Natsume Soseki is kind of a big deal - not just in Japan, but in world literature. I Am a Cat is a household name in Japan, and for good reason. It’s a sharp, satirical look at the minds of Meiji-era intellectuals, and even though it was written over a century ago, his wit still feels fresh. His curious little cat narrator seems to keep watching Japanese society from beyond the grave, picking apart its quirks and contradictions.
What really stands out in this book is the narrative. It’s rich, layered, and full of personality. The kitten narrator, and characters like Kushami and his friends love to talk - sometimes way too much. They ramble, go off-topic, and stretch simple points into long-winded monologues. But that’s part of the charm. These conversations aren’t just filler - they reveal who these people really are. Intellectuals puffed up with pride, greedy capitalists, narrow-minded everyday folks - they’re all laid bare through their words. Soseki’s realism cuts deep.
The book itself is kinda like a sea cucumber - no clear beginning or end, and you can jump in anywhere. There’s no dramatic plot or suspenseful structure, just a steady stream of narration. It was a bold move for its time. Honestly, if I weren’t used to Japanese literature, I might’ve given up halfway.
I think Soseki wasn’t the first to use a cat as a narrator, but this kitten is definitely the most memorable 1. It’s clever, sarcastic, and surprisingly well-read - quoting Eastern and Western literature like it’s nothing. It mocks humans for obsessing over fashion even though we’re born naked, laughs at Kushami for bringing a thick book to bed only to fall asleep instantly, and even calls God “ignorant and incompetent” for making humans so varied in appearance. This cat doesn’t hold back.
Despite thinking it’s better than other cats, the kitten still falls into typical feline traps. It gets its mouth stuck in a rice cake, strikes a dramatic pose with a mouse like it’s a war hero, and ends up losing to a gang of rats. Through this little creature’s short life, Soseki paints a picture of intellectuals lost in a changing world - confused, helpless, and often ridiculous.
Soseki’s writing blends highbrow and lowbrow styles effortlessly. You can feel the influence of Edo-period humor, classical Chinese elegance, and modern Western sharpness all at once. I think it is this kind of mix that gives the book its timeless edge. Without that deep literary background, the satire wouldn’t hit nearly as hard. So that’s what makes the different - Soseki is not just entertaining, he’s also very thoughtful. While cheap laughs might grab attention, they don’t last. His work does.
Through the cat’s eyes, he critiques intellectuals as people who talk big but struggle to act. He’s especially tough on characters like Kinta, Kushami, and Meitei, but they still value knowledge and justice, and hate the corruption of money and power. The real villains are the nouveau riche - the ones who crush intellectuals under their wealth. As puts it: “Society is a madhouse… The rational and empathetic are locked away, while the powerful madmen run the show.”
Living through the Meiji era - a time when Japan was chasing Western ideals and losing its own traditions - Soseki clearly felt conflicted. He studied in England, but couldn’t connect with Western society. That disillusionment led to serious mental health struggles, and you can feel that bitterness in this book. He’s not just criticizing society - he’s wrestling with himself.
He knew the values he cherished were fading, and that materialism was winning. His dream of reshaping Japan through culture was slipping away. The gap between powerless thinkers and powerful capitalists filled him with frustration. Beneath the book’s playful tone lies a deep internal struggle.
Some of the darkest lines come straight from his characters: “Death is painful, but living without the ability to die is even worse.” And “A thousand years from now, everyone will commit suicide. 10 thousand years from now, there will be no other way to die except by suicide.”These aren’t just dramatic quotes - they reflect his own fears about where humanity is headed.
Spoilers Ahead
And then there’s the ending. After drinking Kushami’s sake and falling into a water tank, the kitten realizes: “It’s absurd to struggle to get out when you can’t. It’s just inviting more suffering.”It accepts its fate and dies. The world loses a sharp, witty observer - and somehow, that loss makes everything feel a little more chaotic.
If the kitten hadn’t died, the book could’ve gone on forever, drifting in endless chatter. But as the cat says before its death: “Only in death can I find peace. Without death, there can be no peace.”
It’s a funny book, yes, but it ends on a deeply tragic note. It’s like sipping something bitter- leaves you with a taste of resignation, but also a flicker of hope. That hope comes from Soseki’s sense of duty. He spent his short 49 years challenging his countrymen, questioning his nation’s future, and refusing to settle for easy answers.
Today, when literary giants are often forgotten and shallow entertainment dominates, reading the classics feels like a rare act of rebellion. I hope this review nudges you to pick up this one.
It’s weird, witty, and way deeper than it looks.
4.4 / 5 stars