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.”
Yes, that’s it. We feel love. That’s the expression Mom has on her face in that photograph. What else could you call it, apart from love? And this love, this thing unique to humans, even though it can sometimes be a burden or even get in your way, is something that buoys us human beings up. It’s sort of like time in that way. It’s one of those things that only exists for humans—like time, color, temperature, loneliness, and now love. All these things that only humans experience. In a way these things rule over or control us, but they also allow us to live fully. And they’re precisely what makes us human.
No sooner had these thoughts occurred to me than my ears suddenly picked up something that sounded like a clock. But when I looked, just as before, no clock sat beside my bed.
Nevertheless, even though I couldn’t see it with my eyes, I definitely got the feeling that there was something spurring me on. I started to get the sense that the endless ticking sound in my head might actually be the sound of the hearts of all the people in the world beating in time with one another.
Images occur to me in quick succession. In my mind’s eye, I see the second hand of a stopwatch moving around the dial.
Then athletes sprinting the one hundred meters.
The second hand goes round and round the dial. Someone presses the button.
But the button is on an alarm clock.
The children who pressed the button crawl back under the bedcovers.
In their dreams they watch the hands of a large clock hanging on the wall go round and round the dial.
Then I see the clock tower lit up by the morning sun.
Young lovers wait for their dates below the clock tower.
I walk quickly past the lovers toward the tram stop, glancing at my watch.
As always, the tram is a bit late.
I arrive in front of a small clock-repair shop.
Countless clocks are laid out in the cramped space.
I hear them ticking. The sound fills the small space. The sound of time being carved up.
I stand still for a while, bending my ear toward the sound.
A sound I’ve heard constantly since the time I was small.
The sound that rules my life, but also gives me freedom.
Gradually the beating of my heart grows calm.
Then before long the sound fades into the distance, little by little, until it disappears.
“Well, Cabbage, I guess it’s time to hit the sack.”
I put the photo albums away and called Cabbage.
Cabbage let out a meow.
“Cabbage, what happened? Now you’re acting like a cat again.”
No sarcastic comments came back in the now-familiar outdated way of speaking.
Cabbage simply meowed. I had a bad feeling about this.
“Why, sir, are you disappointed?”
Suddenly from behind me there came a voice. Surprised, I turned around, and there stood Aloha. This time he wore a black Hawaiian shirt with an eerie-looking print—a picture of the ocean at night. He stood there with a big grin on his face.
“Might this be the end, sir?”
“That’s not funny!”
“All right, all right, I’m sorry! I guess the magic spell didn’t last as long as I expected. So he’s back to being just a normal cat. Are you disappointed . . . sir?”
“Hey, give it a rest!”
“OK, I get it. But you know, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”
Aloha smiled again as he said this. It was that devilish smile. I knew I had seen it somewhere before. It was the look of someone with evil intentions—something else only humans are capable of.
“So, I’ve decided what I’m going to have you make disappear from the world next.”
Aloha was still grinning that big silly grin.
I got the sense that something terrible was about to happen, and was beginning to find it difficult to breathe.
Imagination. Now, there’s another thing that only human beings have.
Cruel images raced around in my head.
“Please stop!”
Without thinking about it, I cried out. Or no, it wasn’t me but rather the Devil, who looked just like me.
“Makes you want to let out a cry just like that, right?”
Aloha laughed.
“Please . . . Just stop,” I begged him, falling on my knees.
Then the Devil revealed his plan—
This time, let’s make cats disappear from the world.
FRIDAY: IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD
His small body shook and he let out a painful meow. He wanted me to save him, but I could do nothing but watch him. Time and again Lettuce tried to stand on his own, but instantly collapsed.
“I guess this is it,” I whispered.
“I guess so . . .”
There was a note of sad acceptance in Mom’s quiet reply.
Five days had passed since Lettuce had lain down as if he were going to sleep. He couldn’t eat anymore. Even presenting him with his favorite—fresh tuna—got no response out of him. Nor would he drink water. He slept for unusually long periods, and gradually we saw that he couldn’t stand.
Even so, Lettuce tried over and over again to stand up on his own. I had to give him water with an eye dropper because he couldn’t drink on his own. With his strength slightly restored, he would immediately try to stand, but he was still a bit shaky on his feet and would soon lie down again. He always tried his hardest to stand on his own despite the fact that he didn’t have the strength for it. Once he just about managed to pick up his feet and walk unsteadily right up to Mom, and then collapse in front of her.
