The doctor leaned in so close that their cheeks almost touched. Shuta was startled, but the doctor seemed unconcerned. The tip of the doctor’s nose grazed the carrier’s mesh panel as he stared at the cat within.
“Hmm? What do you think, cat?” He placed his ear to the mesh panel. “Yes, yes. She says it’s all good.”
“She said no such thing. She looks scared to me.”
“Scared? Let me see.” The doctor placed his nose even closer to the carrier, so close that it made Shuta nervous. “What do you think, cat? You’re good, right?” He looked up at Shuta and smiled. “She says she’s good.”
“The thing is, cats don’t feel comfortable around people like me, who aren’t used to them. Even if it’s for the sake of therapy, it seems unfair to the cat.”
“Don’t worry. Cats are highly effective, even for those who aren’t used to them.” He straightened. “I have a patient waiting, so we need to wrap this up.” He picked up the pet carrier and placed it on Shuta’s lap.
“Wait, what?”
“I’ll see you in a week.”
The doctor waved his hand, leaving no room for further discussion.
Shuta stepped out of the examination room confused. It felt as though the doctor had forced him to leave. And the sofa in the waiting room was empty. He was standing frozen in bafflement when he noticed a pale hand beckoning to him from the reception window.
“Mr. Kagawa, this way, please.”
This feels like some kind of movie set. He looked around nervously for any hidden cameras. Then he made his way to the window, where the nurse was peering out at him.
“Please pass me the prescription form.”
Shuta did as he was told and watched as the nurse disappeared from the reception window.
The carrier shook unsteadily. It was extremely heavy, altogether a weird sensation for Shuta, who had not held a living creature since the days of classroom rabbits in elementary school. His admiration for the cat’s surprisingly calm demeanor brought a smile to his face.
The nurse returned with a paper bag. “Here you go.” She thrust it through the window. He shifted the pet carrier into one hand and grabbed the bag. The cat slid across the tilted carrier.
“Oops, sorry,” Shuta said to the cat. Then, to the nurse, “Excuse me—what’s in this bag? It’s quite heavy.”
“Supplies. There’s also a leaflet with instructions, which I advise you to read carefully.” In her mouth, the Kyoto dialect, typically known for its seductive lilt, sounded cold and aloof.
Shuta took a look in the bag and saw plastic bowls, a tray, and a pack of what appeared to be cat food—all essential items for looking after a cat. What an incredibly elaborate setup. This level of detail made Shuta feel uneasy.
“So we’re continuing with this charade. Isn’t this a bit too much?”
“If you have any questions, please ask the doctor. Take care.” The nurse dropped her gaze to her work.
“Excuse me—”
“Take care.”
“Um—”
“Take care.”
Shuta exited the clinic carrying the bag and pet carrier. It was a challenge to open the door with both hands full.
What in the world just happened?
At the end of the corridor, Shuta saw a man glaring at him. He looked as though he was about to ask him a question. Then he passed Shuta and opened the door to the unit next to the clinic.
It was an awkward task to navigate the stairs without tipping up the pet carrier. Once he stepped outside, he was hit with the moldy stench of the alleyway. It was the scent of reality. The burden in his arms was also all too real.
Shuta’s colleague had told him that this was a great clinic. The colleague had heard that from his brother, who had heard it from his wife, who had heard it from her cousin, who had…As rumors passed from one person to another, they transformed. He took one step, then another, but the sketch didn’t end. The nurse didn’t come running after him, and a director didn’t call out “Cut!” He was the victim of either some unspeakable medical malpractice or a ridiculous scam.
And here he was, a sick man, holding a cat. He found himself chuckling, his laughter echoing into the distance.
Transporting this living creature proved to be a challenge. Shuta couldn’t traverse the crosswalk quickly enough, and it wasn’t as if he could balance the carrier on his shoulder either. It took him more than thirty minutes to make it back to his apartment, and all the while the cat squirmed uncomfortably and his arms ached.
When Shuta finally placed the carrier on the floor, the cat seemed to sense it was no longer in motion and began to thrash about, rocking the carrier from side to side. Shuta opened the door, feeling sorry for the poor thing, but the cat didn’t emerge.
“What’s the matter, cat? You can come out now.”
The cat remained out of sight. Worried, Shuta peeked into the carrier and saw it cowering in the back.
What’s going on? Shuta rifled through the paper bag. He found two bowls of the same size and the packet of cat food, which made a rustling sound when he shook it. Dry kibble, it seemed.
“For now let’s go with water.”
He filled one of the bowls with tap water and placed it before the pet carrier. The cat still didn’t emerge.
“Oh, wait. The instructions.”
