One

by Natsume Sōseki · 2026-03-31

I am a cat. I don't have a name yet.

I can't remember where I was born at all. I only remember crying "meow meow" in a dim and damp place. It was there that I first saw a human, but later I heard that it was a student, the most vicious species. There are stories that students sometimes catch cats and cook them. However, at that time, I didn't think about anything and didn't particularly feel scared. I only remember the sensation of being placed in his palm and being gently lifted. Settling a bit on his hand, seeing the student's face was probably my first impression of what humans are. The strange feeling from that moment is something I still can't forget. First, the face that should be adorned with fur was smooth, almost like a kettle. After that, I met many other cats, but I have never encountered a cat with such a peculiar face. Moreover, the middle of the face protruded abnormally, and from that hole, smoke would occasionally blow out. My throat felt scratchy, which was quite troublesome. I only learned recently that this was the tobacco that humans smoke.

I was comfortably sitting in the student's palm for a while, but suddenly I started moving quickly. I couldn't tell if the student was moving or if it was just me, and I became dizzy. My chest felt bad, and I thought I wouldn't survive, when suddenly there was a thud, and everything went dark in front of me. I remember everything up to that point, but after that, no matter how much I think about it, I can't understand what happened.

When I suddenly realized, the student was gone. I couldn't see any of my many siblings. Even my important mother had hidden away. Moreover, unlike the place I had been until now, it was unreasonably bright. It was so bright that I couldn't keep my eyes open. Thinking something was strange, I tried to crawl out, and it was extremely painful. I had suddenly been discarded from the straw into a bamboo grove.

Finally crawling out of the bamboo grove, I saw a large pond ahead. I sat in front of the pond and thought about what to do, but I couldn't come up with anything in particular. After a while, I thought that if I cried, the student might come to get me. I tried meowing, but no one came. Before long, a gentle breeze passed over the pond, and the sun began to set. I was extremely hungry. Even if I wanted to cry, no voice would come out. There's no helping it; I decided to walk to wherever there was food, and I slowly began to circle the pond to the left. It was very difficult. As I forced myself to crawl through that place, I finally came to a spot that smelled like humans. Thinking that if I got in here, things might work out, I slipped through a hole in the broken bamboo fence into a certain estate. It was a strange coincidence; if this bamboo fence hadn't been torn, I might have starved to death by the roadside. They say a tree's shade is a wonderful thing. This hole in the fence has become the passage I use to visit the calico cat from the neighboring house up until today.

Well, even though I sneaked into the mansion, I didn't know what to do next. It was getting dark, I was hungry, the cold was harsh, and it started to rain, leaving me with no time to spare. With no other choice, I walked toward the brighter and warmer side. Looking back now, I realize that I had already entered the house at that time. There, I encountered another human being besides the student. The first one I met was a maid. She was even more rough than the previous student, and as soon as she saw me, she suddenly grabbed my neck and threw me outside. Thinking this was bad, I closed my eyes and left my fate to the heavens. However, I couldn't endure the hunger and cold any longer. When I saw another opportunity with the maid, I crawled back into the kitchen, only to be thrown out again immediately. I was thrown out, crawled back in, crawled back in, and was thrown out again, repeating the same thing four or five times. At that moment, I truly became fed up with the maid. During this time, I stole the maid's three horses, and thinking this was my retribution, I finally felt a weight lift off my chest. Just when I was about to be thrown out again, the master of the house came out, saying something about the noise. The maid, holding me up, said to the master, "This homeless little cat keeps coming into the kitchen no matter how much I throw him out." The master, twisting the black hair under his nose, stared at my face for a while, and then said, "Then let him stay inside," and went back in. The master seems to be a person who doesn't speak much. The maid threw me into the kitchen with a look of regret. Thus, I finally decided to make this house my home.

