Then again, to refrain having once committed is somehow dissatisfying, like watching an anticipated rainfall, dark clouds and all, pass on to a neighboring land. It would be one thing if my intent were iniquity, but justice and benevolence were at stake here. Any man who cherishes duty would gladly rush to defend them, even at risk of dying in vain. It's only proper, then, for a cat to invest some exertion or muddy his feet, even to no avail. As a cat, I lack the faculty to debate learned men like Kangetsu, Meitei, and the master. I can't engage in exchange of ideas. What I can do, and far better than any scholar, is exercise stealth. To do what others cannot is, in and of itself, most satisfying. And better that I alone be privy to the Kaneda secrets than no one at all. I can't relate what I know, but I'll make it known that I know, and that too is something. More and more, the pendulum swings in favor of action. It's decided - I'll go.
I made my way to the lane cross the way, and sure enough, on the corner lot stood a Western-style house, looming over its neighbors. It occurred to me, as I passed through the gate and surveyed the structure, that its owners must likewise lord it over their neighbors. Its two-story height served no useful function, other than to impose its presence on its surroundings. Was this not Meitei's so-called "mundanity?" The entryway back to my right, I crept through the shrubs and round to the kitchen door. The kitchen was duly large, ten times that of the master's place. The other day, the Japan News had run a story on Count Ōkuma and described his kitchen in detail. This kitchen, tidy and sparkling, was no less impressive. I stole my way into this "kitchen exemplar." In a small ante room with plastered floor stood the aforementioned cartman's wife, in spirited conversation with a kitchen helper and rickshaw man. My senses on high alert, I circled round the water tank and hid myself in back.