It's about a cat detective who specializes on studying cat behavior. She's very eccentric. Take everything away from L of Death Note and add everything cat-related, like fear of water, different colored eyes (blue and green), long nails, obsession with fish and inhuman jumping power, and you have what's now the anime teen version of a crazy cat lady. There's not much anime-inspired theme other than that, but I think it fits the idea of an originally english light novel pretty well.
This is just chapter 1, as the whole story is too long to upload all at once. If you like it though, I can upload the next two chapters anytime. I divided it into parts to make it easier.
Part 1
Spoiler! :
Time sure flies, whether you’re having fun or the exact opposite. To think that we were just classmates then, and now, barely a year has passed and we’re already living under the same ceiling. I still remember how easy life was back then. Night clubs, parties, a teenage girl mindlessly abiding by the protocols of the teenage life, until I made a last minute decision that would drastically change all of that forever.
I must say, this whole new experience business is a bit too spicy for my own good. It’s a little embarrassing having to live together. We get into a lot of awkward situations most of the time, but I guess it’s in human nature to be involved in these things. There’s bound to be a few snags down the road, here and there. Actually, I should even consider myself lucky to be given this opportunity. Ever since I left my parents’ home I’ve had no permanent place to stay, always changing dorms and boarding houses due to budget constraints, from one cheap house to the next. Not every girl gets someone willing to support her financially, and in some remote way, maybe emotionally too. We go into arguments every now and then, but usually we’d make up and be back to our usual lives before we even know it.
And that’s not where it all ends. Due to a very thorough persuasion of one party, and I have to admit, mine eventually, I’m proud to introduce our first ever baby boy, Tsujigiri. He was truly the greatest blessing that ever happened to us, and I can’t believe how selfish I was for not even consenting to have him in the first place. To make up for my imprudence, it was I who gave him his name.
It was Japanese for “the act of trying out a new sword on some random stranger”, and there’s a bit of depth at how we came to this name as well, but more on that later. Ever since I was a kid, I dreamt of being a famous mangaka, a person who draws manga (Japanese version of western comics). I did nothing but read manga and watch anime back then, and so I began to learn a few Japanese words on my own. I still can’t make the fully functioning sentences though, even until now, I know a little of the more usable words and phrases, and namely, (pun intended) ‘Tsujigiri’ was the first thing that popped into my mind.
I think it was a great idea naming him something Japanese. He definitely had the clean, white features that were so natural to his native Japanese counterparts, some of the black and orange, and he definitely inherited from his father the shortness of the white overhang protruding from between his legs. Not to mention he had the same bright, playful green eyes, on top of a fresh set of baby teeth that would nibble at anything it comes across.
I’d be lying if I said taking care of him was any piece of cake. It was dead hard. The most troublesome part was hearing its cries in the middle of the night, leaving neither of us able to sleep. Of course, I usually do most of the work around these parts. Our efforts soon paid off. A few months later he was taking his first steps across the living room rug, and by the end of the year he’d be running on opposite ends of the street.
Too bad we had to give him away. The landlady saw, the sword that we had advertently been trying out, and ordered us to get rid of him before she gets rid of us…
Okay, I’m going to come clean. This isn’t a cheesy story about teenage rebellion, love, running away with the perfect, ideal man of my dreams or anything close to that (though I’d pretty much wish it was).
Confession #1: Kizuna is a cat. A Japanese bobtail, as my boss kept insisting. I’m no expert on cats so I’m just gonna say it’s something with black and orange spots over a white fore set, as well as an annoyingly short tail that wasn’t any more than an inch from his backbone.
It had always been a strict rule inside the apartment that no pets of any kind are allowed, so when the landlady spotted Kizuna wandering about the next door rooms one day, pretty much anyone can guess what was going to happen.
Confession #2: No, I didn’t run away from home.
My name is Jezza Meyer, 21, an arts student driven broke by the imperatives of modern society. It’s already been a year since I graduated, yet I still couldn’t find a decent job. I guess the stereotypes have some bit of truth in them. As terrible as life gets, I just couldn’t bear to impose on my parents anymore and keep telling them I need more money. If my life’s purpose is to drain up their earnings, they already have my sister’s doctorate program for that. Luckily, I managed to find someone who was willing to hire me.
Confession #3: My boss is a girl. And for those still incidentally hoping for some creepy lesbian romance, tough ghuck.
We used to be classmates at one subject during college. I remember it was a writing class and we were all grouped in pairs to critique each other’s works. That’s when I first met the person who would later turn out to be my employer several years later. If I had only known. Naturally, being the modest, humble and tacit classmate that I am, I’d evaluate her stories from a positive light and give her constructive advice before the end of class, only to grieve later and assess how truly and hopelessly horrible her work had been.
