Page 1 of We’ll Prescribe You Another Cat

Moé Ohtani suddenly became aware that the ground beneath her was dank and soggy.

She scanned her surroundings.

Unknowingly, she had wandered into a dimly lit alleyway.

Just a moment ago, she had been walking down the lively Kawaramachi Street.

One of Kyoto’s premier shopping districts, the street was always bustling with tourists and young people, and the crowds only grew larger from evening into the night.

Usually, on her way back from school, Moé and her friends would join the throng, hitting up cafés and shops.

But today, she was alone.

Yes, she had headed west on Takoyakushi Street to avoid the crowd but somehow ended up in an unfamiliar location.

Standing in a cul-de-sac, she didn’t recognize the narrow, old-fashioned block that towered before her.

The door was open, revealing a hallway extending into its depths.

Where on earth…?

She had been so out of it. It was precisely why she’d been called unreliable and accident-prone. Still, this was the first time she’d actually gotten lost because she had been distracted. She let out a deep sigh.

The best way to avoid seeing her boyfriend would be to wander around a bit. She could go to a friend’s place, whine and fuss, and act like she hadn’t noticed anything. She’d ignore her phone. Yes, she could continue to be oblivious. Would that delay the breakup? Or would he end things anyway with a text? It would probably hurt less that way.

She stood still, eyes fixed on the gloomy building. If only her situation would change while she stood right here in this shadowy alley. If only some higher power could flick a magic wand to prevent the impending breakup. Anything would do. She wanted to run away from it all, to look the other way. But her pointless time-wasting only amplified the pain.

For the first time in a while, she was about to see her boyfriend, but the thought brought no joy. If anything, she almost wished it wouldn’t happen. She sniffled and turned her back to the building.

Just then, a small voice called out, “Hey, you there!”

She spun around, but there was no one in sight. “Hey!”

the voice called again.

It was coming from somewhere above her head. There was an open window on the fourth or fifth floor. Quite high up. To her surprise, she spotted someone peering out.

“Over here!”

It was hard to see clearly against the backlight, but it sounded like a man. His voice was nasal and high-pitched; he seemed to be wearing something white.

She held her breath as she watched him hang his entire upper body out of the window.

“Be careful! That looks dangerous!”

“No, no, I’m not a dangerous person. I’m a good person.”

She couldn’t make out his expression, but he seemed to be laughing.

The man’s cadent Kyoto accent drifted down.

“Since you’ve made it all this way, please come up. I’m on the top floor, the second unit from the back. Don’t hesitate.”

“N-not at all. I’m not hesitating—”

“Shall I come down to you? It’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s not impossible for me to jump from this height. No, wait, it’s too far. Ahh, no, actually, I think I can manage it. Let’s give it a try. Nothing ventured.”

The man pitched forward.

“Wait!”

Moé screamed.

She darted into the narrow building, dashed up the stairs to the top floor, then over to the second unit from the back, where she rapped on the door. Like the building, the door—metal and heavy looking—showed its age, its paint peeling off in patches. Despite her persistent knocks, there was no response. But the man’s absent-minded way of speaking, his gentle Kyoto dialect that made her feel he was letting his guard down with her, had definitely beckoned her in.

She placed her hand around the doorknob and tried to turn it. Nope, it was stuck. She applied more pressure, and then suddenly, it began to yield. Using both hands, she found a solid grip on the doorknob and pulled.

As the door began to give, she peered through the crack. Unlike the musty vibes of the rest of the building, the unit within was well lit. In front of her was what looked like a reception window. This place must be a clinic, she thought as she craned her neck farther inside. She spotted a comfortable chair, but no one was around.

“Excuse me?”

she called out.

No reply.

That man! What happened to him? Her heart raced. He didn’t actually jump, did he? She strained her ears. It’s so quiet. Reluctantly, she stepped back to close the door when a female voice pierced the silence.

“What’s going on, Dr. Nikké?”

The voice, ringing out from the depths of the unit, was unmistakably angry.

Peering through the half-open door, Moé spotted the back of a woman in a nurse’s uniform. Her hands rested on her hips.

“Going out of your way to call down to the street like that. Do you have nothing better to do? Are you feeling bored?”

