanted to make this trip special for her. That was the first time—maybe the only time—since becoming an adult that my father’s feelings and my own were in sync.

After scouring the inns lining the beach, running backwards and forwards, we finally found a vacancy. It was dark, and the outside looked a bit shabby. It looked a bit older than the other inns and was a bit rundown. Our first impressions were confirmed when we went inside and the floorboards creaked as we walked up to the front desk.

“It’s a pretty good inn,” Mother said, beaming, as we brought her in. But I felt awful having her stay in a place like this. But as Dad said, it couldn’t be helped—Mom couldn’t exactly camp out in her condition. So lacking any alternative, that’s where we stayed.

The state of the place may not have been great, but the innkeeper was warm and friendly. The meal wasn’t exactly extravagant, but the cook had obviously put his heart into it, and it was delicious. Mom exclaimed over and over again how good it was there, and how good the food was. Seeing her smiling made me feel a bit better.

That night we all slept in one big tatami room, our futons lined up all in a row. It was the first time in ten years that we’d been together like that.

Staring up at the old wooden ceiling, I was reminded of the house we lived in when I was in elementary school. It didn’t have many rooms, and the entire family slept together upstairs in the only bedroom, futons next to one another.

Now, twenty years later, we found ourselves doing the same thing. It was a strange feeling. And it would be the last time we would ever be together like this. With all these thoughts running through my head, I couldn’t sleep. I wonder if Mom and Dad felt the same way. It was quiet, and the only sound I could hear in the small dark room was Cabbage’s breathing, blending in with, but just detectable above, the rhythmic sound of the ocean’s waves.

Finally it began to get lighter outside. It was maybe four or five in the morning. I got up off my futon, and sat in the window seat. I opened the curtain and looked outside. To my surprise, the old inn sat so close to the beach that the sea occupied most of the view that I saw before me. It had already been dark by the time we found the inn, so I hadn’t noticed how close we were.

For a while I sat there and gazed at the ocean, which—wrapped in pale morning light—looked like something from a dream. Then I noticed that my parents were both awake. They both had circles under their eyes. I guess they hadn’t been able to sleep either.

Mother, still wearing her bedtime yukata, looked out the window at the panoramic view of the sea and suggested that we all go for a walk on the beach.

“Let’s take some pictures. I love walking on the beach in the morning.”

Cabbage was still sleeping, so Mom grabbed him and put him on her lap. She adjusted her yukata and was ready to go. Once she was ready in her wheelchair, off we went to the beach. The early morning light was still dim and it was a bit chilly. Mom wanted to go closer to the water, but it was difficult pushing the wheelchair in the wet sand. After a while I couldn’t get it to move at all. Then the sun began to rise, its rays falling on the surface of the ocean creating a sparkling effect. All three of us stopped, captivated by how beautiful the scene was.

“Hurry up! Take a picture!”

Mom’s yells brought me back to myself and I took out the camera and got it ready. Dad and I took turns taking pictures. Meanwhile the innkeeper came out and offered to take a picture of all of us. With the ocean behind her, Mom sat in her wheelchair with the two of us on either side of her. Dad and I crouched so that our heads would be on the same level, and Cabbage, who had finally woken up, made a face, then let out a big yawn from Mom’s lap.

“OK, cheese!”

The owner of the inn snapped the shutter.

“Thank you!” we shouted in unison.

Then the innkeeper said, “One more!” and we lined up again, this time standing.

“OK, smile… Cheesecake!”

The innkeeper’s earnest efforts to get us to smile, and his friendliness—which was just short of overbearing—made us all laugh, and just at that moment, the shutter snapped.

“Did you remember anything?”

I prodded Cabbage again after I finished my story.

“Apologies, old boy. I tried, but I just don’t remember.”

“That’s too bad, Cabbage.”

“I’m really sorry. I just can’t help it. No matter how hard I try I can’t remember anything. Except perhaps one thing…”

“One thing?”

“I was happy. That’s all I remember.”

“You were happy?”

“Yes. That’s what I remember when I look at these photos. Simply that I was happy.”

It seemed odd to me that Cabbage couldn’t remember any of the details of the trip, not the inn, not even Mom herself, but that he could remember he’d been happy. But something in what Cabbage had said made me think, and then finally I realized… Mom didn’t want that trip just for herself. She wanted me and Dad to make up.

I wondered why I’d never thought of that before. From the moment she gave birth to me, Mom gave me and Dad all of her time. I never imagined that when she had such little time left, she would still only be thinking of us. She didn’t have to, but she devoted her life to us till the very end.

She had me completely fooled—it had taken me all this time to notice. I look back at the photos and notice the embarrassment on my father’s face as he forces himself to smile. And me, with a face so much like my father’s, also forcing an awkward smile. Then Mom sits between us grinning as if she couldn’t be happier.

Looking at my mother’s face, my heart grew heavy thinking of her and all she did for me. Suddenly I had tears rolling down my face, right there in front of Cabbage. My voice caught in my throat, and I stared silently at the photograph.

Cabbage had a look of concern on his face and came closer. He jumped into my lap and curled up there. My heart began to feel soothed as his warmth soaked into my body.

Cats are really something. They’ll just ignore you half the time, but they seem to know when you’re really in need of some comforting.

Just as cats don’t have any sense of time, there must not be any such thing as loneliness for them either. There’s just the time you spend alone and the time when you’re with someone else. I suppose loneliness is another thing that only human beings feel. But looking at my mother’s smiling face in those old photos makes me think that maybe it’s only because we feel lonely that we have certain other feelings.

As I stroked his warm, furry body I decided to put some questions to Cabbage.

“Say, Cabbage, do you know what love is?”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Well, I guess a cat wouldn’t understand. It’s something humans have. It’s when you really like someone, and they’re really important to you, and it makes you feel like you want to be with them all of the time.”

“Is it a good thing?”

“Yeah. Though I guess it can also be a bit of a pain sometimes too, and then you feel like the other person is just a burden. But all in all it’s a good thing.”