“Lettuce!” I shouted, and rushed to pick him up. His body was warm, and he had become so thin he weighed practically nothing. His small body, with little strength left now, trembled ever so slightly. Lettuce hovered between life and death. Y
ou could tell he was scared—he couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He didn’t know that he was dying. After a while my arm started to ache, so I set him down on Mom’s lap.
Now that he was comfortable, Lettuce began to purr. He let out as much of a meow as he was capable of producing, as if to announce that this was his spot. Mom was happy to have him there and stroked him gently. Gradually he closed his eyes and the trembling stopped. He seemed revived and raised his head for a moment, looking at us both with wide eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath and laid his head down on Mom’s lap again where he became completely still, and didn’t move again.
“Lettuce!”
I called his name, trying to convince myself he was only sleeping. Maybe I thought I could wake the dead if I simply repeated his name enough times, with just the right rhythm or emphasis.
“Be quiet,” Mother said. “Don’t say a word. He’s gone to a place where there’s no more pain.”
Mom continued to stroke him gently as she said these words.
“It’s all right now, it’s all right . . . no more pain.”
Mom rocked back and forth as she held the cat’s still body, and the tears began to flow.
Finally the reality hit me. Lettuce was dead. He was really dead. I had to accept it. He was dead just like the rhinoceros beetles and crawdads I used to collect when I was little. After a while they’d just stop moving and that was that. In a daze I stroked his body. It was still soft and warm, and completely still.
I looked at the red collar Lettuce had worn for so long. He’d try to pull it off all the time, chewing away at it until it became worn out and ragged. Until a few moments ago it had seemed as if it too were something living, like Lettuce himself. But now suddenly it seemed like nothing more than a cold, lifeless object. Touching his collar gave me such a tangible feeling of death, I burst into tears as if to expel this unwelcome reality.
When I woke up I found that my eyes were filled with tears. It was still dark. Around 3am maybe. I looked beside me where Cabbage normally slept and saw that he was gone. I panicked and jumped out of bed, my eyes scanning the room. Then I saw Cabbage curled up asleep at the foot of the bed. As usual I hadn’t slept well. But I was relieved to find that Cabbage was still there. The memory of the night before when Aloha suggested eliminating cats was still fresh in my mind.
So what would it be? My life or cats? At that moment, I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like without Cabbage. Four years had passed since my mother had died. Cabbage had always been by her side. How could I erase him? What was I supposed to do?
If cats disappeared from the world, how would the world be different? What would be gained and what would be lost in a world without cats?
I remembered what my mother said a long time ago:
“Cats and humans have been partners for over ten thousand years. And what you realize when you’ve lived with a cat for a long time is that we may think we own them, but that’s not the way it is. They simply allow us the pleasure of their company.”
Cabbage was curled up and asleep. I lay down beside him and gazed at his face. Such a peaceful face. Never in his wildest dreams would he ever imagine a world where he had disappeared. I wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up at this very moment, speaking like a gentleman and demanding to be fed. But as I stared at his sleeping face I could also imagine him saying like a faithful friend, “I would gladly disappear for you, sir.”
On the one hand, they say that only humans have a concept of death. Cats don’t see it coming. It doesn’t cause them fear and anxiety like it does humans. And then humans end up keeping cats as pets, despite our angst over mortality, even though we know that the cat will die long before we do, causing the owner untold grief.
But then again, human beings can never grieve their own death. Death is always something that happens to others around them. When you boil it down, the death of a cat isn’t so different from the death of a human.
When I thought about it this way I finally understood why it is that we humans keep cats as pets. There’s a limit to how well we know ourselves. We don’t know what we look like to others, and we can’t know our own future, and we can’t know what our own death will be like. And that’s why we need cats. It’s just like my mother said. Cats don’t need us. It’s human beings who need cats.
As these thoughts were going round and round in my brain I suddenly felt a sharp pain in the right side of my head.
Feeling powerless I curled up in bed, trembling, just like Lettuce when he was dying. I felt so small and helpless in this body of mine, this body now dominated by death. I felt a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.
The pain in my head was getting worse. I went into the kitchen and took two painkillers, washed them down with water, and then went back to bed. I fell into a deep sleep.