My master rarely faces me. I hear he is a teacher. When he comes home from school, he locks himself in his study all day and hardly comes out. The people in the house think he is a very diligent scholar. He also tries to appear as if he is a scholar. However, in reality, he is not as hardworking as they say. Sometimes, when I sneak a peek into his study, I find him napping quite often. At times, he drools on the book he is reading. He has a weak stomach, his skin has a pale yellow hue, and he shows a lack of elasticity and inactivity. Yet, he eats a lot. After eating a large meal, he drinks Takajiyazutase. After drinking, he spreads out his books, reads a couple of pages, becomes sleepy, and drools on the book again. This is his nightly routine that he repeats every day. As a cat, I sometimes think about things. Being a teacher is indeed an easy job. If one is born as a human, becoming a teacher is the way to go. If one can manage to sleep this much, even a cat could do it. Still, according to my master, there is nothing as tough as being a teacher, and he complains about this every time a friend visits.

When I first started living in this house, I was completely ignored by everyone except my master. No matter where I went, I was rebuffed and not acknowledged. How little I was valued is evident from the fact that I had not even been given a name until now. With no other choice, I tried to stay as close to my master as possible. In the morning, when my master reads the newspaper, I always sit on his lap, and when he takes a nap, I climb onto his back. This is not because he particularly likes it, but because I had nowhere else to go.

After that, after going through various experiences, I decided to sleep on top of the rice container in the morning, on top of the kotatsu at night, and on the engawa during nice weather in the daytime. However, the most comfortable place is to sneak into the children's bed at night and sleep together with them. These children are five and three years old, and at night, the two of them get into one futon to sleep. I always manage to find my spot between them and somehow squeeze in, but unfortunately, if one of them wakes up, it becomes a big problem. Especially the younger child starts crying loudly, "The cat is here, the cat is here!" Then, the nervous master always wakes up and rushes out from the next room. In fact, just the other day, I was severely slapped on the backside.

The more I live with humans and observe them, the more I have to assert that they are selfish. This is especially true when it comes to the children who occasionally sleep with me. When things don't go their way, they turn things upside down, put bags on their heads, push, or shove. And if I even try to intervene a little, they chase me around the house and persecute me. The other day, when I sharpened my claws on the tatami, my wife got very angry, and since then, I haven't been able to easily enter the tatami room. Even if other cats are trembling on the kitchen floor, I am completely unbothered. The white cat, whom I respect, says every time we meet, "There is nothing as heartless as humans." The white cat recently gave birth to four kitten-like jewels, but the house's student took them to the back pond on the third day and abandoned all four of them. The white cat spoke tearfully about the whole incident and said that we, the feline race, must fight against humans to fulfill parental love and lead a beautiful family life. I agree with that. Moreover, the calico cat next door is greatly outraged that humans do not understand the concept of ownership. Originally, among our kind, whether it’s the head of a sardine or the belly of a catfish, the one who finds it first has the right to eat it. If the other party does not adhere to this rule, it is permissible to use force. However, it seems that humans have no such concept at all, and the delicacies we find are always taken away by them. They rely on their power and are satisfied with taking away what we rightfully should eat. The white cat lives in a military household, and the calico cat has a master who is a lawyer, but I just live in a teacher's house, and regarding such matters, I am rather optimistic.As long as I can somehow get through each day, that's good enough for me. No matter how much humans thrive, it won't last forever. Well, let's patiently wait for the season of cats.

Since I remembered about selfishness, I would like to tell a story about how my house's master failed because of this selfishness. Originally, this master is not particularly capable of anything, but he wants to dabble in everything. He tries his hand at haiku and submits it to Hototogisu, publishes new-style poetry in Myojo, writes English sentences full of mistakes, sometimes gets obsessed with archery, learns Noh, and at other times plays the violin with a lot of noise, but unfortunately, none of these have amounted to anything. Nevertheless, once he starts, he is unusually enthusiastic despite being weak in the stomach. Even though he is nicknamed "Koka-sensei" in the neighborhood for singing Noh in the back room, he is completely unfazed. Everyone laughs and says, "Here comes Munemori again."