“You don’t have to get so mad.”

It was the man from earlier.

“I mean, she came all the way to the entrance and was about to turn back. It’s okay if I listen to her for just a bit, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s not okay. Your important patient with an appointment hasn’t come by yet, but you keep letting people cut the line left and right.”

“Yes…But he seems to be taking a long time to get here, and I don’t have anything to do.”

“So you are bored.”

Still peeking around the door, Moé spotted the man. Aged about thirty, clad in a white lab coat, he sounded like a mild-mannered, kind doctor. He looked up, and their eyes met.

“Oh! Come on in.”

The doctor smiled, looking relieved by the interruption.

The nurse turned around to look. What a beautiful face, thought Moé. Her eyes were cool; her skin, a porcelain hue. She seemed slightly older than Moé—around twenty-five. Her expression, with a deeply furrowed brow, was decidedly unwelcoming.

“Um, I—”

“Please come in. Take a seat,”

said the doctor.

Before Moé could push open the door to the examination room, the nurse strode out, nose in the air.

Stepping inside, Moé cast a look around the sparsely furnished space—just a desk, two chairs, and a computer. Not a single piece of medical equipment in sight.

“Don’t mind her. Chitose can be a bit harsh sometimes, but she has a gentle side, too. This is Nakagyō Kokoro Clinic for the Soul. As you can see, it’s just the nurse and me running it, so we really aren’t taking any new patients. But we’ll make an exception for you since you’ve come this far.”

Clinic for the Soul? Moé was taken aback.

“I don’t have any problems that are serious enough to consult a psychiatrist.”

Ignoring Moé’s wide-eyed look, the doctor chuckled.

“But you went out of your way to come here, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t come here on my own. You called me in, and I got curious.”

“Some people won’t even come in, even when you call out to them. But you, you came here on your own. You climbed the stairs with your own two feet; you turned the doorknob with your own hands. If you truly didn’t want to, you would not have bothered. Now, let’s see.”

The doctor spun toward his desk and began typing on his keyboard.

Before Moé could prepare herself, the session had begun. She had never thought about seeing a psychiatrist. She hadn’t even been to the mental health center at her university. She’d never for a moment felt the need to share her troubles with a third party.

“Your name and age?”

The doctor’s smooth Kyoto dialect drew her in and broke down her defenses.

“Moé Ohtani. I’m almost twenty.”

“What brings you in today?”

“Well…”

Do I look troubled? Do I look like I have problems? It was true that until moments ago, she had been brooding, but only over trivial matters. Things were a bit tough, that was all. She figured if she kept those feelings locked away in her heart, they would eventually fade away.

She was about to say everything was fine when she caught the doctor’s eye. He didn’t seem at all on edge; rather, he appeared ready to be entertained by a fun story. His gaze was mysterious—attentive, but it was as if he was observing her from a remove.

“I don’t want to be separated from the person I love,”

Moé murmured.

“I see.”

The doctor paused.

“We’ll prescribe you a cat. Chitose! Please bring in the cat!”

He directed his request toward the privacy curtains in the back of the room. The nurse drew back the curtain, looking displeased.

“Dr. Nikké, this cat requires special attention.”

“Ahh, yes. You’re absolutely right. As one would expect, you’re always on top of things, Chitose. Excellent! This clinic wouldn’t function without you.”

“Hmph. What a lie,”

said the nurse, though she didn’t sound entirely displeased.

She placed a pet carrier on the desk and retreated behind the curtains.

Just what is going on?

Moé sat in a daze as the doctor turned the carrier around. Through its mesh sides, Moé had a perfect view of its contents.

“Um, a cat?”

“Correct. This is a cat,”

said the doctor. He sounded proud.

Moé stooped to get a closer look.

Brown with black stripes. Large, triangular ears standing at attention. A compact face with a sharp muzzle. It was a dignified and beautiful cat.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“You think so? Shall we take it out?”

The doctor clicked open the carrier. The cat emerged in a smooth motion like a rolling wave. It wasn’t very large, but the patterns on its coat were so striking that Moé instinctively brought her hands to her cheeks.

“Wow. It’s leopard print. How adorable.”