I mean, not to say that I’m any expert on literature, but her stories lacked a decent exposition, contained lots of punctuation errors, wasn’t even legibly handwritten when it was an on-the-spot activity, contained every single detail about cats, had flat characters, flat plot, and was ended so abruptly it almost seemed like she got bored trying to finish the story and just dropped the pen. If it wasn’t for my *Happou Bijin*, which was the pretense of being ungenuinely nice to everyone out of fear of being disliked, I’d have flamed her work faster than Ramsey can cook up his kitchen. It was sloppy at best and she had absolutely no sense of art (Confession #4?)
I kept this façade for so long that you can’t imagine my happiness when the semester finally ended. We’d still meet sometimes, maybe bump into each other at a bookstore, or I’d ask help with my Math homework, Confession #4, but nothing beyond of the sort. If I had to find a term, ‘friends’ would be a hair’s breadth over the top. We were as good as strangers to each other and things pretty much stayed that way for a long time. That’s why I almost couldn’t accept the offer immediately when she asked me to be her associate, and felt bad having to be the only one suited for the assistant post, the only seeming requirement for which was a tolerance for cats.
This person was a little younger than me and had finished psychology the year after I graduated. Our office is located at the Orange Five District, second to the left of Madeline’s Cakeshop. We’ve solved lots of cases together ever since I decided to be her assistant and now, three years later, we were still going about the same business.
Confession #5: ∫ N̅·F̅ dS. That was the name of our office, the integral of the dot product of the normal vector and the vector valued function over a surface. She said it was simply the commuted mathematical formula for fluid integrals, and that I should at least try and memorize the multiplication table first before I try to figure out what an integral means. I can’t help it if my knowledge on Mathematics is a little (or maybe a lot) weak, but who would want to go inside an office door littered with all these strange looking symbols which had to be so severely pasted up front, when the only thing they were supposed to mean was Noine’s Feline Services?
Confession #6: She’s a cat therapist. Yup. She isn’t just your everyday run-of-the-mill psychologist. She’s an animal psychologist, a cat behaviorist to be precise. Cat psychologist. Cat consultant. Cat whisperer. Those are the things that would fit her occupation. Noine Erdnase, 20, the gifted psychological prodigy who almost left academia just on a whim of starting her own business of felinology. She was only one semester away from completing her course and it was incidentally I who convinced her to continue her studies.
I must say, this whole new experience business is a bit too spicy for my own good. It’s a little embarrassing having to live together. We get into a lot of awkward situations most of the time, but I guess it’s in human nature to be involved in these things. There’s bound to be a few snags down the road, here and there. Actually, I should even consider myself lucky to be given this opportunity. Ever since I left my parents’ home I’ve had no permanent place to stay, always changing dorms and boarding houses due to budget constraints, from one cheap house to the next. Not every girl gets someone willing to support her financially, and in some remote way, maybe emotionally too. We go into arguments every now and then, but usually we’d make up and be back to our usual lives before we even know it.
And that’s not where it all ends. Due to a very thorough persuasion of one party, and I have to admit, mine eventually, I’m proud to introduce our first ever baby boy, Tsujigiri. He was truly the greatest blessing that ever happened to us, and I can’t believe how selfish I was for not even consenting to have him in the first place. To make up for my imprudence, it was I who gave him his name.
It was Japanese for “the act of trying out a new sword on some random stranger”, and there’s a bit of depth at how we came to this name as well, but more on that later. Ever since I was a kid, I dreamt of being a famous mangaka, a person who draws manga (Japanese version of western comics). I did nothing but read manga and watch anime back then, and so I began to learn a few Japanese words on my own. I still can’t make the fully functioning sentences though, even until now, I know a little of the more usable words and phrases, and namely, (pun intended) ‘Tsujigiri’ was the first thing that popped into my mind.
I think it was a great idea naming him something Japanese. He definitely had the clean, white features that were so natural to his native Japanese counterparts, some of the black and orange, and he definitely inherited from his father the shortness of the white overhang protruding from between his legs. Not to mention he had the same bright, playful green eyes, on top of a fresh set of baby teeth that would nibble at anything it comes across.
I’d be lying if I said taking care of him was any piece of cake. It was dead hard. The most troublesome part was hearing its cries in the middle of the night, leaving neither of us able to sleep. Of course, I usually do most of the work around these parts. Our efforts soon paid off. A few months later he was taking his first steps across the living room rug, and by the end of the year he’d be running on opposite ends of the street.
Too bad we had to give him away. The landlady saw, the sword that we had advertently been trying out, and ordered us to get rid of him before she gets rid of us…
Okay, I’m going to come clean. This isn’t a cheesy story about teenage rebellion, love, running away with the perfect, ideal man of my dreams or anything close to that (though I’d pretty much wish it was).