One day, about a month after I started living here, on a payday, this master came home in a hurry with a large package. I wondered what he had bought, and it turned out to be watercolor paints, a brush, and paper called Wattman. It seems he has decided to stop Noh and haiku from today and start painting instead. In fact, for a while starting the next day, he was painting every day in his study without even taking a nap. However, when I looked at what he had produced, it was something that no one could tell what it was. Perhaps he realized it wasn't that easy, as one day I overheard him talking when a friend who was studying art came to visit.

“Well, it seems I can't draw well at all. When I see others do it, it looks easy, but when I pick up the brush myself, it suddenly feels difficult.” This is the master's reflection. Indeed, there is no deception in that. His friend, looking at the master's face through his gold-rimmed glasses, said, “That's right, you can't draw well from the beginning. First of all, you can't paint just from imagination of the indoors. Long ago, the great Italian master Andrea del Sarto once said, ‘If you are going to paint, you must capture nature itself. In the heavens, there are stars; on the earth, there is dew; in the air, there are birds; on the ground, there are beasts; in the pond, there are goldfish; on the dry tree, there are crows. Nature is a grand masterpiece in itself.’” He continued, “How about this, if you want to paint a proper painting, why not try doing some sketches?”

“Oh, so Andrea del Sarto said such a thing. I had no idea. Indeed, that makes perfect sense. It really is true,” the master said, feeling quite impressed. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, a mocking smile could be seen.

The next day, I went out to the porch as usual and was comfortably taking a nap. Then, the master unusually came out of his study and was doing something behind me repeatedly. I suddenly woke up and squinted a bit to see what he was doing, and he was engrossed in painting a picture of Andrea del Sarto. Seeing this scene, I couldn't help but suppress a laugh. As a result of being teased by his friend, he was starting by trying to paint me first.

I have already slept enough, and I can hardly hold back a yawn. However, I thought it would be cruel to interrupt my master, who is diligently moving his brush, so I endured it quietly. He is now finishing the outline of me and painting around my face. To be honest, I do not think I am an excellent cat. I do not believe I surpass other cats in terms of my back, fur, or facial features. However, no matter how unattractive I may be, I cannot possibly look like the strange figure he is trying to paint now. First of all, the color is different. I have a pale gray coat with lacquer-like spots, like a Persian cat. This is an undeniable fact to anyone who sees me.

However, the colors my master is painting are neither yellow, black, gray, nor brown, nor a mixture of these colors. It is just one kind of color, a color that is difficult to express. Moreover, strangely, there are no eyes depicted. While this may be understandable since he is painting me while I am sleeping, the absence of any part that resembles eyes makes it unclear whether I am a blind cat or a sleeping cat. In my heart, I thought that no matter how much of an artist Andrea del Sarto is, this is hopeless. However, I could not help but admire his enthusiasm. I wanted to stay as still as possible, but I have been feeling the urge to urinate for a while now, and my body’s muscles are restless. I reached a point where I could not wait another minute, so I had no choice but to excuse myself, stretch my legs forward, and lean my neck down to let out a big yawn.

When it comes to this, I can no longer just stay quiet. Since I have already disrupted my master's plans, I thought I might as well go to the back and relieve myself, so I crawled out slowly. Then, my master shouted from inside the room in a voice mixed with disappointment and anger, "You idiot!" It is his habit to always say "idiot" when he insults someone. There is no other way for him to express his insults, so it can't be helped, but I thought it was rude to be called "idiot" without him knowing how I had been patient until now. Moreover, if he would at least show a good face when I ride on his back, I would gladly accept this insult, but it is terrible to be called "idiot" just for relieving myself when he has never once considered my circumstances. In the first place, humans tend to become arrogant due to their own strength, and everyone is becoming more and more conceited. If something stronger than humans were to appear and admonish them, I don't know how far they would go in their arrogance from here on out.

I can tolerate this much, but I have heard stories that are several times sadder about human depravity than this.

