If Cats Disappeared from the World

by Genki Kawamura

This life will someday have to end, so until that final day arrives, Do what you want to do, do it, do all you can, That’s how you face tomorrow.

The real devil doesn’t have a scary red face or a pointy tail, and there’s no pitchfork in sight! The devil looks just like you.

but to this day I still find myself sticking to my comfort zone whenever I go shopping.

Same

Was this what I really wanted? I pondered these things as I fell to earth, before a darkness consumed me once again.

Aloha (I decided that the devil, decked as he was in his Hawaiian shirt, would henceforth be known as Aloha)

greeting death/devil

He was warm and soft—a smooth, fluffy ball of fur in my arms. I’d cuddled up with the little guy countless times over the years without thinking much about it, but now, for the first time ever, it occurred to me that maybe this little act of comfort was what life was all about.

Let’s see now, that would be thirty items a month, 365 per year. It would be simple. The world is basically drowning in crap anyways. All those small, silly, useless things like the parsley they put on an omelet, or the promotional flyers they’re always sticking on your windshield. Or how about those lengthy user manuals that come with your new fridge or washing machine. Or watermelon seeds. All kinds of unnecessary things spring to mind. If you really think about it, you could come up with at least one or two million things the world could do without.

people would probably just get right to work on coming up with a new kind of sweet thing to replace chocolate. It just goes to show how insatiable we humans can be when it comes to food.

I’d always thought that when my time came, I’d go quietly, peacefully, and with dignity—that’s how I always imagined it would happen. But when death stares you in the face, you find yourself willing to accept a helping hand from anyone, even the devil, in order to stay alive. It’s basic human instinct. Dignity and respectability fly out the window at that point.

But then, to make matters worse, Mom found out that she was allergic to cats. There was no end to her sneezing. For an entire month, in spite of her perpetually watery eyes and constant sniffling, she never once considered giving the cat away. “I can’t let him go—he chose me,” she said while wiping her flushed, puffy face.

“In order to gain something, you have to lose something,” she always said. People are always trying to get something for nothing. But that’s just theft. If you’ve gained something, it means that someone, somewhere, has lost something. Even happiness is built on someone else’s misfortune. She often reminded me of this. In fact, she considered it one of the laws of the universe.

Cabbage meowed nearby. I pulled him close to me and gave the little fur ball a squeeze. Feeling his fluffy body pressed against mine warmed my heart.

Being such a slave to the device made me hate myself.

Same

When human beings invented the mobile phone, they also invented the anxiety that comes with not having one on you.

Throughout history we’ve given birth to new things, only to lose the old way of doing things.

That morning, I took my time getting up out of bed, basking in the morning sun. Then I finally made my way to the kitchen, where I listened to the radio while I cooked breakfast. I brewed some coffee, fried an egg, dropped a slice of bread in the toaster, and cut a few slices of tomato. After assembling my meal, then polishing it off, I poured myself another cup of coffee and kicked back and read a book.

Normally, all of the passengers would be absorbed by their phones. But today was different. Instead people were reading books, listening to music, or staring at the scenery passing by outside. People seemed to have no trouble finding something to fill up their free time. Their facial expressions even seemed more cheerful than usual. Why do people always look so serious when they’re checking their phones? It felt calmer inside the tram without those contraptions stressing us out. Observing the scene around me, I realized that not only had I gained an extra day of life for myself, but it also seemed like I’d done the world a big favor.

I had left the work of memory and even my ties to other human beings to my mobile phone. It’s pretty scary to think about what these devices have done to the human brain.

Me with passwords

We’d meet at the library after class and go to a movie; then we’d go to our usual café and talk. After that we’d go back to her place and make love. Every once in a while she’d pack lunch for us and we’d take the tram to the spot with the best view in town and have a picnic. It wasn’t anything too fancy or adventurous, but we were happy. It was all we needed. Thinking about it now, it’s kind of hard to believe, but I suppose the size of the town was just right for us back then.

Night after night we stayed up late talking, eating, and sipping our wine.

“There are so many cruel things in the world,” he once told us. “But there are also just as many beautiful things.”

He listened to our stories—sometimes laughing, sometimes with tears in his eyes. There we were, the three of us on the other side of the world from our home, filling our nights with endless conversation.

I love this

It was then that it hit me: the undeniable, tangible feeling that someone I knew had died, that I’d lost someone I had grown close to. Tom was dead and we would never see him again. No more talking late into the night, drinking red wine, or enjoying meals together. It was the first time the finality of death had really hit home for either of us, and so she started to cry there in that place.

We could talk as much as we wanted over the phone, but that didn’t guarantee that we’d develop a deep connection to each other. This is probably why, when we finally stepped out of the Monopoly game we’d been playing around our little college town and into the real world, we found out that the old rules—the things that made our relationship possible in that particular time and place—no longer applied.

I guess it’s the same with life. We all know it has to end someday, but even so, we act as if we’re going to live forever. Like love, life is beautiful because it must come to an end.

I couldn’t help but think of all the movies I hadn’t seen, all the meals I hadn’t eaten, and all the music I’d never hear. It’s the future you’ll never get to see that you really regret missing most of all when you die.

He was right; even jellyfish exist for a reason—even they have meaning. And if that’s the case, I wondered if perhaps movies, music, coffee, and pretty much everything else had some kind of meaning as well.

To live means to cry, to shout, to love, to do silly things, to feel sadness and joy, to laugh, even to experience horrible, frightening things. Beautiful songs, beautiful scenery, nausea, people singing, planes flying across the sky, the thundering hooves of horses, mouthwatering pancakes, the endless darkness of space, cowboys firing their pistols at dawn …

I walked into the theater and sat down. Fourth row from the back, third seat from the right. This was our spot all through college.

Also, it had been years since I last spoke to my father, who back when I was three had sat next to me holding my hand tightly. Meanwhile, my mother, who sat on my left, was no longer of this world.

What did I gain by growing up, and what did I lose? I know the answer to only the second part of that question. Innocence—all those precious hopes and dreams that you can only have when you’re in your adolescence.