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160 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2001
...observation is at its core an expression of love which doesn’t get caught up in sentiment.

She would always point out to us the importance of being natural, of being ourselves.
What's interesting about animals, my wife explained, is that even though a cat may be a cat, in the end, each individual has its own character.
“For me, Chibi is a friend with whom I share an understanding, and who just happens to have taken on the form of a cat.”

Funny, these aversions we have for certain things. It does make you wonder a bit whether it's some kind of karmic connection with a past-life experience, even if that's just a bit too weird.

Chibi was a jewel of a cat. Her pure white fur was mottled with several lampblack blotches containing just bit of light brown. The sort of cat you might see just about anywhere in Japan, except she was especially slim and tiny.I didn't realize until I'd almost finished the book that "Chibi" appears throughout, but that humans – including the young writer and his poet wife – are never named. There is a friend, referred to as "Y." Otherwise (so far as I recall) everyone is anonymous: the old woman; the neighbor; my wife. A few names appear toward the end, but these are all cats.
