Page 3 of We’ll Prescribe You Another Cat

One week later, when Moé walked back into Nakagyō Kokoro Clinic for the Soul, she found the nurse, beautiful and aloof as ever, sitting in the reception window. She glanced up briefly.

“Please come in, Ms. Ohtani. The doctor is waiting for you in the examination room.”

The Kyoto dialect had a unique intonation, where even seemingly clinical terms like “doctor”

sounded endearingly familiar. When Moé first came to Kyoto, she didn’t know if the drawn-out endings of words were due to the local accent or if people were being overly familiar with her. But now she had gotten used to the elongated cadence that was used even when addressing respected professionals.

She liked the Kyoto dialect; it was smooth like a cat.

Moé walked into the examination room as directed. The doctor, already seated and waiting, greeted her warmly.

“Hello, Ms. Ohtani. How are you feeling?”

Moé struggled to articulate her condition, as she felt neither good nor bad.

“Umm, I’m okay.”

She quietly placed the pet carrier containing Kotetsu on the desk.

“I see. Just okay? There’s no rush. It’s always slow at the beginning. You’ll feel better gradually.”

At the beginning? Gradually?

Moé raised her eyebrows, but the doctor was smiling.

“Did you keep a record?”

“Oh, yes.”

She handed over the journal, which the doctor scrutinized, starting from day one. As she jotted down the condition of the cat’s poop and pee over the week, she couldn’t help but wonder what in the world she had been made to do. If it hadn’t been at the behest of this psychiatric clinic, she’d have thought it was some kind of joke.

Today was Tuesday. Since last week, she and Ryuji had exchanged messages but had not seen each other in person, and the short message she received today—“I’ll drop by your place, I have something to talk to you about”—made her think, I guess the cat’s not working anymore.

“Mm-hmm, you have taken meticulous notes. You’re a straightforward person, Ms. Ohtani. You don’t cut corners, even when it’s not your own cat. Some people only see things from their perspective and bend the truth to fit it.”

“Bend the truth?”

Moé tilted her head, not understanding. He must be talking about the Cat Record journal. Does he mean some people fudge the numbers on the amount of poop or meal frequency? Or maybe neglect to keep a record at all?

The doctor was still examining the notebook, going over it with extreme care.

“It’s when people unwittingly twist things so it’s convenient for them. And because they’re not aware they’re doing it, they don’t realize how they’ve distorted things.”

He scratched his nose.

“Hmm, the first two days look fine, but it seems something went wrong on day three. Am I right?”

The doctor’s eyes were on the journal, and there was a faint smile on his lips, but his voice carried a weight of seriousness.

Moé suddenly understood that this wasn’t a joke. This was medical treatment. Matching the doctor’s gravity, she replied, “I changed the cat’s litter that day to a wood chip–based litter from the pet shop.”

“I see. And how was that?”

The doctor looked up.

“I thought it was a solid choice. The wood has a lovely scent, and it said on the package that the litter was low tracking. I thought it was good, but…”

“The cat didn’t like it.”

“Exactly.”

The scent of hinoki cypress came back to her with an intensity, as if those wood chips were somewhere in the room. She recalled its pleasant smell and impressive deodorizing powers. But Kotetsu would not go anywhere near it. That night, Kotetsu had crouched into a Sphinx position, observing the plastic tray from afar.

He’ll get used to it, she had thought.

But when morning came, the litter appeared as pristine as it did when she had first laid it out. It looked like Kotetsu had continued to avoid it. She didn’t think much of it, left him food and water, and headed off to school. She attended her lectures as usual and grabbed lunch with friends. When she got home in the evening and inspected the litter box, she was shocked.

The litter was still just as it had been when she had left it in the morning—no paw prints, not even the slightest sign of disturbance.

Moé started to panic. She had read somewhere online that cats are prone to urinary tract issues. The fact that the litter box hadn’t been touched since the previous night was a worrying sign.

“It seems like he was doing his business…just not in the litter box,”

remarked the doctor as he continued to examine the Cat Record.

Moé nodded.

“Mm-hmm, on top of some cardboard boxes.”

She’d gone down on her hands and knees, crawling all over her bedroom, until she had found the bundled cardboard boxes, which she had intended to discard, now damp. Despite this evidence that the cat had finally urinated, and not in the designated place, she felt a profound sense of relief.

“After that, I went back to using the litter provided by this clinic.”

“Hmm, it seems you’ve had quite a tough time.”

The doctor closed the notebook gently.

“Some cats can’t compromise when it comes to the smell of their litter. They won’t go if they don’t like the scent. Pleasant smells don’t always equal good. Each cat has its own preference, which makes it all the more complicated. Litter might seem trivial, but in reality, it constitutes a not-insignificant importance in a cat’s life. In other words, kitty litter is crucial to a cat,”

explained the doctor.

Moé listened vacantly, unsure what exactly she was being lectured on.

“Anyway, it seems like the cat was effective this past week.”

He peered into the pet carrier and gave it a pat on the top before taking hold of its handle.

“Thank you for your efforts, Kotetsu.”

“Ahh—”

The sound tumbled out of Moé’s mouth.

The doctor paused, resting his palm on the carrier.

