The Neko
So it was a Saturday.
I was at Chinatown, waiting outside the salon for my colleague to unlock the door. Things have been inconvenient for now as we have to share a key to the place.
The inconvenience arose thanks to the sub-tenant contract, as laid out in the endless list of loosely defined conditions. Apparently, having only one copy of the key is supposed to provide security assurance by both parties. Of course, we know that this is the unspoken rule of “covering your butt” in case of any unwanted scenarios that may devolve to a finger pointing game.
Another same day except, there is a black cat beside me.
I noticed that it has a green gem on its collar. The feline stretches its hind legs and I caught sight of the creature’s slender black body. It kind of glitched — like an old television frame — merging in with the static to make up the rest of the feline’s black form.
“Can you open the door, please?” as if the creature seems to imply when its head turned toward me, with lost yellow eyes.
“Sorry, can’t do. I’m stuck here as well.” I answered, unsure if I’m being polite.
But we both knew very well that cats aren’t allowed inside, even if I have the key to the salon.
“That’s Hinoki, a Nekomancer.” A voice came out of nowhere.
“A what?” I blurted, unsure who owns the shrill little voice.
“That’s right… Don’t fall prey to her looks or you’ll get ensnared in her charms.” A little gecko chirped, peering out of the vase and quickly disappeared back to the dark crevices behind the doorframe.
I’ve heard that a Nekomancer specializes in the lost art of locating lost souls. And it is fated that she has her sights on me. After all, cats prefer the solitary life.
“I’m like Cupid, except I cure them by listening to their woes with my attentive ears,” Hinoki tilted its head.
How can cats sense loneliness? I don’t buy it.
Either she can sense that I am a cat person or I smell like food.
“Uh, so you good?”
Silence.
“Look, you should be friends with Sarah, a fellow feline I have back at home. You should meet and share some stories.”
I regret my last sentence. I wished I had taken that back.
Sarah was raised an orphan and she is overtly jealous when it comes to bringing visitors over to our home, especially a cat. The last tomcat — Mr cowboy (we called him that because of his black-white fur, resembling the dairy cattle) — was scarred physically.
I almost lost an eye to those jealous swipes. It becomes a lesson that I would never forget.
We spend time together, enjoying the shared silence. No words. But it was like a fleeting sense of companionship, without the commitments, acknowledged by both; something that transcends between two species.
And then I heard the shuffle of a footstep. A familiar figure came from a distance and jangled out a bunch of keys.
“Hey, morning.” the person said.
I turned around and Hinoki was gone.
Hinoki left as suddenly as she came.