Behind my house, there is a tea garden of about ten tsubo. It is not large, but it has a stylish atmosphere and is in a sunny spot. Whenever my children are too noisy for me to take a leisurely nap, or when I feel bored and my stomach is not well, I always come out here to calm my mind. On a gentle afternoon around two o'clock on a warm spring day, after a comfortable nap following lunch, I walked to this tea garden for some exercise. As I sniffed each tea plant's roots, I reached the cedar fence on the west side, where a large cat was sleeping soundly on a withered chrysanthemum. He was completely unaware of my approach, snoring loudly and sprawled out in deep sleep. I couldn't help but be secretly amazed at his boldness, being able to sleep so peacefully in a garden where intruders might come. He is a pure black cat. The sun, just past noon, cast transparent rays over his skin, and it seemed as if invisible flames were igniting among his sparkling soft fur. He possesses a magnificent physique that could be called a king among cats. He is certainly twice my size.

I was filled with admiration and curiosity, standing before him, forgetting everything around me, and gazing intently. Then, a gentle early spring breeze lightly swayed the branches of the paulownia tree that had emerged above the cedar fence, causing several leaves to fall into the withered chrysanthemum bush. At that moment, the great king suddenly opened his perfectly round eyes. I still remember that scene. Those eyes shone far more beautifully than the amber that humans cherish. He did not move at all. The light emanating from the depths of his twin eyes seemed to gather above my small forehead, as if asking, "Who are you?" I thought it was somewhat unrefined for a great king to speak in such a way, but the power behind that voice was overwhelming enough to intimidate even a dog, so I felt a certain degree of fear. However, I thought that if I didn’t greet him, things might turn hostile, so I answered as calmly as I could, "I am a cat. I do not have a name yet." Yet, at that moment, my heart was indeed beating more fiercely than usual.

He said in a tone of great contempt, "What, a cat? A cat is listening and being astonished. Where on earth do you live?" Quite presumptuous. When I replied, "I am staying at the teacher's house here," the king said, "I thought it would be something like that. You look awfully thin." From the way he spoke, he certainly didn't seem like a cat from a good family. However, judging by his obesity from the lack of grease, it seems he has been eating well and living comfortably. I couldn't help but ask, "Who exactly are you to say that?" "I'm Kuro from the car shop," he answered defiantly. Kuro from the car shop is a notorious rough cat known around these parts. However, he is only strong because he is from the car shop and has no education, so not many people associate with him. He has become a target of the alliance's avoidance policy. When I heard his name, I felt a bit embarrassed and at the same time, a sense of contempt arose within me. I thought I would first test how uneducated he was and asked the following.

"Which is more important, a car shop or a teacher?"

"The car shop is definitely stronger. Look at your master, he's nothing but skin and bones."

"You also look quite strong for a car shop cat. I suppose you get to eat delicious food there."

"What are you talking about? No matter where I go, I plan to never be short of food. Instead of just wandering around the tea fields, why don't you follow me for a bit? In less than a month, you'll be able to gain weight remarkably."

"I suppose I should wish for that. But why is it that the teacher's house is bigger than the car shop, yet you live there?"

"Don't say foolish things. No matter how big our house is, it won't fill my belly."

He seemed quite angry, twitching his ears like a bamboo shoot, and left without a word. My acquaintance with Kuro from the car shop was yet to come.

After that, I met Kuro many times. Each time we met, he displayed the confidence typical of a car shop cat. The incident of misconduct I had previously heard about was actually something I learned from Kuro.

One day, as usual, Kuro and I were lying in the warm tea field, chatting about various things. Then, after repeating his usual bragging as if it were something new, he asked me, "How many mice have you caught so far?"

I thought I had much more knowledge than Kuro, but I was fully aware that I could never match him in strength or courage. However, when I received this question, I felt a bit intimidated. Nevertheless, I couldn't lie about the facts, so I replied, "Actually, I haven't caught any yet because I haven't tried." Kuro shook his long whiskers that protruded sharply from the tip of his nose and laughed heartily. Originally, Kuro had a certain lack that made him only boastful, and if you listened to his bravado with admiration, he was a very easygoing cat. After becoming close to him, I quickly absorbed this dynamic, so I thought it foolish to forcefully defend myself and worsen the situation, and instead decided to let him tell his own tales of achievement to lighten the mood. So, I quietly suggested, "Given your age, you've probably caught quite a few, haven't you?" Then, he shouted towards a chipped part of the wall, "I haven't caught a lot, but I've caught about thirty or forty," he replied proudly. He continued, "I can handle a hundred or two hundred mice anytime by myself, but weasels are a different story. Once, I had a terrible experience with a weasel."

