A cat to come home to · Sanmu Memoir 006

Sometimes, when I open the door after coming home, the first thing I hear is a thud from the room inside.

If Sanmu has been sleeping in there, that is the sound of the cat jumping to the floor. A few seconds later, Sanmu ambles over. Before I see the cat, that one sound tells me it will appear soon. Once it reaches me, it rubs against me, as if hoping I will pay a little attention.

There is no such big reaction when I leave.

Sometimes Sanmu sits on a chair, watching me go with wide eyes, without meowing or doing much else. And I go out. Do I spend my time away constantly thinking about Sanmu? Not really. My life still comes first, I suppose. I have my own things to do, and once I am out, my attention is on what is happening outside.

In writing Sanmu's memoir, I do not want to portray myself as someone who thinks about a cat every moment, as though I have to sound sufficiently worried or unable to be apart to prove my affection. My actual feelings are not that dramatic. I do not think much about Sanmu when I am out, yet seeing the cat come over when I return feels good. Both things simply exist together.

When I go out, I am often away for quite a while. When I return, Sanmu's response is usually a little bigger than when I left. Those few seconds are interesting: first the sound of landing, then the sight of the cat slowly walking over. There is no especially grand gesture. Sanmu comes to rub against me, and I naturally reach out for a stroke, say two or three things, and give the cat a cuddle.

There is no need to record every word I say. Ordinary conversation with a cat is like that: you see it and say a few things without thinking. Sanmu may not understand everything I mean, and I do not expect an answer. The cat comes close, I can touch it, and that little exchange is already enough.

Having a living animal at home really does feel different from having only things, especially an animal such as a cat or dog that can interact with people quite a lot. Reach out, and there is warmth. Walk through the door, and there is a response. Among furniture and objects that look much the same each day, there is a creature that moves around, sleeps, and comes to rub against you of its own accord. Coming home acquires a little more interest.

I think having a cat look forward to my return is a lovely thing. Of course, I do not know what Sanmu does while I am away, or whether the cat is waiting. It is just that, whenever I return and Sanmu walks over like this, I feel that my arrival has been anticipated. For me, that feeling is real, and already enough to make me happy.

It feels a little different from the expectations between people. Faced with another person's expectations, I might wonder how I should respond. With Sanmu, a stroke, a few words, and a cuddle all happen naturally. I do not plan what to do or treat it as something to be completed. After all this time together, these gestures come easily.

I do not usually give extra food just because I have come home, though. Sanmu weighs about 7 kg, or fourteen jin, which I think is already quite heavy. I would rather add fewer snacks and get a little more moisture into the diet. The daily can stays as usual. For this welcome-home moment, I respond with strokes and cuddles.

At Sanmu's current age, food seems to be the greatest interest. Eating, sleeping, and wandering around the room a little seem fine to me. I pay attention to whether the cat is eating well and moving around as usual. If something really differs from the ordinary, that is when I worry.

So the things I can write down are often very small. When I leave, Sanmu sits on the chair and watches me. When I return, the cat hears me and comes from the inner room. A few strokes, a few words. Taken separately, none of these seems much of a story. Together, they are the days Sanmu and I have been living.

Outside, I am busy with my own things and do not constantly think of the cat at home. But when I return, Sanmu ambles over and rubs against me. I reach out and feel a warm body. There is no need to make the peace and happiness of that moment sound extraordinary.

Having a cat like this at home, and being able to share a little affection when I return, feels quite good to me.