Confession #1: Kizuna is a cat. A Japanese bobtail, as my boss kept insisting. I’m no expert on cats so I’m just gonna say it’s something with black and orange spots over a white fore set, as well as an annoyingly short tail that wasn’t any more than an inch from his backbone.
It had always been a strict rule inside the apartment that no pets of any kind are allowed, so when the landlady spotted Kizuna wandering about the next door rooms one day, pretty much anyone can guess what was going to happen.
Confession #2: No, I didn’t run away from home.
My name is Jezza Meyer, 21, an arts student driven broke by the imperatives of modern society. It’s already been a year since I graduated, yet I still couldn’t find a decent job. I guess the stereotypes have some bit of truth in them. As terrible as life gets, I just couldn’t bear to impose on my parents anymore and keep telling them I need more money. If my life’s purpose is to drain up their earnings, they already have my sister’s doctorate program for that. Luckily, I managed to find someone who was willing to hire me.
Confession #3: My boss is a girl. And for those still incidentally hoping for some creepy lesbian romance, tough ghuck.
We used to be classmates at one subject during college. I remember it was a writing class and we were all grouped in pairs to critique each other’s works. That’s when I first met the person who would later turn out to be my employer several years later. If I had only known. Naturally, being the modest, humble and tacit classmate that I am, I’d evaluate her stories from a positive light and give her constructive advice before the end of class, only to grieve later and assess how truly and hopelessly horrible her work had been.
I mean, not to say that I’m any expert on literature, but her stories lacked a decent exposition, contained lots of punctuation errors, wasn’t even legibly handwritten when it was an on-the-spot activity, contained every single detail about cats, had flat characters, flat plot, and was ended so abruptly it almost seemed like she got bored trying to finish the story and just dropped the pen. If it wasn’t for my *Happou Bijin*, which was the pretense of being ungenuinely nice to everyone out of fear of being disliked, I’d have flamed her work faster than Ramsey can cook up his kitchen. It was sloppy at best and she had absolutely no sense of art (Confession #4?)
I kept this façade for so long that you can’t imagine my happiness when the semester finally ended. We’d still meet sometimes, maybe bump into each other at a bookstore, or I’d ask help with my Math homework, Confession #4, but nothing beyond of the sort. If I had to find a term, ‘friends’ would be a hair’s breadth over the top. We were as good as strangers to each other and things pretty much stayed that way for a long time. That’s why I almost couldn’t accept the offer immediately when she asked me to be her associate, and felt bad having to be the only one suited for the assistant post, the only seeming requirement for which was a tolerance for cats.
This person was a little younger than me and had finished psychology the year after I graduated. Our office is located at the Orange Five District, second to the left of Madeline’s Cakeshop. We’ve solved lots of cases together ever since I decided to be her assistant and now, three years later, we were still going about the same business.
Confession #5: ∫ N̅·F̅ dS. That was the name of our office, the integral of the dot product of the normal vector and the vector valued function over a surface. She said it was simply the commuted mathematical formula for fluid integrals, and that I should at least try and memorize the multiplication table first before I try to figure out what an integral means. I can’t help it if my knowledge on Mathematics is a little (or maybe a lot) weak, but who would want to go inside an office door littered with all these strange looking symbols which had to be so severely pasted up front, when the only thing they were supposed to mean was Noine’s Feline Services?
Confession #6: She’s a cat therapist. Yup. She isn’t just your everyday run-of-the-mill psychologist. She’s an animal psychologist, a cat behaviorist to be precise. Cat psychologist. Cat consultant. Cat whisperer. Those are the things that would fit her occupation. Noine Erdnase, 20, the gifted psychological prodigy who almost left academia just on a whim of starting her own business of felinology. She was only one semester away from completing her course and it was incidentally I who convinced her to continue her studies.
Part 2
Spoiler! :
“Noine, breakfast is ready,” I called out from across the kitchen. The tiny lump under the blanket shuffled and groaned. A head of ruffled scarlet hair emerged from the folds, squinted and looked around dazedly, then sunk back into the crevasse as quickly as it had come out.
“Come on,” I called a second time, shoveling sausages and scrambled eggs onto her plate. She was my boss. Actually, she preferred being called Master, but there is no way that’s happening.
If we didn’t happen to be coworkers, you’d think she had kidnapped me or something. We’re polar opposites of each other. I liked the arts, especially the performing arts; music, theater arts and maybe some good old card flourishing as well; while she was more inclined to the sciences, online games, pure logic, and above all, cats.
And despite all that, she wasn’t anymore a genius than I am a girl. It was almost unnerving to think she’d turn to this line of profession when she had all the qualities needed to be a successful doctor, engineer, physicist, and all other things I could only dream of, while I for one am only gifted with a talent for the arts, cooking, and practically all other things that don’t involve numbers and logic. Why of all things she had to focus her efforts on cats I’ll never know.
