5 am. A cat is crying outside. Its wails echo through the neighborhood.
My dark, sleepy mind conjures a sad scenario–a young cat, abandoned by its owners, stuck in the gully where the Marunouchi line runs, unable to climb out. The trains haven’t begun for the day. I imagine phoning 119 to report this. Then wonder if they would help. What would I say? I think of words in Japanese. They don’t really make much sense.
The wailing become hoarse as the cat continues to seek help.
I rise from my bed and step out onto the balcony. The source of the crying is a block or two away, and low. Maybe on the tracks. Maybe on the streets above the tracks. But I am not dressed for the morning’s grey drizzle and I step back inside and close the door.
Should I have gone to save the cat? Later, after coffee and a shower, the trains are bringing commuters from the suburbs. I don’t hear the cat again.
