Page 29 of We’ll Prescribe You Another Cat

It was already eleven o’clock at night when Tomoya got back to his apartment. He gave a deep sigh as he switched on the lights. He used to be greeted by the sight of homemade cardboard cat houses and paper bags, and even a planter of cat grass. Now, everything had been tidied up, and the floor was clear. He dropped his bag and jacket and sank down onto the floor.

He remained cross-legged against the wall, unable to move, but when the thought of food finally prompted him to look up, he found Nikké sitting upright, staring back at him with golden eyes.

Tomoya was momentarily paralyzed. Nikké—all black, except for his eyes. His round, full-moon-like eyes.

He rushed to the cat pen.

“Nikké! Nikké! Long time no see!”

In his haste, he fumbled with the cage door. Once it was open, Nikké arched his back upward before approaching Tomoya. Tomoya scooped him up in his arms.

“Hey! You’re looking energetic! It’s been months since I’ve seen you moving around like this, and you’ve been asleep all this time. Did you eat your food? You wouldn’t wake up no matter what, and I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it.”

With one fluid motion, he stroked Nikké from head to tail. Nikké’s fur shimmered, smooth like velvet. He quickly darted away from Tomoya and gave himself a vigorous full-body shake. A cloud of fur fluttered into the air as he started to explore the room.

He was moving around fine. He was walking. There was no sign of weakness or unsteadiness; his back and tail formed a strong, straight line. Am I misremembering? Nikké appeared younger than before, his face resolute and his fur shiny.

But none of that mattered. Tomoya was just ecstatic that Nikké was awake.

“Here, let me take your food and water bowls out.”

He took them out of the cage and placed them in the room. Then he rummaged through his closet for some toys. When he turned around, Nikké had his head buried inside his work bag.

“Hey, that’s off-limits.”

However, Nikké took one, then two jumps into the bag and slowly lowered his rump. He glanced back at Tomoya with a twinkly look and remained still.

He did what he wanted. He didn’t do what he didn’t. Tomoya felt heat build behind his eyes as he observed Nikké’s expressionless demeanor that showed no hint of shame nor flattery.

* * *

About a year ago, Nikké stopped waking up even when lifted or shaken. He wouldn’t open his eyes during brushing or face wiping. However, he didn’t appear comatose; he seemed to behave normally when Tomoya wasn’t present. The amount of food and water in his bowls dwindled, and he continued using the litter box.

Tomoya brought Nikké to Suda Animal Hospital, where both the X-rays and blood tests came back normal. Yet, even with his eyelids manually held open, he did not awaken. Dr. Suda diagnosed him with excessive sleeping caused by a decrease in physical capabilities. At the time Nikké was rescued, he was about one year old, and two years had passed since then.

It was too early for his body to be deteriorating.

But who knew if the poor breeding conditions had shaved off years from Nikké’s natural lifespan. Tomoya took Nikké to Dr. Suda’s a few more times, but witnessing Nikké’s limp form endure injections left him feeling guilty and reluctant to return.

In the early days, before his “condition,”

Tomoya made sure to play with Nikké daily, regardless of how late he got home. Though “play”

might be a bit of an exaggeration—it usually involved Tomoya watching Nikké play around on his own or, conversely, Nikké watching Tomoya work through some paperwork. They had a quiet sort of companionship.

Tomoya would even fall into a trance watching Nikké play. His coat was so shiny that the room’s lights bounced off each strand of fur. Tomoya worked with dozens of cats at the rescue center, but the only cat that captured his heart was his own.

Their bond was stronger than he could have ever imagined. Back at his parents’ house, there was Hajime, the family cat, but Tomoya secretly reveled in the fact that his connection with Nikké was uniquely his own—a notion so childish he kept it from his sister.

Even now, Nikké wasn’t doing much, simply sitting like a statue in his bag, fixated on the spot where the wall and ceiling met. Perhaps there was something visible only to cats, but Tomoya didn’t approach Nikké to see what had caught his attention. Instead, he observed his cat as he stared intently at that one spot.

I hope our hours of activity will overlap like this, just as they did before you got “ill.”

He watched in silence until Nikké grew bored and climbed out of his bag.