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Genki Kawamura

IF CATS DISAPPEARED FROM THE WORLD

Translated from the Japanese by Eric Selland

A SHORT INTRODUCTION

If cats disappeared from the world, how would the world change? And how would my life change?

And if I disappeared from the world? Well, I suppose nothing would change at all. Things would probably just go on, day after day… same as usual.

OK, so you’re probably thinking this is all a bit silly, but please, believe me.

What I’m about to tell you happened over the past seven days.

Now that’s what you call a weird week.

Oh, and by the way—I’m going to die soon.

So how did all this happen?

My letter will explain everything.

So it will probably be a long letter.

But I’d like you to bear with me till the end.

Because this will be my first and my last letter to you.

It’s also my will and testament.

MONDAY: THE DEVIL MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

I didn’t even have ten things I wanted to do before I die.

In a movie I saw once the heroine is about to die so makes a list of ten things she wants to do before she goes.

What a lot of crap.

OK. So maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh. But really, what even goes on a list like that? A load of rubbish probably.

“But how can you say that?” you might ask.

OK, look, I don’t know, but anyway I tried it and it was just embarrassing.

It all started seven days ago.

I had this cold I just couldn’t shake, but I kept going to work every day anyway, delivering the mail. I had a slight fever which wouldn’t shift, and the right side of my head ached. I was barely keeping it together with the help of some over-the-counter drugs (I hate going to the doctor). But after two weeks of this I caved and went—I just wasn’t getting better.

Then I found out it wasn’t a cold.

It was, in fact, a brain tumor. Grade 4.

Anyway, that’s what the doctor told me. He also told me I had only six months to live, tops. I’d be lucky if I made it another week. Then he explained my options—chemotherapy, anticancer drugs, palliative care… but I wasn’t listening.

When I was little, I used to go to swimming. I’d jump into the cold blue water with a splash, and then sink, slowly.

“Do a proper warm-up before you jump in!” It was my mother’s voice. But underwater it was muffled and hard to hear. For some reason this just popped into my head—this strange, noisy memory. Something I’d completely forgotten about until now.

Finally the appointment ended.

The doctor’s words were still hanging in the air as I dropped my bag on the floor and staggered out of the examining room. I ignored the doctor’s shouts, calling for me to stop, and ran out of the hospital screaming. I ran and ran, slamming into the people I passed, falling over, rolling on the ground and getting up again, throwing my limbs about wildly until I reached the foot of a bridge where I found I could no longer move, and groveling on my hands and knees, let out a sob.

…Well, no, that’s a lie. That’s not quite how it happened.

The fact is, people tend to be surprisingly calm when they hear news like this.

When I found out, the first thing that occurred to me was that I was only one stamp away from getting a free massage on my loyalty card, and I shouldn’t have bothered buying so much toilet paper and detergent. It was the little things which came to mind.