Genki Kawamura - If Cats Disappeared from the World

“I wonder if I’ll have any regrets when it comes time to die.”

“Oh, of course you will. You want to live, right? You might even beg the Devil to come back! Humans tend to regret the life they never lived, the choices they never made.”

Those who know they will die tomorrow live to the fullest in the limited time they have.

That’s what some people say, but I tend to disagree. When a person becomes aware of their impending death, they have to make a compromise between the life they wish they could have led, and the reality of death. Sure there are all the little regrets, the broken dreams, but you have to go easy on yourself, and be flexible. Having had the chance to make things disappear from the world in order to gain just one more day of life, I’ve come to realize that there’s a certain beauty in those regrets. Because it’s proof of having lived. I won’t eliminate anything more from the world. And I may regret it at the moment I actually die, but that’s OK with me. No matter how you look at it, life is full of regrets anyway.

I was never able to be completely myself or live my life in exactly the way I wanted to. I’m not sure I ever even figured out what exactly “being myself” really meant. So I’ll die with all those failures and regrets, all those unfulfilled dreams—all the people I never met, the things I never tasted, the places I’ve never been. But that doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m satisfied with who I am and how I’ve lived. I’m happy to have been here at all. Where else but here could I have been?

The last week has been so strange—first finding out I didn’t have long to live, and then the Devil appearing, and making things disappear from the world in order to give me another day of life. It’s kind of like the apple that was offered to Adam and Eve, a bet between God and the Devil. Maybe what God was really asking me to consider wasn’t the value of the things I was making disappear, but the value of my own life.

God created the world in six days, and in the same number of days I went and made things disappear, one at a time. But I couldn’t bring myself to make cats disappear, and instead I decided that I would become no more. And soon I’ll have my day of rest too.

Seeing me deep in thought like this the Devil laughed at me.

“In the end you came to know exactly how wonderful life is. You became aware of who the most important people to you are, and the value of lots of other important, irreplaceable things. You traveled around the world you live in and saw it anew. And you found that despite the boredom and routine of that world, there is a real beauty in it. That on its own makes my having come here worth it.”

“But I’m going to die soon.”

“Probably so. But one thing’s for sure. You’re happy now that you’ve realized that.”

“I wish I would have realized that sooner.”

“Yeah, but no one really knows exactly how long their life will be. It could be another few days or it could be a few months. It’s the same with everyone. No one knows exactly how long they’re going to live.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“So there’s really no such thing as too late or too soon.”

“That’s a nice way of thinking about it.”

“Don’t you think so? Anyway, I just thought I’d throw that in as an extra freebie since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other. Make sure the last thing you do is done with passion. Go all the way! Well, it’s time now. Goodbye!”

Aloha said goodbye in his usual complete lack of seriousness, he gave me a wink (that is, his poor imitation of a wink) and then he was gone. Cabbage let out a sad-sounding meow.

Then I began to get my affairs in order. I was preparing to die. First I cleaned my room and threw away anything unnecessary. I got rid of embarrassing diaries, out-of-date clothing, and photos I hadn’t been able to part with until now. Fragments of my life appearing and then disappearing. I wondered whether Aloha would have given me an extension on my life if I had thrown away things like this. But anyway, I had no regrets. I was relieved now that I didn’t need to make anything else disappear. I threw away all kinds of things that brought back memories while Cabbage did his best to get in the way. By the time I was done it was evening.

Orange rays of light spilled in through the window, landing on the metallic box sitting on top of the dining-room table. I’d found the box deep inside the wardrobe. It was a shabby old thing that had, at one time, contained cookies. It was my box of treasures from when I was a little kid. I stared at it for a while. It held things that were important to me at one time, and I’d completely forgotten about its existence. Whatever was in it, I probably wouldn’t consider it treasure at this point in my life.

People are fickle that way. Something they once valued becomes meaningless to them almost overnight. Even the most treasured presents, letters, and beautiful memories are forgotten about, becoming useless odds and ends. Long ago I had sealed my treasures in this box along with my memories. I hesitated over opening it. I couldn’t do it. I went out instead.

I left the apartment and headed to the funeral home. I decided to plan my own service. The funeral home was on the far edge of town and had an elegant ceremonial hall, showing just how lucrative this business was. I talked to the salesman and discussed their various packages. The salesman was warm and understanding when I explained my circumstances, and went through the fees for the various items. I would have to buy a portable Buddhist altar, a coffin, flowers, a portrait of myself to display by the coffin, an urn for my ashes, a Buddhist tablet, a hearse, and of course I’d have to pay for the cremation. It all came to 1,500,000 yen. This is how much it would cost for one small funeral, which I was obviously paying for myself. Everything cost something—the cotton stuffed in the corpse’s nose, the dry ice placed in the coffin, and so on. The blow-by-blow explanation seemed to go on and on.

The dry ice alone (put in the coffin so that the body won’t decay) would cost 8,400 yen per day. So stupid! Each of the items was ranked with a breakdown of the price given. Even after death there’s a scale you’re graded against! What awful creatures we humans are!

But it doesn’t stop there. You can also go for options like natural wood, or it can be carved, lined with suede, or even lacquered—cost per item anything from 50,000 to 1,000,000 yen!

The salesman led me into a dimly lit room where they displayed the coffins. I tried to imagine myself inside of one of those things. My funeral. But who would come? Let’s see… friends, former lovers, relatives, former teachers, colleagues… and how many of these people would really grieve for me? And when it came time for the eulogy, what would they say about me?

He was a nice and funny guy, or he was lazy, impatient, hot-headed, unpopular, a loser who couldn’t get a date.

What will they talk about? What memories will they share as they gather around my casket?

Thinking about this I started to wonder. What had I given to the people around me while I was alive? What would I be leaving behind? My whole life will be summed up in those moments that I won’t be around to see—the time after I’m dead. In all the thirty years I’d been alive this was the first time I’d ever thought about this. My whole existence had taken place within this little sliver of time that sat between two much larger chunks of time—during which I didn’t exist. It’s been within this narrow slice that I have made my mark… for whatever it’s worth.

I returned home to a space that, after the cleaning and organizing, seemed as if it had been hollowed out. Cabbage came up to me and meowed again and again, as if complaining about having been left alone there. The apartment was so empty now, there was something eerie about it. I placed the raw tuna I’d bought at the fish shop in the old shopping district on a plate. Cabbage signaled his pleasure with an odd-sounding meow as if to say, “Indeed, you have finally gathered my meaning!” Then he started gobbling down the tuna.