“What?”
Dr. Suda smiled at Abino’s vacant expression.
“Don’t look like that—like the whole world blames you. This is between you and your cat. You see, in my line of work, I draw a clear line between animals and animals with names. Animals with names have owners, and I consider them a pair. You and Chitose are one such pair. So it’s up to you to think and decide what’s best for Chitose. It’s not something for others to criticize or meddle in.”
“I suppose…”
Suda’s sincere words pierced Abino’s heart. Despite the various things people said to her, she held on to one sentiment: regret. After searching tirelessly the night of Chitose’s escape, Abino had returned to her room to find the crescent-shaped latch on the window, a common feature in traditional town houses, in the locked position. Yet, the window was open. Abino realized she’d turned the latch without properly pulling the window shut. No matter how she looked at it, it was her fault that Chitose had escaped.
As if sensing her inner turmoil, Dr. Suda said a little sternly, “I’m not asking you to give up. But you have to be reasonable. Look at you. You’re going to collapse eventually. And that’ll just inconvenience everyone around you.”
His words hit a nerve, and Abino felt crestfallen. She folded the tattered poster and let out a heavy sigh. She had no idea how many thousands of flyers she had put up, going even to places outside Kyoto such as Shiga and Osaka. She had done everything she could think of.
Finally, yesterday, Shizue demanded to know how much more Abino was going to do before she was satisfied. At the dinners, Abino’s smile had waned, and whenever she had a moment, she was on her phone, gathering information. A professional geiko shouldn’t allow tears to smudge her white face powder. And because Abino knew how much Shizue had adored Chitose, she thought it was perhaps time for her to give up.
“Dr. Suda, I was thinking about visiting the building Chitose was rescued from.”
“That building? Why?”
“Cats become attached to places, not people. Of course, I don’t think Chitose thinks of the place where she was so badly treated as her home. Even so, maybe something meaningful lingers there for Chitose. Laugh at me or call me foolish, but I want to see it for myself.”
“There’s nothing lingering there. If there’s anything, it’s resentment.” Dr. Suda’s brows were knitted. It was rare to see the vet, who was typically so composed, wearing such an expression.
Abino headed to the parallel street. She had already informed Ioka, the owner of the building, of her plans. She’d lied that an acquaintance was interested in viewing the place and arranged to meet with someone from the property management company.
The tall and narrow Nakagyō Building was located directly behind Suda Animal Hospital. Accompanied by the man from the property management company, Abino climbed to the fifth floor. It was the second unit from the end.
The property manager opened the door without hesitation. The room was surprisingly bright; dazzling sunlight streamed in through the large frosted-glass window.
“It’s a great deal for this location. The view is amazing. I highly recommend this unit,” said the manager, smiling widely.
Abino stood in the center of the room and swept her eyes over the space. The floors and walls were white and spotless. There was not the slightest trace of the sorrowful events that had occurred there a few years ago.
“Are there any openings for mice or cats to get in and out?” asked Abino.
“Mice? There are ventilation pipes, but I don’t think mice can get in from the outside. The ceiling and the pipes are pretty secure. It’s an old place, so the walls are pretty sturdy, too,” replied the manager, tapping the nearest one.
When Abino thought of the many cats that had been trapped within these walls, a chill went down her spine. Feeling queasy, she stepped out of the room. She thought she heard cats meowing, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. An unpleasant smell rose to her nose. If Chitose were to come back here, it wouldn’t be out of nostalgia. Just as Dr. Suda said, it would be out of resentment.
What Abino found in the unit was closure. After that trip, Abino returned to her cheery self at the dinners. She approached her work with newfound zeal. It was easier to hide her feelings behind white face powder and smiles.
But occasionally, overwhelming regret and sadness would engulf her, leading to bouts of sobbing, even in the presence of the proprietress and her fellow geishas. She was aware that her behavior perplexed those around her, but there was nothing she could do. She continued to visit the building in secret. She had no real expectations, but as far as Abino knew, there was nowhere else for her to try. Leaning against the door of that fifth-floor unit, she called out for Chitose.
“Come back. Come back, my little Chitose.”
Abino was on the second floor of Tomoka Takamine’s store to pick up the bag she had ordered. It was a bright orange shoulder bag made of genuine leather. It was lightweight and as soft as it looked.
“It’s really lovely. Even better than I expected. Thank you.”
Abino truly liked the bag, and she hung it over her shoulder in front of the mirror. Tomoka, the designer, was a sophisticated urban woman. And perhaps in deference to Kozue, who had introduced Abino to her, she had taken Abino to her office on the second floor.
She had met Tomoka about two months ago. Their conversation then had been a bit out of sync, and they both felt like they had been caught up in something strange.
“This isn’t part of this bag’s design, but would you like it?” asked Tomoka. She offered Abino a decorative fob. It was made from the same orange leather and gold-embossed with a cat’s face.
Abino’s chest tightened.
“It’s adorable.”
Abino smiled but couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. It depicted a long-haired cat, quite unlike Chitose, yet it felt as though her chest were being squeezed. Unable to bear it any longer, she dropped her head.
“I heard from Kozue that your cat went missing. Was the cat’s name ‘Chitose’ by any chance?” asked Tomoka.
“Yes, it was. It’s been a year since she went missing. I did everything I could think of, but I never found her.” Abino tried to control the wobble in her voice. She knew Tomoka was probably just making small talk. But her tears suddenly spilled out as if a dam had given way. She lifted her gaze, meeting Tomoka’s eyes.
“Truth be told, I want to abandon everything, my job and all, and search for Chitose. From the start, Chitose wasn’t destined for a long life. I understand in my heart that my hope may be in vain, yet I still want to believe she’s alive. I pretend to have forgotten her because I don’t want to trouble those around me, but every night, I find myself crying. I’m so, so heartbroken—I don’t even know what to do with myself. Chitose was only with me for a year. A year. I seem foolish, don’t I?”
By the end of her speech, Abino found herself laughing even as she cried, fully aware of how silly she sounded. She couldn’t blame others for making fun of her for being ridiculous and immature.
But Tomoka didn’t make fun of her. She shook her head.
“I might have thought that in the past. But I can’t stop thinking about the cats I had only for a month. I feel a pang when I see cats online or in TV commercials. Now, that’s foolish. They weren’t even my cats, yet I ended up making cat merchandise.” Tomoka looked at the gold-embossed cat on the fob and laughed self-deprecatingly. “The amount of time you spent together probably matters, but less time doesn’t mean less love. Whether it’s a day or year, human or cat, and even if we may never see them again, there are those who are irreplaceable in our lives.”
Abino felt her heart squeezing again. She wanted to thank her, but her lips trembled and she couldn’t speak.
