Page 25 of We’ll Prescribe You Another Cat

When had he begun to dread going home? Tomoya Kajiwara paused for a moment, his hand still gripping the doorknob of his front door. He held his breath and strained his ears. The only sound he could hear was the soft buzzing of the fluorescent lights in the hallway.

He let out a small sigh and entered his apartment. It was pitch-black. He switched on the lights, set down his bags, and shook off his jacket. He avoided looking around until he had completed this routine. This was what his everyday looked like. No dropping work to rush home, no bursting into his apartment in a panic. Once he completed his tasks, he finally turned his gaze to the three-tiered cat pen. It was a stainless steel enclosure, almost as tall as Tomoya. There were alternating shelves, and at the very top hung a hammock.

A hammock that was no longer in use.

At the lower level, a black cat lay curled up, tucked between the litter box and the water bowl. His face, turned toward the wall, remained hidden. His shiny black fur rippled softly from his rear to his back. Tomoya watched him breathe for a moment.

“Nikké.”

Tomoya sat in front of the pen with one knee raised. The black cat remained asleep, showing no movement. After observing for a while longer, he opened the pen’s door and checked the food and water bowls. About half the food was left, and the water was about a cup lower than it had been that morning. He pulled out the litter box to check the waste and was relieved to find that the minimum requirement had been met once again today.

“Nikké, shall I brush you?”

He gently lifted the black cat with both hands, making sure to support his feeble, dangling limbs so his head wouldn’t loll around. Using his knee to help with positioning, he carefully pulled Nikké out of the pen. Then he nestled the cat comfortably on his back between his crossed legs, leaving his belly exposed. With a rubber cat brush, he carefully started to brush his fur.

“See, doesn’t that feel good?”

He lifted the cat’s forelegs and made gentle brushstrokes against his flank. Grooming was easy because the cat neither resisted nor showed any signs of discomfort, but instead, he had to be careful not to overdo it. Eventually, he stopped.

I wish he’d resist a bit.

The whiskers above his eyes and on his cheeks were black. His nose was also black, and even his paw pads were black. Unless you looked closely, it was hard to distinguish his features when he was asleep. He looked like he had been carved out from midnight, with his full-moon-colored eyes. When he strode elegantly under the fluorescent light, his black fur used to gleam. But it had been a few months since Tomoya had seen the cat do anything like that. In fact, he hadn’t even glimpsed his cat’s golden eyes in a long time.

“There you go, Nikké. You’re all groomed. Now, sleep tight.”

He gave the cat one last squeeze and buried his face in the back of his neck. The cat smelled wonderful—like freshly laundered bedding hanging in the sun. He cupped Nikké’s head in his palm, ensuring it didn’t hang too low. The sleeping cat’s breathing was soft and steady, his freshly brushed body velvety and relaxed. As always, only his tail remained rigid, gently swaying even now. Tomoya liked to think Nikké was having a pleasant dream. He laid Nikké down in the enclosure, gently traced his back with his fingers, and closed the door.

Tonight, Nikké did not awaken either.

* * *

“Something bothering you, Kajiwara?”

asked Mr. ōta, the director of the rescue center.

Tomoya was hosing down litter boxes in the back of the facility. As usual, he wore rubber boots and gloves.

“A lot,”

replied Tomoya.

“Figuring out how to stabilize operations. Getting our part-timers to stick around.”

He smiled thinly and began scrubbing the donated crates and food bowls. Even if items were donated in pristine condition, they had to be given a thorough cleaning before being brought into the facility. Animals could carry all sorts of illnesses, and it was essential to protect the cats at the facility from infectious diseases.

He had a mountain of tasks to complete. He could clean all day and still not be caught up. Tomoya’s responsibilities were wide-ranging and included administrative work as well as field visits. Naturally, his worries were endless.

Tomoya had started working at the City Cat Rescue Center about seven years ago. Although he held the fancy title of “deputy director,”

his responsibilities included washing and cleaning up after the animals. They were often short-staffed, so full-time employees and part-time workers shared equal duties.

Mr. ōta was a good-humored man in his late fifties. He, too, despite being the director, was often called upon to prune the shrubs and change light bulbs. Even now, he was dressed in coveralls and held a garden sickle in his hand.

“I’m not talking about work matters but, rather, personal issues. You know you can talk to me if something’s troubling you in your private life.”

“Why do you ask? Do I seem troubled?”

Tomoya gave a strained smile while he hosed down a basket.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just that recently, you seem…exhausted.”

ōta’s tone was hesitant. Tomoya knew that normally, his boss didn’t have time for idle chatter, but he had come all the way to the back of the building to speak with him. He knew that he wasn’t here on a whim.

Tomoya removed his rubber gloves and used a small brush to scrub the stubborn dirt from the corner of the basket.

“We’re both equally tired with how busy things are every day. There’s probably more weighing on your mind than mine, Mr. ōta. We don’t want the next adoption fair to go like the last one.”

“Ugh, yes, that left a bad taste,”

said Mr. ōta.

“We definitely need to have a team meeting before the next one.”

Tomoya had succeeded in distracting him.

He turned off the faucet. His shirt was soaking wet. The weather was nice, so he left the freshly washed items to dry in the sun.

He was about to head out in his truck to pick up supplies and reported lost cats. When he got back, it would be time for grooming. While the gentler cats could be handled by other staff, the more aggressive ones required several attendants to handle. It was usually Tomoya who ended up covered in scratches.

“Mr. ōta, I’m heading out to pick up three cats from animal control. If we want to meet about the event, can we do that after I get back?”

“Yes, of course. That’s a lot of cats we’re picking up. The pet cat population has been increasing, but so has the number of cats arriving at our rescue center—I wish more people knew about this. Managing this operation has been a continuous struggle.”

Mr. ōta sighed deeply, then shook his head vigorously.

“No, no. Dark moods are strictly prohibited. This center’s motto is ‘Pawsitively bright and purrfectly clean.’ Come on, Kajiwara, say it with me. ‘Pawsitively bright and purrfectly clean!’?”

“I’ll pass,”

replied Tomoya before leaving Mr. ōta on his own. He was a good man, but sometimes Tomoya couldn’t keep up with his boss’s high energy levels. Tomoya had never been comfortable with lively environments. Even if people labeled him dull or quiet, he preferred to do things at his own pace.

At the cat rescue center, challenges abounded, including harrowing situations that were difficult to face directly. But even then, Tomoya never looked away or let his composure falter, handling everything calmly. Personal emotions could hinder ongoing rescue efforts—he could cry or grieve after completing the tasks at hand. Numerous workers, both full-time and part-time, had unfortunately left the job, unable to cope with the emotional toll.

That was why Tomoya operated at his own rhythm. This approach allowed him to manage his emotions and systematically complete his tasks. Until now, this method had been effective for him.