When I lived in Japan in the early 1990s, I was lucky to share a train line with some remarkable people, some with whom I’ve kept in touch for more than two decades. Our relationships grew via handwritten letters, fax machines (so much faster than a letter!), emails (so much faster than a fax!), and texts (instant is the new fast).
And as luck would have it, some of them became friends.
Rick Newton, above left wearing a sweater he claims to possess to this day, and I traversed the Japanese countryside over the course of 12 months, crammed into my tiny white Toyota, frequently accompanied by Mark Z. (second from left) and my dear father (who stayed for three months), visiting fish markets, the achingly devastated Hiroshima bomb site, subtitled Arnold Schwarzenegger movies, countless ramen restaurants, x-rated Shinto fertility shrines, and beautiful deep steamy and sulphuric onsen — hot springs.
Remarkably we never tired of any of it.
Nor of each other, apparently.
So when Rick decided to abandon his law practice in Birmingham AL in order to open a yakitori restaurant this fall, I had no qualms about inviting myself along on one of his Japanese buying trips. I mean, could he really say ‘no’ given that it was my car that took us on all of our trips?
He said yes.
What you may or may not know about Tokyo (leg one of this journey) is that weird and wacky is just kind of the order of the day.
And so why not start your day with a visit to the MoCHA Cat Cafe?
I couldn’t think of a good reason either so in we went.
The cat cafe’s raison d’etre is to let you commune, cuddle, caress and basically get mellow with a room full of felines.
After paying a modest entrance fee we were directed to a hand sanitizer dispenser, swapped our street shoes for sanitized slippers, locked our belongings in a little closet and put on the requisite kittycat ears. Oh yes we did.
Then past a sliding wooden door into a room with the felines.
Some guests opted to feed the cats, either with a small cup of food and a tiny spoon, or a little cat lollipop. The cats jumped on to the plastic mat when they observed snack time had arrived, and sat waiting, rather patiently, for their turn with the spoon.
At times a bit of assertiveness was required but overall, the cats appeared willing to wait.
When we entered the cat cafe we discussed our plans beforehand, kind of like the agreement one makes before going to a time-share presentation: We’re not going to buy, right? Nope, no way. You know they’re going to pressure us, but we’re going to say no, right? Right. Agreed? Absolutely.
And that’s how we entered the cat cafe.
Thirty minutes seem like enough to you?
Oh yeah. Sure. No way we’ll stay longer than 30 minutes.
Yep, we’ve got things to do.
Sure do.
Tinkling music, contented cats, a cup of tea, soft light coming through the windows, that purring….
Hey Rick?
Hey.
Ready to go?
Sure, if you want.
It’s been an hour.
Mmmm. That’s nice.
After liberal use of a lint roller, we continued on to our next Tokyo event — a St. Patrick’s Day parade, complete with bagpipes, Irish setters, marching bands and samba dancers.
Weird, wacky and wonderful.
The Country Mice 