How Can We Know That It Is Not a Blessing?
April 20, 1957
On Saturday, at 11:30 in the morning, Mr. Unoki discovered that his cat was missing. It was not officially his cat. It was probably what you would call a stray, though he was its caretaker. His supervisor, Mr. Okamura, did not approve of it, but he approved of mice even less. The men worked in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden at 1000 Washington Avenue, immediately beside Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Museum. Since 1947, Frank Okamura had tended the Japanese Hill-and-Pond Garden, as well as the small collection of bonsai. Unoki was his junior. The cat first appeared to Unoki in late winter last year and took refuge in the potting shed. Okamura wasn’t happy about it, fearing for the pond’s koi, but she didn’t seem that interested. The feline also proved herself a good mouser, and only rarely disturbed the soil with her scratching, so she was allowed to stay.
~
Having swept the grounds, he prepared to continue yesterday’s spring tip-pruning. “Finish the pine first,” Okamura told him. “The maple can wait.” Unoki set about thinning the long spring shoots on a Japanese black pine, which the two referred to as kuromatsu. It had sprouted three candles where he thought one would do. He kept the smallest of the vulnerable new growth and pinched away the rest. Tomorrow was Easter and there would be more visitors than usual. The spring blooms always brought in more people and on a Sunday especially so. The weather was fair, still a little cold in the shadiest parts of the garden, but all the snow had melted. Everything would be in order by the time the gates opened tomorrow morning.
Moving on to the dwarf red maple, his mind turned again to the cat. He had named her Yoshio, which means Fragrant Hero in literal Japanese translation. Mr. Okamura thought the name ridiculous.
“A name like that, it belongs to a man with a family crest—a name painted above a gate, not for an animal that crawls under one.”
“But she protects the garden by catching mice and keeps herself very tidy,” Unoki countered.
“It is not proper for a noraneko. Also, it is a man’s name. The whole thing is strange.” Okamura was a pragmatic man. An alley cat, in his view, had no business with a name at all.
Yoshio was still absent, so after cleaning up the cuttings from his morning’s work, Unoki prepared to take a quick walk of the garden. Heading along the moss-edged stone path to the pond, he noted the kanzan cherry trees were blossoming, their reflection on the water like a picture postcard. This was an auspicious sign, he thought. Surely the cat would return. He stopped a moment to take in the view of a young couple strolling up to the wooden bridge. Sometimes the cat would lie here, the timber boards warm in the sun. He checked the waterfall, with many crevices for mice to hide in. Yoshio liked it here, watching birds that came to fish along the lower pool. Yet she was not to be found. Unoki scratched his head and inhaled sharply. This cat was a creature of habit. Perhaps by now she had returned to her feeding place under the potting bench.
Breathing in the cool fresh air following last night’s rain, he felt suffused with the garden’s sweet bouquet of damp earth and falling blossoms. He was getting hungry. He would have lunch first before continuing his search.
His lunch pail contained a bologna sandwich wrapped in wax paper, a green D’Anjou pear and a jar of pickled radishes, kept in one of the office annex’s lockers. Unoki had also brought a small thermos of Eight O’Clock coffee. He decided to take his lunch outside at his workbench in the staff area, in case the cat appeared. But she did not.
After finishing his meal and watching the robins hunt earthworms, he returned his lunch supplies to the locker and with fifteen minutes remaining on his lunch break, decided to stroll out onto the street to have a smoke. He passed through the wire-fence staff gate and stepped out onto Washington Avenue. He fished for a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes and some matches. Pausing to shield the flame from the wind, he lowered his head, only to look up and see something startling. Stopped at a traffic light was a white delivery van with gold lettering that read:
SUPREME DIAPER & LINEN SERVICE
This was not surprising at all—there were many of these laundry companies in New York. It was the company mascot on this one that struck him. A cartoon cat, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Yoshio was plastered on the side, in a seated posture with a benign smile and one paw raised like the traditional lucky cat. It wore a golden diaper. There were also red Chinese characters beneath with similar meaning in Japanese kanji which read:
FRAGRANT DIAPER CAT
Unoki was stunned. The mascot’s gray striping and slightly bent right ear was a dead ringer for Yoshio. Had the laundry company nabbed her? Had they even taken her name? How could this be? The raised paw of the lucky “beckoning cat” attracted fortune for merchants, but this was too much. This company advertising dishonored Yoshio by putting her in a gold diaper. It was completely undignified; his cat would never wear such a thing. Of course, it wasn’t officially his cat. Still, something had to be done.
