To write out all that happens in a day, without omission, and then to check it over, in itself requires a day. Much as I espouse the merits of descriptive writing, I have to confess that this is all too much for a cat. Accordingly, while the master's madcap words and eccentric behavior are nonstop and noteworthy, I must accept, with the greatest of regret, that I lack the faculty and perseverence to communicate everything in full detail to the reader. Regrettable though it is, it can't be helped. A cat, too, requires his rest.
As on a cold and blustery evening, when the wintry wind suddenly stops and a soft snow starts to fall, all fell still with Suzuki and Meitei's departure. The master, as usual, retreated to his study. The children settled down to sleep, pillows side-by-side, in the six-mat room. Separated by the fusuma, in the south-facing room, the wife nursed Menko, who was three by the old manner of reckoning. The sun had hurriedly set through the hazy spring sky and was long gone. The clogs of passersby resounded clearly, carrying into the living room, sounds so close one could touch them. The muted notes of a minteki, rising and falling from the boarding house down the way, tickled in one's ears from time to time. The outside world was largely shrouded in dusk. My belly, full from the evening meal, an abalone shell's worth of fishcake and broth, compelled me to take my rest.
I've heard it said there's a poetic movement afoot, where they write of "cat's romance" and such. I've also heard that on certian nights, in early spring, my fellow cats gallavant about, disturbing the peace. I've yet to feel any such stirrings myself. That being said, love's allure is universal. It's the way of all creatures, from the god Jupiter who sits on high to the earthworm and mole cricket who twitch in the ground, to surrender themselves. Is it unreasonable then, that we cats too would lose ourselves to romance and its rapture. I myself, as I think back on it now, was strongly drawn to Mikeko. They say even Tomiko, daughter of three-pronged-principle Kaneda and eater of Abekawa Mochi, is in love with Kangetsu. With that in mind, who am I to dismiss the ravings of the world's male and female cats, their heads in the clouds on these loveliest of spring evenings, as mere obsessions of the flesh? Much as I might like, though, I can't be moved to join in. In my present state, all I desire is rest. Fatigue trumps romance. Ploddingly, I make my way round to the skirt of the children's bedding, set myself down, and pleasantly drift off.