“Oh, I see,” he said, blinking his large eyes. “Last year during the big cleaning, my master crawled under the house with a bag of lime, and a big weasel got startled and jumped out.”

“Hmph,” I showed my admiration. “A weasel is just a bit bigger than a rat, right? I thought you chased such a creature and ended up driving it into the muddy ditch.”

“You did well,” I praised him, and he said, “However, when it came down to it, that guy let out a final fart. It was so smelly that just thinking about it makes me nauseous when I see a weasel.” At this point, as if he could still feel the stench from last year, he raised his front paw and repeatedly rubbed his nose. I felt a bit sorry for him. Thinking to be considerate, I said, “But if it were a rat, you’d be in trouble if you glared at it. You’re such a master at catching rats that you must be so plump and shiny.” This question was meant to appease him, but surprisingly, it had the opposite effect. He let out a big sigh and said, “When you think about it, it’s boring. No matter how many rats I catch—there’s no one as brazen as humans. They take all the rats I catch and bring them to the police box. At the police box, no one knows who caught them, so they give me five sen each time. My master, despite making about one yen and fifty sen because of his own doing, has never fed me anything decent. Hey, humans are just good-for-nothing thieves.”

Even the uneducated black seems to understand this level of reasoning, as he is standing with his back fur bristled in a very angry manner. I felt a bit uneasy, so I awkwardly made my excuses and went home. From that moment on, I resolved never to catch a mouse. However, I also did not walk around hunting for delicacies as a subordinate of the black. It is more comfortable and better to sleep than to eat delicacies. When staying at the teacher's house, even cats seem to take on the nature of the teacher. If I'm not careful, I might become weak in the stomach soon.

Speaking of teachers, it seems my master has recently come to realize that he has no hope in watercolor painting, as noted in his diary on December 1st.

“I met a person named ○○ for the first time at today’s meeting. That person is said to have lived quite a debauched life, and indeed has the appearance of a connoisseur. People of this quality tend to be liked by women, so it would be more appropriate to say that ○○ did not so much indulge in debauchery as he was compelled to do so. It seems that person’s wife is a geisha, which is enviable. Most of those who speak ill of debauchees are often those who lack the qualifications to indulge. Among those who consider themselves debauchees, there are also many who lack the qualifications to do so. They engage in it voluntarily despite not being compelled. Just like my watercolor paintings, they have no intention of graduating. Yet, despite this, they think of themselves as connoisseurs. If the argument holds that one can become a connoisseur simply by drinking at a restaurant or entering a waiting room, then I too could be considered a top-tier watercolor painter. Just as it is better not to paint something like my watercolor, it is far superior to be a simpleton from the mountains than to be a foolish connoisseur.”

I find myself slightly puzzled by the theory of the connoisseur. Moreover, to envy the geisha's wife is a foolish thought that a teacher should not express, but my critical eye regarding my own watercolor paintings is indeed reliable. Despite having this clarity about myself, the master's vanity is quite hard to shake off. After a day and a half, on December 4th, my diary contained the following entry.

Last night, I tried to paint a watercolor, but I thought it turned out terribly, so I just abandoned it. Then, I had a dream where someone framed it beautifully and hung it on the transom. As I looked at the framed painting, I suddenly felt as if I had become skilled, and I was very happy. I thought it was truly wonderful, and while I was admiring it alone, dawn broke, and when I woke up, it became clear with the morning sun that it was indeed the same poorly done painting as before.

It seems I still harbor a lingering attachment to watercolor painting even in my dreams. At this rate, I won't be able to become a watercolor artist, let alone the connoisseur that my master speaks of.