~
The rest of the afternoon, he worked mechanically through his maintenance tasks: rotate pots toward the best face; wipe pot rims; clear moss from drainage holes. Toward the end of the day, he completed his remaining work while considering a course of action regarding the cat. Last on his list was to tidy the pond: skim floating cherry petals and leaf litter with a long-handled net; check that the water reads clean from the path with no obstruction.
All the while his mind was on the cat. The beckoning cat.
At 5:00 p.m., having changed out of his overalls, he gathered his things from the locker and took his leave of Mr. Okamura, who was already heading out. Unoki put on his flat cap and made one final scan of the area in search of Yoshio before stepping through the staff gate and locking it behind him with a heavy padlock and chain. He was back on the avenue, weighing his next move.
He would report the missing cat to the police. Instead of taking the IRT at the Brooklyn Museum, he walked along Eastern Parkway. The precinct was several blocks north. He crossed onto Utica Avenue and went up the station house steps. Inside the heavy double doors, he removed his cap and approached the uniformed desk sergeant. The officer looked up.
“Help you?”
“Yes. I wish to report a missing cat.”
“Stolen?”
“Pardon?”
“Stolen. Was the cat stolen?”
Unoki thought a moment. “Mmm. Not sure. Maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’? Do you want to report a theft?”
“Could be kidnap.”
“A kidnapping?” The sergeant straightened. “You’re saying someone kidnapped your cat?”
“Not my cat.”
“Someone kidnapped not your cat?”
“Possible,” Unoki hedged.
The sergeant cocked his head in confusion. “This cat, you’re saying, it belongs to you?”
“I look after this cat. I think someone take her.”
“Did they leave a ransom note?”
“Note?”
“Yeah, a note demanding money. In exchange for returning the cat.”
“No. No note.”
“Did someone call you? Or threaten to harm the cat?”
“Mmm. No.”
The sergeant took a deep breath, placing his palms face down on the desk.
“Okay. Mister, from what you’re telling me, there’s no crime here. A missing cat isn’t police business. You’ll need to take it up with the ASPCA.”
Unoki reached for his breast pocket notepad and clip pen. “Sorry. You say AP….”
“A.S.P.C.A. The pound. They keep cats there too. If the city finds a cat they might bring it there, if it doesn’t have a collar.”
“Where can I find it, please?”
“In Gowanus. Near, uh, Bond Street. Take the IRT to Bergen,” the sergeant instructed, pointing to his left. “Two stops.”
Unoki scrawled the information quickly before nodding politely and thanking the officer. It was after business hours, but he was a short train ride away, and so decided to see if there was any chance of making a report. Maybe he would even find Yoshio there.
~
After ascending the dank passageways of Bergen Street Station, Unoki walked over two blocks to the garage that housed the ASPCA. The gray steel door was locked by the time he arrived. Behind the wired glass, a typed notice told him to return Monday at nine. Dogs barked somewhere deeper in the building. Tomorrow was Sunday so he would have to wait until his day off. He wondered about the linen service company. They would most likely be open even on a Sunday morning. Someone in his neighborhood would know.
Unoki lived at the Taiyo Rooming House in the San Juan Hill area off West 65th Street. His once quiet block would soon be erased by the Lincoln Square redevelopment project. The rumors said demolition notices were forthcoming. For now, the mostly immigrant enclave went about business as usual, with communal kitchens, hallway radios, laundry lines, and shared baths remaining an endangered part of local life. He feared most for his favorite noodle shop next to the entrance to his building, which was where he stopped in for dinner tonight.
Tanaka’s Yoshino-Ya was simple but authentic and very reasonably priced. From the kitchen, Mr. Tanaka in his white smock greeted Unoki as he entered the small, brightly lit diner. He hung his cap on the rack by the door and confirmed his usual: udon in clear broth, with a piece of grilled mackerel, and a saucer of pickled onions and radish. He took his favorite seat on one of the six stools at the polished wooden counter. Himuro, a watch repairman and shop regular, was sitting two stools down. Unoki acknowledged him with a nod and poured himself a small glass of water from a pitcher on the bar. Taking out his notepad, he prepared a list of questions for the laundry service tomorrow as part of his ongoing investigation into the suspected corporate cat-napping.