The leopard-print cat was sitting upright like an ornament. Its large pupils were fixed on the doctor.

“Yes, it looks like the pattern beloved by aunties of western Japan. When an auntie wears leopard print, people say it looks flashy, but it’s funny how cute it is on a cat. This one is still a baby. It’ll get bigger, so the auntie vibes will only grow more intense. Take this cat home for a week.”

The doctor brought his ear toward the cat.

“Hmm? What’s that?”

He dipped his face lower and touched the cat’s nose to his.

“Not aunties of western Japan? Just aunties from Osaka, you say? I see. It’s not right to lump all of western Japan together, is it? So sorry. I was wrong to do it.”

It was as if they were having a conversation. When the doctor smiled, the cat slinked backward into the carrier.

“Now, please take this Osaka auntie–style cat for a week. I’ll write you a prescription. Pick up what you need at the reception desk before you head out. Oh, and also…”

The doctor handed Moé a small slip of paper and a booklet—a simple notebook meant for keeping track of prescriptions. Moé had one just like it at home. But as she took the journal from the doctor’s outstretched hand, she creased her brow. The words “Medication Record”

on the cover had been crossed out with a black pen and replaced with “Cat Record,”

scrawled as if by a child’s hand.

“Please track what the cat consumes and produces.”

“Consumes…and, um, produces?”

“What goes in must come out—that’s a basic principle. Please be meticulous about the specifics. Make sure the intake and outgo process runs smoothly.”

“Wait a second. You’re not suggesting I take this cat home, are you?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

Moé was dumbfounded. Looking after a cat was no simple task, not something she could do on a whim.

“Nope. I can’t. It’s impossible.”

The doctor chuckled.

“Ms. Ohtani, you don’t need to hold back.”

“I’m not holding back. It’s just…I’m not confident I can take care of a cat.”

She hung her head in apology, but the doctor ignored her. He placed the pet carrier in her arms.

“Here you go. Now, you’re officially a part of the Osaka auntie crew. Isn’t that great?”

There were so many things that were not great about this. They were in Kyoto, not Osaka. And she didn’t even like leopard print. But the doctor just grinned. Half dazed, Moé left the examination room with the carrier in hand. The waiting room was still empty except for the lone chair.

“Please come this way, Ms. Ohtani.”

A pale hand waved at her from the reception window.

“I’ll take your prescription now.”

The process seemed much the same as in any other clinic, though a doctor wouldn’t normally lure patients from a window or offer them a cat. Moé passed the piece of paper to the nurse, who handed her a weighty paper bag in return.

“These are supplies. There’s also an instruction leaflet inside, which I advise you to read carefully.”

The bag contained two bowls, a plastic tray, and various packets. Moé pulled out the leaflet and started reading.

“Name: Kotetsu. Male. Four months old. Bengal. Feed a moderate amount of cat food in the morning and at night. Water bowl must always be full. Clean kitty litter as needed. Will urinate two to four times a day; will defecate one to two times a day. Monitor the color, odor, shape, and volume of each excrement. To prevent urinary tract issues, it’s important for both felines and humans to have stress-free elimination. That’s all.”

She read it through multiple times, then looked over at the nurse, who had already turned her gaze toward other paperwork.

“?‘Elimination’ refers to the cat’s toilet habits, correct?”

“If there’s anything you don’t understand, please speak to the doctor. Now, take care.”

“I mean, the shape and odor—”

“Take care.”

“It’s referring to the cat’s poop, right?”

“Take care.”

Resigned, Moé left the clinic, cradling the crate with the cat inside. The walls of the old building and its endless hallway drew her back to reality. A higher power had not flicked a magic wand to solve her problems. Instead, a doctor had prescribed her a cat.

* * *

Moé lived in an apartment rented by her father so she could attend college in Kyoto. The apartment was spacious and elegant, with a hallway leading into an eat-in kitchen and a bedroom—a luxury for a college student living alone.

It had been three hours since she got back to her apartment. Moé couldn’t tell if things were normal or potentially problematic. Perhaps the cat had not approached the litter box because something was off.

“Is something bothering you?”

Moé clutched a cushion to her chest, keeping her distance from the cat, who sat primly grooming himself.