Reflecting on this past week, Moé felt heat build behind her eyes. There was something unapproachable about Kotetsu’s wild beauty, unlike her grandparents’ cat, which she had been able to pet and scratch between the ears. For a cat with such a small head, his body was long, and when he lay on his side, he looked utterly content. She hadn’t dared scratch his forehead, but she’d stroked his slender torso, lightly running her fingers from his neck to his butt and right to the tip of his tail.

“Bye-bye, Kotetsu.”

Moé’s eyes welled with tears. Kotetsu lay flat in the carrier facing her. It made her happy that he was looking at her.

“So now, it’s time to say good-bye. Chitose! Please take the cat!”

the doctor called out toward the white privacy curtains behind him.

The nurse pulled back the curtain and strode in.

Oh, Kotetsu’s leaving me. Instinctively, Moé reached out, but then stopped herself.

In the nurse’s arms was an identical pet carrier.

“Chitose, you’re so on top of things. You’ve brought us another cat.”

“This cat will also need to be managed,”

said the nurse curtly.

She swapped the carrier containing Kotetsu with the new carrier and disappeared behind the curtain.

The doctor turned the carrier toward Moé, revealing yet another cat inside.

“Shall we try this one now?”

Through the mesh door panel, the cat was giving Moé a look. It had large eyes, and ears shaped like equilateral triangles. It was a lighter brown than Kotetsu but had the same distinct black stripes. Moé gave the doctor a glance.

“Is this one also a Bengal?”

“Indeed. They look similar but have different compositions.”

Compositions? “Uhh…so am I going to carry on with the cat treatment?”

“Well, you haven’t healed yet,”

the doctor said.

“Take this cat home for a week. As before, please take notes on the diet and excretions in the notebook. I’ll write you a prescription, so please collect the necessary items from the reception window before you leave.”

The doctor pushed the pet carrier into Moé’s arms—an unexpected second cat. As she walked past the reception window in a daze, the nurse called out to her. She handed her a paper bag about the same weight as last time, and inside was another instruction leaflet.

“Name: Noelle. Female. Five months old. Bengal. Feed moderate amounts 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.”

As before, the leaflet only detailed things about the cat’s bathroom habits.

“Um, excuse me.”

“If you have any questions, please ask the doctor. Take care.”

The nurse turned her attention to some other administrative task.

Moé persisted.

“This kitty litter is different from the previous one.”

“Please direct your questions to the doctor. Take care.”

“But kitty litter—”

“Take care.”

“—is crucial to a cat.”

“Take care.”

It’s pointless speaking to this nurse. Let me ask the doctor. Moé began heading back into the examination room, when the nurse barked at her.

“Dr. Nikké is waiting for a patient with an appointment. If you have any questions, you can ask me.”

She just told me to direct my questions to the doctor! Why is she acting like I’m doing something wrong? What a challenging personality. Moé felt herself growing angry, but because the nurse had remained so obstinate, she decided to swallow her irritation.

“I have a question about the kitty litter, the one you just gave me.”

She took out the bag of litter and placed it on the reception counter. Unlike the litter that had been provided previously, this litter was paper based.

“I’m not sure if the cat will use this kind of litter. Kotetsu would only do his business in that gravel-like litter.”

“Oh,”

said the nurse, as if thinking, Is that her question? “You can only figure out whether you like the litter by actually using it. The size, the feel under the paws. Stuff like that.”

The nurse inspected her own palms, turning them upward and down.

“Like how it feels when you squeeze it between your fingers. I don’t like the hard kind, but there are some who prefer it. If I remember correctly, Dr. Nikké is pro–hard litter. He said he likes the rustling feeling against his butt.”

Moé tilted her head. Is she talking about toilet paper? A doctor named Nikké. A nurse named Chitose. She had no interest in either of their toilet paper texture preferences.

“Can you please give me the same cat litter as last time? It’ll be a problem if this one doesn’t use the litter box.”

“In that case, please take the open bag of litter you just returned.”

The nurse vanished from the reception window.

Moé began to wonder about the layout of the clinic. The building itself was tall and narrow, but the units didn’t seem deep. The examination room seemed too cramped and unfurnished for conducting medical exams. She recalled the pet store she’d visited with Reona. There had been an unbelievable array of pet supplies packed tightly like books on a shelf. They likely stocked all that stuff because of customer demand, but she doubted such a variety was necessary for the animals. She suspected at least half of it was just for human satisfaction.

The nurse reappeared and handed Moé a bag with the remainder of the pebbly cat litter Kotetsu had used.

“Try out a bunch of cat litter. If you can’t find a good fit, please come back.”

The nurse’s tone was cool but not dismissive.

Now Moé had the kitty litter from before plus the new litter, and she also had the wood-chip litter at home. With three varieties, there was bound to be one that the new cat would like.

As soon as she got home, Moé clicked open the door to the carrier to release the cat, but this cat only stuck out her head. She had a round face, and there was a depth to her fur. She was indeed a lighter brown shade than Kotetsu, and her stripes bolder and more distinct. Despite their being the same breed, their features looked completely different. This cat’s eyes were large and slightly slanted. She looked like a strong-willed girl.

“Nice to meet you, Noelle.”

Moé stooped down to meet the cat’s gaze.

Noelle flattened herself, then shot out like a bullet, running not under the bed but up the curtain.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Such velocity. Without any footholds, Noelle had climbed the wall. Perched skillfully on the narrow rod, she was now straining it.