A perspiring Tanaka-san, with a twisted white hand towel tucked around his neck, brought Unoki his bowl of noodles and pickles. He immediately reached for the soy sauce bottle with the red cap and a small ceramic shaker of shichimi pepper. The two customers ate in relative silence at the counter.
Several minutes later, after serving two more customers seated at a table near the door, Tanaka-san, wiping his hands on his smock, approached Unoki and spoke to him in Japanese.
“The cherry blossoms are out. Must be a lot of people in the garden.”
Unoki nodded, slurping the last of his broth and replying in Japanese. “Yes. The kanzan trees are in full bloom now.”
Old Tanaka spotted Unoki’s notes.
“New project?”
“Well, it’s ah, an investigation. My cat is missing.”
“I didn’t know you kept a cat.”
“It’s not exactly my cat. It’s a stray who stays in the garden. I’ve been feeding her.”
“Oh, right. The scraps from Tahara’s.”
Unoki had certainly not mentioned the cat to Mrs. Tahara, so she must have just assumed, and, being a bit of a gossip, shared his odd daily purchases with Tanaka-san, who bought fish from the same wholesaler.
“Anyway, I saw the cat’s picture on a delivery van and thought there might be some connection.”
“What van?”
“The Supreme Diaper & Linen Service.”
“Oh, right,” nodded Tanaka. “Dai-pu-ru Kitty. That’s what we call it.”
The Japanese phonetic translation sounded awkward. Like Theru-mosu for Thermos. “Do you use this laundry service for the shop?”
“No, we’re too small. Do it all ourselves and hang everything up on the roof. But I know this shop. They’re just over on Amsterdam and 67th.”
Unoki made a note of this. “I’ll visit them tomorrow and sort this out.”
“Sort what out?”
“The missing cat.”
“Why the laundry?”
“I suspect something. Could even be a case of bakeneko.” Unoki used the Japanese word for a “changed” or supernatural cat—an ordinary household cat that has somehow crossed into the uncanny.
Tanaka-san raised his unruly gray eyebrows.
“What’s this? You say the laundry is haunted by your cat?”
“I can’t be sure of anything yet,” explained Unoki. “But something isn’t right.”
When he went to settle up, he took out his billfold and at the register noticed a small glazed ceramic beckoning cat beside the cash drawer—hand-painted in white with calico patches, red-tipped ears, its raised paw holding a little gold coin.
~
On Sunday, before the Easter crowd reached the Botanic Garden, Unoki arose earlier than usual to confront the owner of the laundry shop. In hindsight, it was a bad idea. Yet it also yielded an unforeseen opportunity. The bell rang over the door as he entered at 8:35 a.m. The shop smelled of starch and hot pressing irons.
There, behind the counter, stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In a perfect white button-down blouse, her long hair done up in a bun and a fashionable scarf that just covered the top of her right ear, she had translucent skin, a petite nose and large expressive eyes. She was Chinese and modern. Sophisticated, somehow, even working at the laundry pickup counter. He noticed her glossy pink nails as she scrawled an order on a receipt. Unoki was speechless. He had come in determined to uncover a possible crime, but now he felt foolish, like a schoolboy having forgotten the speech he had memorized.
“Help you, sir?” She glanced up with a half-smile.
“Um. I’ve…I am here about a cat.”
She blinked slowly. “A cat?”
“Yes. Ma’am. A…a missing cat.”
“What makes you think your cat is here?”
“Because of the picture on your truck.” Unoki felt his face flush.
Another half-smile from the young woman. “Lucky the Cat? He’s our company trademark. A sign painter made it before the war.”
Unoki didn’t have a quick reply. The conversation wasn’t going according to plan.
“It looks like my cat. Even the same broken ear.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” her eyes widened.
“It is too much coincidence.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr…?”
“Unoki. I work in the garden. Botanic garden. In Brooklyn. By the museum.” He kept spitting out words in his nervousness.
“Oh. The one with the wooden bridge. I’ve been there. Wonderful on a sunny day.”
His heart leapt. Maybe she would come by again someday and he would show her his bonsai. The fantasy played out in his head.