“So what are you going to do?”
I remembered Aloha’s voice from the previous night.
“It’s either your life or cats.”
He laughed as he said the words.
“That shouldn’t be such a hard choice, should it? After all, if you weren’t around, who would take care of the cat? You don’t have much to lose.”
“Can you just give me some time?”
“What’s there to think about? The answer’s obvious.”
“Just hold off for a second.”
“OK. I get it. Then let me know your decision tomorrow . . . before your life is snuffed out.”
With this, Aloha disappeared.
When I woke up the sun was shining brightly outside. It was morning. I took my time getting up, all the time looking around the room for Cabbage. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
Where could he be? Had I decided to go ahead and make cats disappear while I was still half asleep?
I searched the room, first the old orange blanket he always slept in, then on top of the bookshelf, under the bed, the bathroom, the shower, but he was nowhere to be found. Cabbage liked crawling into confined spaces. Often he would hide in the washing machine, but he wasn’t there either.
Finally I checked the window ledge. Cabbage always liked to perch there, his tail dangling and occasionally twitching. I thought of the curve of his back when he was curled up sleeping, and how the hum of his purring was carried on his breath. And how warm his body felt on my lap.
Finally I thought I heard a faint meow coming from somewhere outside.
“Cabbage . . . ?”
I ran out in a panic, shoving on a pair of sandals. I thought he might be underneath the white minivan that was always parked in the lot across the street, but he wasn’t there either.
I ran along the route we took on our walk the day before. Maybe he was in the park . . . ? I ran up the hill until I made it to where we’d been yesterday. I thought he might be asleep on the park bench with the peeling blue paint. But no sign of Cabbage there. He wasn’t at the noodle shop begging for bonito flakes either. So I turned and headed for the row of shops, but he wasn’t there.
“Cabbage!”
I dashed around blindly, running and running until I’d worked up a terrible thirst. My throat and lungs felt so hot, like they might be about to combust. My leg muscles hurt so much I thought I might have torn them. I felt light-headed and a bit dizzy—reminding me of a day ages ago when I’d felt a similar combination of physical exhaustion and emotional pain. It’s not something I wanted to ever think about again, but experiencing the same confusion of feelings must have triggered the memory.
It was four years ago. I remembered that day clearly, running as fast as I could to the hospital. My mother had had another seizure. She had already been in hospital for a long time, and would sleep for long stretches, but every now and again she would be woken up by a seizure. The hospital would always let me know, and I’d run back to be with her.
When I got there on that day, she was sitting up in her bed, in pain. She was shaking and saying over and over again that she was cold. Seeing her like that scared me, a
nd I called out to her. I’d never seen her that way. The whole time I was growing up she was always so bright and cheerful, and warm. She was always on my side. I always felt completely safe and secure when she was near. And now she was going to leave me. I was so scared and upset I thought I was going to pass out. She was repeating something under her breath, it was almost impossible to understand. “Sorry . . . sorry, I’m so sorry to leave you alone.” I was choked up—tears began to roll down my cheeks. I began to shake too, as I rubbed my mother’s back.
She suffered like that for an hour and then they gave her an intravenous painkiller, which made her fall into a deep sleep. Now she was sleeping peacefully. So peacefully it was hard to believe she had just been in so much pain. I was relieved and sat down in the chair near the bedside, bone-tired. Soon I fell asleep too.
I had no idea how much time had passed, but when I woke up, Mom was sitting up in bed reading a book using a small portable lamp. Suddenly she was back to normal.
“Are you OK, Mom?”
“Oh, you’re awake. Yes, I’m OK now.”
“Good.”
“. . . I wonder what’s going to happen to me.”
Mom examined her wrist. She had become so thin.
“I’ve become just like Lettuce.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t say that!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
The window of the hospital room faced west, and the setting sun glowed bright pink, even brighter and more beautiful than it usually did. There was a photograph on Mom’s bedside. It was one of the photos we’d taken on our trip to the hot spring. Mom and Dad and me all facing the camera, smiling with our backs to the ocean.
“The trip to the hot spring was wonderful.”
“Yeah, it really was.”
“I was wondering what was going to happen when we didn’t get the inn we wanted.”
“Yeah, I really panicked.”
If Cats Disappeared From the World Page 10