When she had gotten home, the first thing she had considered was where she would allow the cat to roam. She couldn’t risk him snacking on something disagreeable in the kitchen. So the bedroom it was, she’d decided. But as soon as she’d closed the door behind her and popped open the pet carrier, Kotetsu had darted under the bed at an ungodly speed. Dropping to her knees, she called to him while he stared back at her. His ears, sharp triangles, remained alert. At the center of each eye was a thin black streak.

Perhaps calling out is the wrong tactic. Moé filled the bowls with food and water, placed them close to the bed, then continued to watch quietly until the cat began to army-crawl out from under the bed, one paw at a time.

He devoured his food noisily and then sat.

When Moé was growing up, her grandparents had owned a cat, so she knew all about their cuteness and caprice. Their cat had been pudgy and fluffy, and whenever she’d attempted to hold him, he effortlessly slipped from her grasp. But since she hadn’t actually had to look after him, she now felt more anxious than nostalgic about having a cat in her home.

According to the instruction leaflet, Kotetsu was a four-month-old Bengal. He sported a light brown coat with black stripes around his face and upper arms. He had rosettes all over his back: rich brown fur ringed with black—exactly like a leopard’s spots. The glossy, short fur made the pattern pop.

She researched Bengal cats on her phone. The breed was known to be friendly and affectionate and to possess great athleticism and energy. Their fur came in shades of brown, white, and gray, with Kotetsu’s coloring being the most popular. Bengals typically reached adulthood in three months, but their build and mannerisms would apparently continue to change, so Kotetsu, thirty centimeters tall when seated, was likely still maturing. That weird doctor had mentioned Kotetsu would grow bigger.

Still keeping her distance, Moé read the instruction leaflet aloud to herself.

“Will urinate two to four times a day; will defecate one to two times a day. It’s fine that he hasn’t pooped yet, but I feel like he should’ve peed at least once.”

She gave the cat a thoughtful look.

“Hey, Kotetsu, don’t you need to go potty? Is there something wrong?”

Food and water bowls. A flimsy plastic tray that looked like something you’d find at a hardware store. And then, there was the litter. When she’d first torn open the bag, she’d been surprised. A cloud of dust had poofed into the air, revealing a jumble of uneven granules that looked like crushed cement. She’d lined the box with the litter, and that was that. She’d done what she could.

She had a vague idea of how cats eliminated waste. She recalled how, at her grandparents’ house, their cat, wearing a serene expression, would sit in a box tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. Even though it was an animal, she felt it would be improper to stare while it did its business, so she never watched too closely. Kotetsu still hadn’t gone near the litter box. Maybe she should have paid more attention to her grandparents’ cat’s bathroom habits.

“Is there not enough sand? Let me add more.”

As she was about to pour extra litter into the box, her doorbell chimed. Moé jolted in surprise.

It’s Ryuji. Oh no. I completely forgot.

Today was Tuesday. Not long ago, she would have been bouncing up and down with excitement while awaiting his arrival. Her boyfriend, Ryuji, worked for a real estate agency and had Wednesdays off. Like many Japanese young adults, he lived with his family, but on his days off, he would swing by Moé’s and stay over. She would skip class on Wednesdays and spend the entire day with Ryuji.

This had been their routine for almost a year. But this month, citing a busy schedule, Ryuji hadn’t been over to see her. Moé thought his demeanor had become chilly, too; he was distant, gave short answers, and seemed never quite to meet her eyes. She had a bad feeling about his forced laughs, which seemed to convey a hint of annoyance.

And yesterday, she’d received a brief message from him: I need to talk to you about something, so I’ll drop by your place. There was no way that “talk”

was going to be a good one. Was he tired of her? Had he even found someone else?

This was what she had been brooding about before she’d wandered into that clinic, but taking care of Kotetsu had made her forget everything. Without a moment to gather herself, she closed the bedroom door and headed toward the front door.

There was Ryuji, dressed in a suit. In lieu of his usual greeting, he gave her a sheepish wave. Even once he was inside, he seemed uneasy, and his eyes swam around the space.

