Illustration by Joi Rudin.
The rain has stopped falling on the Hirano-Ku awnings and rooftops. The sound of water hitting metal, asphalt, and plastic is slowly replaced by the hustle and bustle of people returning to the streets. I yawn, stretch, and look at the neon signs reflected on the pavement's water puddles. My next meal is waiting for me out there. It's just a matter of deciding where to go.
The convenience store across the street has been open this whole time, but the employees had been nowhere to be seen, slacking off, knowing nobody would enter the shop during the storm. Now, they've emerged from behind the counter and are preparing for the endless flow of customers to resume. I look closer through the window glass.
Two employees are working tonight: the short-haired girl and the chubby older man. I've got the short-haired girl to feed me a couple of times. Nothing special, though; just some pieces of cheese from her sandwich on the floor for me to eat. The chubby older man has never fed me and always kicked me out of the store whenever he saw me, yelling that I was a health risk and that I probably was disease-ridden. Rude. If the other store employee, the short man with glasses, was working tonight, maybe I could get him to take a piece of Kazoku-Niwatori from the fryer and give it to me. He'd probably even tear the fried chicken apart with his fingers and place it on a paper plate for me. That one really likes me.
The chubby older man makes going into the convenience store too risky. And I'm not really in the mood to eat scrap sandwich cheese from the floor. I'm yearning for something different—a treat. I could walk all the way to Tennouji-Ku, to the old woman's sushi place. She gives me little pieces of fish on porcelain plates every time I go, even if the customers complain about her allowing me in her shop. She says cats bring good luck, and my being there is lucky for her and her shop. But where would I sleep if I went there when it started raining again? It's too far from my cozy little nest here, on top of a warm AC external unit, safe from the storm. The sushi place old lady has fed me many times but never lets me stay. I've heard her say it'd not be hygienic and that my fur would get on the food. So Tennouji-Ku is not a real possibility, not in this weather.
That only leaves Nishinari-Ku. Not the cleanest neighborhood, not the best food in town, but certainly the best people. Almost everybody there is always ready to scratch me behind my ears. Some even scratch me with metal hands. So I jump from my AC nest to a ledge, from the ledge to a rooftop, and then to another and another until I'm at the train station. The droids that guard the turnstiles don't mind me not having a ticket. They don't even notice me. Their camera eyes zoom in and out on every person that goes into the station, and their metal frames, painted black and white, remain moveless while they monitor every movement - every movement except mine. I ride the train to Nishinari-Ku and get off at a station identical to the one I got on, only dirtier and worse kept. No droids are monitoring here. Maybe they think there is nothing worth guarding.
I walk on the pavement for a while, then jump on an electricity box, then on a neon sign, and so on, until I get to my favorite place in the city. It's a dirty alley, and there are no convenience stores here, no fancy sushi shops—just people. They're not always the same people, but always the same type of people: loud-talking, dyed hair, touchy people. I like them. They seem to like me, too. They don't mind me rubbing against their legs while they stand or falling asleep on their laps while they're sitting. And I don't feel like they're giving me food scraps; it feels much more like they're sharing it. They tear pieces of whatever they're eating, place them on their palms, and offer it to me. I like that. Maybe they think I'm lucky too. I sure feel like I am with all this attention. That's my treat.
The convenience store across the street has been open this whole time, but the employees had been nowhere to be seen, slacking off, knowing nobody would enter the shop during the storm. Now, they've emerged from behind the counter and are preparing for the endless flow of customers to resume. I look closer through the window glass.
Two employees are working tonight: the short-haired girl and the chubby older man. I've got the short-haired girl to feed me a couple of times. Nothing special, though; just some pieces of cheese from her sandwich on the floor for me to eat. The chubby older man has never fed me and always kicked me out of the store whenever he saw me, yelling that I was a health risk and that I probably was disease-ridden. Rude. If the other store employee, the short man with glasses, was working tonight, maybe I could get him to take a piece of Kazoku-Niwatori from the fryer and give it to me. He'd probably even tear the fried chicken apart with his fingers and place it on a paper plate for me. That one really likes me.
The chubby older man makes going into the convenience store too risky. And I'm not really in the mood to eat scrap sandwich cheese from the floor. I'm yearning for something different—a treat. I could walk all the way to Tennouji-Ku, to the old woman's sushi place. She gives me little pieces of fish on porcelain plates every time I go, even if the customers complain about her allowing me in her shop. She says cats bring good luck, and my being there is lucky for her and her shop. But where would I sleep if I went there when it started raining again? It's too far from my cozy little nest here, on top of a warm AC external unit, safe from the storm. The sushi place old lady has fed me many times but never lets me stay. I've heard her say it'd not be hygienic and that my fur would get on the food. So Tennouji-Ku is not a real possibility, not in this weather.
That only leaves Nishinari-Ku. Not the cleanest neighborhood, not the best food in town, but certainly the best people. Almost everybody there is always ready to scratch me behind my ears. Some even scratch me with metal hands. So I jump from my AC nest to a ledge, from the ledge to a rooftop, and then to another and another until I'm at the train station. The droids that guard the turnstiles don't mind me not having a ticket. They don't even notice me. Their camera eyes zoom in and out on every person that goes into the station, and their metal frames, painted black and white, remain moveless while they monitor every movement - every movement except mine. I ride the train to Nishinari-Ku and get off at a station identical to the one I got on, only dirtier and worse kept. No droids are monitoring here. Maybe they think there is nothing worth guarding.
I walk on the pavement for a while, then jump on an electricity box, then on a neon sign, and so on, until I get to my favorite place in the city. It's a dirty alley, and there are no convenience stores here, no fancy sushi shops—just people. They're not always the same people, but always the same type of people: loud-talking, dyed hair, touchy people. I like them. They seem to like me, too. They don't mind me rubbing against their legs while they stand or falling asleep on their laps while they're sitting. And I don't feel like they're giving me food scraps; it feels much more like they're sharing it. They tear pieces of whatever they're eating, place them on their palms, and offer it to me. I like that. Maybe they think I'm lucky too. I sure feel like I am with all this attention. That's my treat.
Written by Espeche, original idea by Espeche.