Keeping an eye on the carrier, Shuta scanned the leaflet.
Name: Bee. Female. Estimated to be 8 years old. Mixed breed. Feed moderate amounts of cat food in the morning and at night. Water bowl must always be full. Clean kitty litter as needed. Generally independent and can be left alone. Small items that can be swallowed and breakable items such as plates and cups should be stowed away in a cupboard. Keep an eye on potted plants. Do not let the cat wander out of the house. That’s all.
Shuta reread the instructions, but there wasn’t much detail.
“Oh, man. I’ve never had a cat before. I don’t know if I can take care of one for a whole week.”
How will the cat use this tray and cat litter? Will she instinctively know how to do her business in it without making a mess in the room? How much do I feed her? Will she scratch the walls?
Shuta was beginning to feel overwhelmed, but there was nobody he could turn to for guidance. He would have to do some research online. At least he knew the cat’s name.
He crawled on the floor, looked into the carrier, and was met with a pair of golden eyes.
“Bee,” he said. “Hey, come on out here, Bee. You’re a girl, aren’t you? You must be hungry. Let me feed you.”
It was evening, dinnertime for humans, and therefore, it must also be dinnertime for cats. As Shuta absorbed the information on the back of the cat food bag and browsed the Internet to find the correct portion size, he noticed the cat poke its head out.
“Oh! Here she comes.”
But the cat quickly withdrew. Shuta’s voice had startled her. He held his breath, and after a while the cat stuck half her head out again. She looked up at Shuta. They continued to stare at each other in a silent battle of wills. Was the cat being cautious, or was she testing him? Shuta’s legs were tingling from sitting in an awkward position, but he toughed it out with a little shiver.
Finally, a single limb appeared from the carrier, her paw hovering over the floor.
Please come out. My legs are pins and needles.
Just when Shuta was about to reach his breaking point, the cat gently lowered her forepaw. As she pressed her round foot against the floor, a crease formed above her ankle, resembling the chubby wrist of a baby. Adorable. She took one step, then another, and finally, her long tail slipped out.
This cat is surprisingly big. That was Shuta’s first thought. Bee wasn’t large, but he’d imagined cats to be much leaner, like the ones he’d seen in videos squeezing through narrow gaps between walls. This particular cat looked like a fluffy gray blanket. If she tried to squeeze into a crevice, the blanket would spill out.
Shuta gritted his teeth and stretched his legs slowly, so as not to startle the cat by standing up too quickly. He watched as the cat approached the water bowl. After sniffing the bowl, she began lapping up the water.
Shuta rubbed his numb legs and contemplated the cat in wonder. The soft sound of splashing water had never been heard before in this room. Having let her guard down, the cat glanced around. Her gaze landed on the unopened bag of cat food.
“Aha! Okay, hold on a second.”
After water, food. The cat was rather easy to read. Shuta opened the bag of cat food and poured some into the other container. The cat sat politely, observing the kibble rattle into the bowl. He’d been sure that the cat would pounce, but she stayed put and watched him with her round eyes, pupils dilated.
“Eat. It looks delicious. Go on.”
Shuta picked up a piece of kibble—it looked much like a human snack—and pretended to munch on it. The cat did not move an inch and threw him a look like, What is this guy doing?
Feeling like an idiot, Shuta lay back on his bed. He followed the cat’s movements out of the corner of his eye, while pretending not to. Eventually, the cat crept closer to the food bowl and began to eat.
The room was filled with a soft crunching sound.
Bee had a large presence, but her movements were quiet. As Shuta lay there, he wondered if this was what all cats were like.
It felt strange to have a cat in this room, where he normally lived alone. As he took a fresh look at his space, he noticed the jumbled mess. Manga and video games were littered about since god knew when. On weekdays, he came home only to sleep, and even on his days off, he slept until noon. It wasn’t as if he lacked things, but his home simply offered no joy. There was nary a potted plant in his apartment. If there had been one, it would have died long ago.
For the first time in ages, Shuta tidied his room. He picked up the plastic bottle caps and disposable chopsticks from his convenience store takeout containers scattered on the floor and threw them away. He moved the clothing and magazines to a corner. It had been a long time since he’d done much other than hop from psychiatrist to psychiatrist. The simple act of cleaning his room was oddly invigorating.
He spotted something on the table and made a dive for it. “Oh, this is the kind of thing the leaflet warned about.”
The sleeping pills instantly turned into hazardous items. He gathered them up and stashed them in a drawer.
Bee had finished eating and was strolling around the room, sniffing every nook and cranny. She had an easy, light gait. There was something comforting about watching a cat going about on a little adventure.
Where do cats sleep? The clinic hadn’t provided him with a cat bed. It’s not cold, but I might leave a fleece blanket out for her. Maybe she’ll crawl into my bed.
As Shuta lost himself in thought, time slipped away. Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep without needing to take his medication.
A few days later, Shuta was clutching the pet carrier in his arms and sprinting to the fifth floor. He burst into Nakagyō Kokoro Clinic for the Soul and breathlessly pushed the carrier through the small reception window where the unfriendly nurse from the last visit was sitting.
“Here. The cat. I want to speak with the doctor about it.”
“Mr. Kagawa, your appointment is in four days. You still have four days’ worth of the cat left.”
“No, I do not. I am. Done with it.” His shortness of breath was making it difficult for him to speak. “I just want to see the doctor. I’m happy to wait.”
“Then, please head to the examination room.”
“What, immediately? As I said, I’ll wait.”
“Please head to the examination room.” The nurse shifted her attention to a different task.
Shuta was flabbergasted. After dashing from his office to his apartment, he had placed the cat back in the carrier and rushed over to the clinic. He needed to vent his anger in order to feel some relief. Being seen by the doctor so quickly felt anticlimactic.