“Listen, Mr. Unoki, if we see your cat, we could try and catch him. Our delivery men do come across a lot of strays in the neighborhood. But honestly, we don’t keep a cat ourselves here.”
Unoki’s whole interrogation had gone right out the window. He tried to salvage his dignity. “I am grateful for your kindness,” he bowed slightly. “Please forgive my intrusion.”
“Not at all,” she said breezily. “Here’s our information.” She handed him a small business card with the same cat on it. As he reached for the card, he caught her fragrance of lavender. At least he had her phone number. He tried to imagine a situation in which he could find an excuse to call regarding laundry service, but he hardly had enough clothing to use the coin-op once a week. Feeling increasingly embarrassed, he bumbled out of the shop.
~
Today would be one of the busiest of the year at the garden. Unoki arrived a few minutes after 9:00 a.m., apologizing to a frowning Mr. Okamura for the errand that took longer than expected. He quickly changed and got to work. Staying out of the path of visitors during peak traffic, he worked in the beds, deadheading early flowers and removing spent daffodils, kneeling next to a galvanized pail. He emptied rubbish bins and answered visitor questions. “When will the peonies come out?” a woman asked.
It had been a long day, made longer in his mind by the lack of resolution regarding the cat and his constant thoughts about the young woman at the laundry. As he locked up for the day and walked out onto the busy, tree-lined boulevard, he felt too tired to go to the noodle shop. He would pick up a few things at the grocery and take his dinner at the rooming house.
Exiting the subway, he walked a short distance to the Murase Grocery on West 66th, a small store serving San Juan Hill’s Japanese enclave. At the back of the shop was a glass-front service counter with shallow enamel trays and steel containers of prepared foods. He summoned the clerk and ordered a small paper box of beef sukiyaki with shirataki, a parcel of boiled rice and sunomono, a vinegared salad. At the cashier, a notice of a missing cat was taped to the side of the register. Unoki read the description: Named “Tama,” a calico, male, red collar with a bell. He briefly considered if he should post a notice for Yoshio closer to the park.
~
As Unoki slept uneasily that night, he dreamt of an imperial garden.
Courtiers are playing kemari in the courtyard at Rokujō. A very small, pretty Chinese cat darts out from under a blind, chased by a larger one. There is a noisy rustling of silk as the women lunge to catch it. The little cat is on a long cord that has become tangled. As it struggles to free itself, the cord catches in the bamboo blind. The curtain is pulled back, revealing a young woman in informal dress. She turns toward the mewing cat and reveals her face and figure in that unguarded moment. Realizing this, she slips back out of sight. The cat is disentangled. The blind falls.
Unoki picks up the cat. It is delicately perfumed with lavender. Mewing, it brings the image of the woman back to him.
~
He awoke to traffic sounds and the smell of stale tobacco, coffee grounds, and linseed oil. Today was his day off. He brewed himself a cup of coffee on the stove, finished two leftover sesame paste steamed buns and headed out with his bag of clothes to the coin-op laundry. As he passed Shioya Beverage, a beer and spirits wholesaler, an Asahi advertising poster featured a young woman who reminded him very much of the beautiful clerk at Supreme. Why not take his laundry there instead? It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse to visit, and it’s just around the corner. He turned toward Amsterdam Avenue and walked over one block. Entering the laundry this time, he was met instead by an older man, also Chinese. Perhaps an uncle or her father.
“Yes,” the man greeted him.
Unoki was caught off guard. “Uh. I have washing.”
“Just that?” the man pointed at Unoki’s drawstring bag which was mostly empty.
“Yes. Yes, just a few things.” The man waited a beat, expecting Unoki to hand them over. But instead, Unoki asked, “Excuse me. Where is the young lady?”
“Who? You mean Ah Chun? Works here?”
“Yes.”
“She’s going to have a baby. Go for doctor’s check today.” Unoki’s heart sank. He said nothing.
“You want to drop-off or no?” asked the clerk, pointing at the bag.
“I-I will come back tomorrow,” he stammered, awkwardly exiting the shop. He felt dizzy, short of breath. First the cat and now her. He felt the world was turning without him.
~
It wasn’t until two weeks later that Yoshio returned to the garden. Relieved, Unoki bent down to pet her as she sat sunning herself on the warm ground. It was then he saw the small, undeniable roundness in her belly of gray fur, one raised paw beckoning. She smelled of lavender.
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