Somebody asked me this question once. I’d never had a cat before so I said dog with no hesitation. Thanks to my dad who was a soldier then a police officer, I grew up with German Shepherd and Korean Jindo dogs like my close friends. I still keep an old photo of a little version of myself with missing two front teeth and my Korean Jindo dog called Aram, having a good time together. The memories of youth are as strong as a marble sculpture in Victorian era. I still feel I have a sense of the soft and warm golden fur of Aram beneath my fingers. 

It was one summer night of my 3rd year in Japan, after I graduated from university in South Korea, when I first had an experience with a cat. My flat in Waseda was a 5–floor building and I could see two quiet roads crossing from my 4th floor bedroom balcony. It was a hot night so I was watching TV with the window open, and I heard a cat crying. I often saw street cats in Japan so I thought it wasn’t a big deal, but the crying sound didn’t stop and even got louder. Half curious, half worried, I took the elevator down, went out of the building and looked at the cat, crying desperately in a small unmanned parking lot on the opposite side of the road. I crossed the road, and the cat ran over to me as soon as I entered the dark and empty lot. It was a small tabby cat with a pink nose and light silvery fur, looking like Cinderella had lost her magic power and turned into a cat. It was my first time to see such a pretty cat in my entire life, and I thought she had to be a girl. 

I had no prior experience with cats so I didn’t know what to do, but I presumed she was hungry. I told her ‘wait a second’ in Korean – I doubt this Japanese cat understood my Korean – but I dashed to a convenience store and bought a tuna can and a paper plate. I should have bought cat food but I had no knowledge about cats back then and I couldn’t think clearly, too worried the cat would disappear magically before I got back. Luckily she was waiting for me on the concrete in the parking lot. 

I quickly opened the can, poured the tuna on a paper plate, and put it in front of her. She hungrily swallowed the tuna in the blink of an eye, then started grooming herself with her front paw in style. 

I had a good look at this cat. She was wearing a luxurious Isetan department store blue ribbon on her neck. I had a closer look and found ‘Lucky’ was written in Japanese on the ribbon. The handwriting was firm, made with a black marker pen.  

‘Oh, it’s a house cat,’ I thought to myself. ‘This pedigree cat can’t be a street cat.’ I laughed at myself for making such a big drama in the middle of the night, but I felt relieved that she had an owner. I waved at Lucky then started back home; she completely ignored me, too busy cleaning herself.

Several days later, I heard a cat crying right outside my window at night again. At first I ignored it and kept on reading my book, but the crying sound just got louder. I opened the balcony door and looked outside, and saw Lucky was crying again in the parking lot. ‘Ha, have you not gone home yet?’ I thought. I felt weird but I went outside half worried, half curious like the last time. Lucky rushed over to me as soon as I went into the lot.

I looked at Lucky closely and found that this time her silver fur had lost a little of its shine. Her white paws had become light silver paws, and the edge of her brand new, blue Isetan ribbon had gotten slightly worn. Moreover, Lucky seemed tired and hungry. I felt like a wave was rising over my heart, and wished my worry was not true; had this beautiful pedigree cat really been abandoned? 

I told Lucky to wait – this time in Japanese – then dashed to the convenience store and this time bought a square-shaped tin of wet cat food. Lucky was waiting for me in the empty lot, just like the last time. I sat on the concrete and watched Lucky from a distance as she started to eat. She seemed to enjoy the dinner in a more elegant and relaxed manner this time, with her silver fur shining beautifully under the moonlight. I was concerned she would disappear if I ever touched her. When she was done and had a full belly, Lucky started to clean her soft fur, and when she’d finished this holy grooming ceremony, she walked into a dark alleyway at the back of the parking lot without giving me any eye contact at all. I waited until she disappeared from my sight completely then went back home. 

I didn’t hear Lucky the next night, or the next after that. Whenever I had free time, though, I stood at my bedroom balcony and watched the dark empty parking lot. Weirdly, the lot was always empty and quiet. Like the Little Prince looks at wheat fields and thinks of a fox, whenever I saw the parking lot, I thought of Lucky. I felt I had already been tamed by her.

I wanted to adopt Lucky, but it didn’t happen due to the landlord’s rules. It was not easy for a foreigner who’d just started a new job to find an apartment which allowed pets in Japan. I had to accept being happy just to see Lucky eating her food and cleaning her fur in style every night. I’m not sure if it was lucky or unlucky, but Lucky never encouraged me to pet her so I never tried to once. I didn’t take a photo either. I was perhaps afraid of being fully tamed by her.  

Lucky called me at night every now and then, but after a while she disappeared again. She might have found her owner. I was sad but I wished Lucky to be happy. I was about to get rid of the cat food that I had left in my flat when I saw her again one evening. I came home from work and Lucky was crying on the pavement outside my building. I was over the moon, but she was bleeding on her small forehead. I was so shocked and I didn’t know what to do. I left Lucky crying alone and ran into my flat, grabbed an empty cardboard box and went back out again. It took only a minute or two, but already she was gone. I felt my heart skip a beat. The parking lot, the back alleyway, I couldn’t find Lucky anywhere. She was gone. I blamed myself for not picking Lucky up immediately and taking her to the vet, but it was too late.

I waited for Lucky every night after that, but she never came back. 

Several years later, I left Japan and moved to England with my husband. It’s been six years since we adopted two cats from an animal trust called Celia Hammond. On the very first night of August, I was watching my two cats eating tuna wet food in the living room. A hot wind was blowing, and I heard a fox crying in the park outside of my Victorian house in the suburbs of London. It reminded me of Lucky all of a sudden. It took me back to a summer night on a street in Tokyo over 10 years ago.

There are two cats, Miyo and Jiyo, in my first English novel, The Tokyo Bicycle Bakery. I didn’t realise they were partly based on the story of Lucky when I wrote this book. One of the cats died in the original story (sorry for a spoiler), but I had to change that later on because it was too painfully sad. 

There is a myth that animals wait for their owners when people die. Would I be able to meet Lucky again and touch her shiny silver fur for the first time? Would I be able to hug Aram one more time? I hope I can. My midsummer night’s dream.