Kafka on the Shore

by Haruki Murakami

“That’s right. Nakata’s the name. And you would be?” “I forget my name,” the cat said. “I had one, I know I did, but somewhere along the line I didn’t need it anymore. So it’s slipped my mind.” “I know. It’s easy to forget things you don’t need anymore. Nakata’s exactly the same way,” the man said, scratching his head. “So what you’re saying, Mr. Cat, is that you don’t belong to some family somewhere?” “A long time ago I did. But not anymore. Some families in the neighborhood give me food to eat now and then, but none of them own me.” Nakata nodded and was silent for a time, then said, “Would you mind very much, then, if I called you Otsuka?” “Otsuka?” the cat said, looking at him in surprise. “What are you talking about? Why do I have to be Otsuka?” “No special reason. The name just came to me. Nakata just picked one out of a hat. It makes things a lot easier for me if you have a name. That way somebody like me, who isn’t very bright, can organize things better. For instance, I can say, On this day of this month I spoke with the black cat Otsuka in a vacant lot in the 2-chome neighborhood. It helps me remember.” “Interesting,” the cat said. “Not that I totally follow you. Cats can get by without names. We go by smell, shape, things of this nature. As long as we know these things, there’re no worries for us.”