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They all understood, but they didn’t all know, it took you an hour
and a number of versions, just like in Rashomon, until you finally
found yourself in front of those rows of cats greeting you, thanking
you for having come all this way just for them beneath such a rain…
You worried about it later: for all over Asia, the cat is dogged by a l
ousy reputation. Wasn’t it the only animal to arrive late for Buddha’s
death? Exactly, they replied. One must be even more compassionate
because cats bear this stain. And the Japanese way of siding with the
weakest, with the undercat, alongside the well-established -and
justified- reputation of Japanese cruelty, opened a new window for
you. Still in Shinjuku (you seem to spend your life there), on the roof
of the little shops at the edge of the southern exit of the pedestrian
tunnel, a cat saluted you with its two ears. Since then, you’ve never
been able to take that passageway without remembering him. The
same morning, you had photographed one of the vice-presidents
of the rich and powerful Reiyukai Shakaden sect at the instant when
he vitrified a watchman by his simple entry -and that cat’s smile
seemed to you the incarnation of all the counter-powers in the world.
Another day your Japanese friends, intrigued by your folly, brought
you to a secular temple to cats, Nekomaya, the store where one finds
all the objects, all the images, all the books, and even food for cats
-the first stone in an International that has spread to San Fransisco,
with Wholly Cats, and to Paris, with Au Chat Dormant, rue du
Cherche-Midi, on the same sidewalk as the florist. In between
times you learned not only to pronounce neko but also to write it.