Deceptively simple or just a little bit naff? The Travelling Cat Chronicles

The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa

Thorndike Press

Pp. 327

Translated from the Japanese by Philip Gabriel, this novel (first published in 2015) had reviewers gushing that it was gentle, wise, witty, beguiling and full of simple but deceptive prose. I didn’t realise I was quite so cynical, but I have to wonder, is it deceptive or just simple and is it really profoundly charming or just a little bit naff?

The novel is mainly narrated by Nana, a cat named after the Japanese word for seven, which is considered to be lucky and the shape of the cat’s tail. Nana was a stray cat who was nursed by Satoru after being hit by a car. In return, Nana lives with Satoru and gives him affection. When Satoru knows he is dying, he wants to make sure Nana has a happy home so he sets off on a road trip to visit possible adoptive homes and friends.

These travels give Satoru an opportunity to spark memories and reconnect with old friends. He and Nana meet Yoshimine, the brusque and unsentimental farmer who thinks cats are just for catching rats, Sugi and Chikako, the warm-hearted couple who run a pet-friendly B&B, and Kosuke, the mournful husband whose cat-loving wife has just left him. In the pages concerning Kosuke, the point of view switches to the third person omniscient narrator who tells us about the boys’ friendship and how they bonded with a cat called Hachi (which means eight) when they were both in elementary school.

When we see Nana’s perspective he instructs us on cat behaviour, such as why they like cardboard boxes rather than special beds and toys. Nana doesn’t understand certain human idiosyncrasies including their fondness for the sea, and he also questions their need to concern themselves about burials and cemeteries. “When an animal’s life is over, it rests where it falls, and it often seems to me that humans are such worriers, to think of preparing a place for people to sleep when they are dead. If you have to consider what’s going to happen after you die, life becomes doubly troublesome.”

As well as teaching kittens to stand up for themselves and explaining feline ways, Nana also cares for his adopted human. He’s a proud cat, but he’s loyal, loving and perceptive. The Travelling Cat Chronicles is a novel about the bond between humans and their animals, but it also about the power of friendship from childhood to adults. Without the support of those he visits, Satoru would not have grown into the kind and gentle man he has become – the kind of man who would scour the country to find the perfect home for his cat.

My newest favourite thing: cherries

Cherries are the heralds of summer. They are the rubies in the centre of the golden stone fruit bowl.

When children, and some adults, swing the ripe red pendulums from their ears and pretend to be wearing sumptuous earrings, you know the season has arrived.

Obviously, when they arrive depends on where you live. Here they arrive just in time for Christmas, but in the Northern Hemisphere I associate them with my sister’s birthday. The Weevil was born in July and we were often abroad in European orienteering countries for the event.

I have a childhood memory (of course, they are notoriously unreliable) of the Weevil skipping joyously along carrying a Black Forest gateaux (I suspect we may even have been in the Black Forest itself) and tripping; sending cream, cherries and chocolate shavings in all directions. The tears had nothing to do with the skimmed knees.

A stall in Arrowtown tempts you with luscious delights; the sellers have come from That Dam Fruit Stall in Cromwell. You can try varieties and pick a favourite punnet, if you are decisive.

Otherwise you struggle with your choice; red, white, pink or purple? Sweet or tart; ‘subacid’ or ‘bland’ – those last descriptions are not mine but come from the Horticultural Society. They probably provided the more prosaic number and letter naming system, while someone with a little more imagination came up with ‘Liberty Bell’, ‘Stardust’, ‘Columbia’ and ‘Staccato’.

Not only do they taste delicious, but apparently they are good for you. Cherries contain high quantities of the antioxidant anthocyanin, (also found in grapes and berries) so you can claim you are being healthy as you puff out your cheeks with the pips.

We would count them as children to see who we were going to marry; tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man, thief. There was never any mention of electrical engineers so I can only assume their powers of prediction are equally as good as any other form of divination.

If you’re not counting the pips, you can always spit them out. My mother will be pleased to know that I haven’t entered (or even witnessed) the cherry pip spitting championships, but there is a hotly contested regional round of the competition in Cromwell at the start of the season. They make their own entertainment in this area, you know.

And when the cherries have all gone, it's not too long to wait for the blushing blossoms to appear. Symbolising the ephemeral nature of life, they are bashed and buffeted by the winds but some survive.

They are revered in Japan and in 1912 the Japanese gave a gift of some 3000 trees to America to symbolise their blossoming friendship between nations. Is it even more symbolic that these ornamental trees bear no fruit? Whatever, they look simply beautiful.