A chill seemed to creep into the room. In the past, Ryuji’s mere presence would fill the space with warmth. He was kind, calm, and knowledgeable—a boyfriend to be proud of.

“Do you want something to eat? Oh, you know what? There’s a new Korean drama we can watch. My friend from school recommended it. Apparently, it’s super funny.”

“No, I’m okay. Actually, Moé, the thing I wanted to talk about—”

“There’s also that new movie. You know, the one you said you wanted to see? It’s already available on streaming. But the reviews are mixed. Actually, should we order pizza?”

Wanting to dispel the bad vibes, Moé chattered away. She pretended not to see Ryuji’s troubled expression. She didn’t want them to break up. They were supposed to be doing fine. She had no idea why he would want to end things.

Just as Ryuji was about to speak, a loud commotion erupted from her bedroom.

“What was that?”

asked Ryuji, sounding alarmed.

“It’s the cat.”

“Cat? You’ve got a cat now?”

“No, not exactly. It’s a strange story. I was prescribed a cat at a clinic.”

“Prescribed a cat? You’re kidding, right?”

Ryuji chuckled incredulously.

The ruckus from the bedroom continued. Moé opened the door and peered inside. She locked eyes with Kotetsu in the act of clawing at her bedsheets. His pupils widened, and he froze.

Ryuji, too, peeked through the gap in the door.

“Wow, that really is a cat. When did you get it?”

“It’s not mine. I got it at a clinic around Rokkaku or Takoyakushi Street with a medication rec—a ‘Cat Record’ journal, and I was told to take it home for a week.”

Ryuji looked dubious.

“I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

“I know it’s weird, but it’s true.”

He didn’t seem convinced.

“A cat, huh? It’s fine to look after it for a while, but I have a feeling you’re going to get too attached.”

He pushed open the door wider and went inside, crouching low as he approached the cat. Kotetsu stayed put on the bed, ready to retreat.

“That’s a cool-looking cat. Like a mini leopard. Do you think he’d scratch if I touched him?”

Ryuji reached out his hand; Kotetsu leaped off the bed and trotted gracefully to the corner of the room. Ryuji leaned against the bed and observed Kotetsu in disappointment. Moé took a seat beside Ryuji and rested her head on his shoulder.

She felt grateful to that doctor. Who would’ve thought a cat could solve her romantic troubles? Ryuji even had a warm look in his eyes.

“He’s really cute. I heard that more girls living alone are getting cats.”

“Yeah, they are,” she said.

Moé followed his gaze to Kotetsu. After sniffing his food and water bowls, Kotetsu moved toward the tray of kitty litter.

“Oh, maybe he’s going to do his business now.”

“Oh yeah?”

Ryuji leaned forward to get a closer look.

Kotetsu was stepping gingerly into the litter box. He didn’t crouch immediately but pawed at the litter, making a crunching sound. Perhaps he didn’t like being watched or felt distracted by their presence.

Moé couldn’t bring herself to suggest they leave. It crossed her mind that if they did, Ryuji might bring up the dreaded breakup talk.

“Hey, he’s sitting down,”

whispered Ryuji.

Kotetsu lowered his haunches to the litter, tail aloft. It was hard to get a proper look, but from his fidgety movements, it looked like he was relieving himself.

Phew. What a relief.

A minute later, Kotetsu lifted his behind and then began to scratch the litter with his front paws. Moé and Ryuji edged closer for a better view.

Then came a massive sweep.

Sandy dust whirled up in a burst as granules flew out of the box.

Just as Moé’s mind registered what was happening, Kotetsu had stretched out his forelegs and raked out even more litter.

And the intensity of it all.

Only moments ago, he’d been like a child playing in a sandbox; now, he was like an excavator flinging gravel in all directions.

Kotetsu turned his body and bent forward, placing his hind legs on the side of the plastic box.

He released one last kick, loaded with all his might. Before Ryuji could react, the litter pelted his face like a barrage of slingstones.

“Ouch! That hurt!”

“Eek!”

Moé darted out of the way. The floor was covered in litter. In the explosion of dust, a black missile was soaring toward Ryuji.

Is that poo—?

Ryuji frantically brushed the litter out of his hair and face, unaware of the flecks of cat feces scattered around.