SHORT #37: To The Cat Who Rips up a Japanese House

Arriving to this old house, I find a cat out front who nobody owns, but who has a name, and is cared for nevertheless.

On our first meeting I approach her slowly, and she runs off into a corner, under the rice thresher. I hear that some months ago, this cat — who they call Papico — had made a habit of constantly tearing her claws into every single shoji screen in the house here. You might know that Japanese shoji screens, the door/window which separates the rooms of traditional homes, can be quite expensive. These ones were made of delicate fibers and in this case, adorned with paintings. All were torn into fine pieces. Of course they were. Papico is a cat. This is her art.

For this offense, Papico, the shoji-screen-destroyer, was barred from entering the house until further notice. Possibly until forever. Nevertheless, the people here still care for her. When the male cat from around the corner comes by to pester her, the humans dutifully shoo him away. They feed Papico daily meals. Sometimes she gets treats, like a chicken gizzard or a fish head. Always she gets a pet and some love. So although these days this shoji-screen-destroyer can no longer enter the house, she seems satisfied to stay here and lounge in the garden.

When the flowers are in full bloom, scents and petals float around the garden, and Papico lies beneath them, basking in this glory. At other times she goes about fertilizing the garden in her own way. Mostly however, Papico has recently appointed herself a job, standing guard in front of the door to the house. Nobody here is quite sure however, if she is serious about this job, or if she simply stands close to the door as an easy means to sneak back in and tear up more shoji.

Then one afternoon it happened, that while Papico was standing guard, a giant raccoon dog came down from the bamboo groves, waltzed into the gravel driveway, and turned left into the front yard of the house. At this, Papico the guard cat arched her back and hissed once or twice. The racoon dog seemed unfazed. He countered, pouncing once on the gravel of the driveway for fun. This was enough to send the fearless guard cat darting faster than lightning, into a corner, underneath the rice thresher. The raccoon dog must have laughed inside. What he did not do however, was enter the yard. Instead he turned around and walked on his way. Now, maybe walking away is what the raccoon dog was going to do anyway, or maybe the frightened guard cat actually did her work. However it is, several minutes later, Papico came back out, made her way to the front of the door, licked her paws, and proudly stood her guard post once again.

When her dinner came that evening it was served with a treat — a whole fish head. Well earned too, Papico thought.

This all begs us to ask why this cat, who by most measurements seems nearly useless, gets fed and cared for? If you ask her unofficial caretakers, it might be they say, on account of how it transforms a place, when we care for another living being who needs our help. Or how, even if a cat ruins our new doors and walls, and poops in our gardens, and runs for cover at the slightest sign of peril, she still has a right to our compassion.

By the time I leave here, just a few days later, I approach Papico again, slowly. This time she gives me a rub and a purr and allows a few pats before heading into the garden to do her business.

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