Cats and Dogs in Inōkashira Park

The 21st of March is a national holiday: “higan”, the day seven days before the vernal equinox when memorial services are held for the deceased. On the 22nd of March, I am attending the Big Jump special teacher training inaugural session in Tokyo. The plan GEOS has made for me is to leave Osaka early on the 22nd and come back early on the 23rd, on time for work. As this is a work related trip, I get my travel expenses reimbursed. So why not go to Tokyo on the 21st. I ask head office, and am granted my wish. The Shinkansen tickets cost the same, whether I leave Osaka on the 21st or the 22nd: ¥ 28,740 (£125/€183) for a round trip from Shin-Osaka to Tokyo station.
The train is packed, and I’m happy I have reserved a seat. I enjoy a good two and a half hours savouring the next bit of my Murakami novel, taking time to look up kanji and words, writing them on a key-ringed set of study-cards sporting a cute black cat and the wonderfully strange German phrase “Eine boshafte schwarze Katze” (“an evil black cat”). Apparently this character is a Korean invention. I spotted it last week when, panicking about my fatal lack of orientation, I arrived in Shinsaibashi, the en vogue young people’s shopping and partying district of Osaka, about two hours before our local teacher training session. In a shop full of different cute characters featured on a cornucopia of kitchen, home, and office paraphernalia, there was a whole section devoted to the “boshafte schwarze Katze” that does not look “boshaft” at all. It was excellent pre-training entertainment to read through the clumsy phrases printed on stationery, pens, notebooks, and study cards. “Selbst wenn sie sie nahm, war es ein groβes Abenteuer.“ („Even when she took her, it was a great adventure.“)
Sitting on the train, I have to laugh again as I read the words on my study cards. The novel progresses, my Japanese vocabulary expands slowly, and the white Shinkansen Nozomi train with the big round nose gets me into Tokyo in slightly more than two hours.
My plan is to meet P, a friend from my initial Tokyo training days who is based in Tokyo, to re-visit my Tokyo from four years ago and bathe in a tub full of healthy nostalgia, walking around exclaiming “Natsukashii!” at every street corner, and, possibly, buy myself a toy.
I meet P at Kichijōji station, Kōenguchi exit. It is a sunny day, and a national holiday, so the narrow streets of Kichijōji are crammed with moving crowds. P and I squeeze into the crowd and move with it, crossing the busy road with café Stone and KFC, and the next with the bus stop, past the Body Shop and the big O1O1 department store, to enter that old acquaintance of mine, a friendly little street home to stalls selling giant battered octopus, deep fried (bakuhatsuyaki), green tea, coffee, and vanilla flavoured whippy ice cream, sausages pierced by a rib for easier eating, and, at a German restaurant called König, Weiβwurst and Glühwein. The latter seems completely inappropriate on a sunny spring day like today: a guest from cold German Christmas markets where it serves to warm everybody’s heart and soul. Here, he seems lonely and out of place, the spring sun unnecessarily warming him.
We continue down the little road, past jewellery and fashion shops, an Indian restaurant, a shop selling handmade pillows sporting cats. I wonder whether these cute looking cats, too, are in fact evil creatures that curse you with big adventures every time you take them.
I have not been here in over four years, but still I know my way around, and it feels like I’m showing P one of my many homes. Finally, the Starbucks and the big yaki-tori place on the right, the fancy Japanese restaurant on the left, and Inōkashira Park opens up before us. The bridge, the lake, the many kinds of ducks. Salary men in casual garb on their day off, taking the family, renting swan-shaped boats, and paddling them around the lake between the ducks. Ahirun-run-run, ahi-run-run-run. Young people enjoying their spring. Musicians and their instruments. Children. Couples. Dogs. Most of them pocket-sized and flaunting the latest prêt-aboyer spring collections. A sand-coloured chihuaha in a pink jumper with a lacy hood. A French bulldog wearing a T-shirt that says “Vintage Dog”. A poodle in camouflage. The only naturalist dog we see is a big St Bernhard that looks the size of a bear in comparison to the fashion conscious miniature dogs that seem more common here. He is not wearing any thing on top of his everyday tricolour coat. Finally, we spot the most bizarre pet in the park: a cat on a lead, wearing a Mickey Mouse T-Shirt. P gets out his professional camera with its big, long lense and image stabiliser. While P tries to get a better shot of the cat, I comment on its taste in clothes to the proud owners, a young couple, he with a small gap between his front teeth, she wearing a bright pink skirt, hair died light brown.
“O yes, I bet he does like Mickey Mouse.” Gap smiles. “He loves Mickey!” “What’s your name?” I ask the cat, but Gap answers for him. “This is Sō-kun,” he says. “Yoroshiku onegai shimasu. – Nice to meet you!” When we’ve got Sō-kun on digicam, we move on to take pictures of other things.
On the boat-free side of the bridge, there are fountains colouring the air rainbow between us and the red temple on the other shore. Flowers coming out. The golden hour starting to turn the world into honey. We leisurely stroll about, blending into the crowds of people, taking pictures. We eat pork and boiled egg, and sticky fried rice in lotus leaves at the little café in the park. A random man asks whether he can take a picture of us, and we model for his shot.
When we cross the bridge back, there are two new musicians sitting on a bench by the river. One young man with features that could be Japanese as well as native South American with a guitar. An older man wearing a hat playing a snake-skin shamisen. They play Shima-uta, the old Okinawan song, and I have to go talk to them. In no time, the shamisen finds its way into my hands, and Hat corrects my posture. For a while, I improvise on Japindian’s friendly chords. “Do you play the guitar?” he says. He speaks perfect English. “Yes.” “If you play guitar, it’s very easy.” P takes pictures, until we move on again. When he takes some shots of the German restaurant for me, I buy us two giant cones of green tea whippy ice cream which we kill on our way back to the station. Next stop: Kabuki-chō.