The day after the dream, the aesthetician with the gold-framed glasses visited me after a long time. When he sat down, the first thing he said was, "How's your painting going?" I replied calmly, "I am diligently practicing sketching as per your advice, and indeed, when I sketch, I can clearly see the subtle changes in shape and color of things that I had not noticed before. I believe that in the West, the emphasis on sketching since ancient times has led to the development we see today. Truly, Andrea del Sarto is remarkable," without mentioning anything about my diary, and I was also admiring Andrea del Sarto.

The aesthetician laughed and said, "Actually, you know, that was nonsense," scratching his head. "What do you mean?" I still hadn't realized why he was laughing. "The Andrea del Sarto you admire so much. That was a story I made up a bit. I didn't think you would take it so seriously, ha ha ha," he was overjoyed.

I couldn't help but imagine what kind of things would be written in his diary while listening to that conversation. This aesthetician is a man whose only pleasure is to spout such frivolous things and carry people along. He spoke proudly, completely unconcerned about the impact that the story of Andrea del Sarto had on my heart. "Well, it's quite amusing to provoke a great deal of ridiculous aesthetic sense because sometimes when you tell a joke, people take it seriously. The other day, when I told a student that Nicholas Nickleby advised Gibbon to stop writing his monumental work 'The History of the French Revolution' in French and to publish it in English instead, that student, who was quite the fool with a good memory, repeated my words seriously at a Japanese literature society lecture, which was quite ridiculous. However, there were about a hundred listeners at that time, and they were all eagerly listening. Then there's an even more amusing story. The other day, at a gathering with some literary figures, the topic of Harrison's historical novel 'Theophano' came up, and I praised it as the best among historical novels. When I mentioned that the scene where the female protagonist dies is truly haunting, an unknown teacher sitting across from me said, 'Yes, indeed, that is a remarkable passage.' That's when I realized that this man, like me, had not read this novel either."

I, being nervous, widened my eyes and asked, "What are you going to do if the other person has read it and you're spouting such nonsense?" It seemed like he felt that while deceiving people was not a problem, it would be troublesome when the mask came off. The aesthetician, unfazed at all, replied, "At that time, I'll just say I confused it with another book or something," and he laughed heartily. This aesthetician wears gold-rimmed glasses, but his personality has some resemblance to that of a blacksmith. I silently stared at the sunrise, wearing a face that seemed to say I didn't have such courage.

The aesthetician, looking at the painting with a disapproving eye, said, "But joking aside, painting is actually quite difficult. I’ve heard that Leonardo da Vinci once taught his students to copy the stains on temple walls. Indeed, if you carefully observe the walls where rain leaks in, like in an outhouse, you can see some rather nice patterns naturally forming. If you pay attention and try sketching, you’ll surely create something interesting." "You're just deceiving me again." "No, this much is certain. Isn’t it a rather peculiar statement? It’s something da Vinci might say," he replied. The master seemed to have half given in, but still did not sketch in the outhouse.

After that, the blacksmith became lame. His glossy fur gradually faded and began to fall out. In his eyes, which I had praised as more beautiful than amber, a lot of eye discharge had accumulated. What particularly caught my attention was that he had lost his vigor and his physique had deteriorated. On the last day I met him at the tea garden, when I asked how he was, he replied, "It's like the last fart of a weasel and the balance beam of a fishmonger is a punishment."

The leaves of the maple trees, adorned with two or three layers of red, scattered like a dream from the past, and the red and white camellias that had spilled their petals near the tsukubai had all fallen without a trace. The winter sunlight slanted early on the south-facing porch of three and a half mats, and I felt that my napping time had also been narrowed since the days without the cold wind had become almost rare.

The master goes to school every day. When he returns, he shuts himself up in the study and says, "I hate teachers, I hate them," when people come. He rarely paints watercolors. He said that Takajiyasterase doesn’t work and gave up. The child attends kindergarten without rest to the point of admiration, sings songs when he returns, plays with a ball, and sometimes dangles me by my tail.

I don't eat extravagant meals, so I don't particularly gain weight, but I'm reasonably healthy and spend each day without becoming lame. I never catch mice, and I still dislike the lady. I haven't been given a name yet, but since there's no end to desire, I intend to end my life as an unnamed cat in this teacher's house.