You can tell this unexpected setup has led to a rather strange dynamics between the two of us, but since she’s my boss and pays my salary, I can’t go composing my songs when she needs peace and quiet. And that happens most of the time. The only bright side in this is that she’s equally quiet as she is contemplative, so the best time to paint is always when she’s in deep thought.
“Noine!” I called one last time.
“Mow way,” she grunted. Based on my past experiences of sleepy Noine language, that meant Go away.
This was one of the few perks about my job, waking the hell out of her whenever a client is coming over, only this time, my waking her has nothing to do with work. I went over to her bed and tugged at the sheets as hard as I could. She fell out of the bed, spun, and landed on all fours like an acrobat.
“Get up, Noine. You already promised me you’re coming to my sister’s wedding.”
She took one big soundless yawn, then followed me miserably into the table.
My sister Emily, the oldest of us three sisters, was a lot older than me and studied medicine. She met with a fellow doctor and boom. Wedding this weekend. It’s not like she and Noine have a close relationship. On the contrary, they haven’t even seen each other yet, let alone know the other. I’m just taking Noine with me because trust me, she can’t be left alone.
There was this one time when I had to leave for a few days, and I came back to find the place in shambles. There were empty cans everywhere, the couch smelled of sardines, and Noine hadn’t taken a bath for three days. I’m also suspecting from the overheated video game console that she hadn’t left the apartment even once.
Confession #7: I’m not just her assistant. I’m technically everything, not excluding personal cleaning lady. That’s why I’ve decided that if I’m going back home for the wedding, this time I’m taking her with me.
I marched her drowsy feet off into the dining table. Her dark red hair was messy and teeming with split ends and there was still drool over her face. The collar of her small shirt was sliding over her left shoulder. She slumped down onto the floor, of which a very short circular table was laid out. It was a traditional Japanese dining table, and was only one of the few things we both agreed to have.
“Eat,” I ordered. “We’re gonna head to Davies’ afterwards and get you a haircut. I can’t have you looking like this in front of my parents.”
She buried herself in the food without listening to me. Even after all these years, I can’t completely say I’ve known Noine. She rarely talks and is very antisocial, which, given her current job, is not such a good deal maker. You can see how crucial my role is here. I’m the only one setting the thin line between a crowd of happy clients, and a dissatisfied mob walking out the door.
We ate breakfast just as usual without talking much, or much to talk about. The TV was set to the third replay of My Cat From Hell, a show about treating intolerable cat behaviors hosted by what looked like a very modern looking Buddha, Jackson Galaxy, with his bald head, long, bristly black beard, sallow eyes and the guitar case he carried wherever he went. Noine’s eyes were unsurprisingly glued to the screen, and every now and then I’d hear her mutter random words like “tree climber”, “wrong” and “trauma”.
After we had finished, I carried the plates over to the sink (yes, I’m also her dishwasher) and after a furious wrestling match, managed to drag Noine out of the apartment and into the car, only to find out it had a flat tire, most probably her doing.
“Not me,” she purred innocently when I gave her the look. Since there’s no more budging her, I decided to just give her a haircut myself. Her hair was starting to outgrow the length of what is normally considered attractive and luckily, I know a thing or two about haircuts. Not to brag, but I once placed second at a local hairdressing competition, losing only to a beehive hairstyle because one of the judges had had a long standing rivalry with my aunt.
And so, for the first time in my life I ended up as Noine’s official hairdresser. She kept running away at first, but I was able to keep her head in place with back to back episodes of Cats 101, where a particularly smug Turkish Angora was being groomed as well.
After two hours and three back up plans (she kept scratching her hair so much), I finally managed to pull off a classic shag cut. It’s definitely not an *Age-Otori* (her looking far worse after the haircut). I’d say it was a bit short for her facial shape and I’m not sure if it matches her taste, but fortunately she didn’t say anything to the mirror, so it’s safe to say my work was satisfactory.
After that I called our neighbor Robert to fix Noine’s car while she was taking a bath. Yes, it’s her car but as you might’ve already guessed, it’s me who’s going to do all the driving. It’s not that she can’t drive, but in spite of her thin stature she’s actually a very competitive road racer, probably brought about by her fondness for racing video games. The last time she sat behind the wheel we won against three city leaders and got twenty-five tickets for overspeeding.
It took Robert only five minutes to set the wheel, but I had to send Noine to the bathroom three times because she hadn’t rinsed all the hair bits out of her head completely. When she had finished and donned her best smart casual dress, I ushered her into the car, and a few hours later we were cruising across the suburban interlanes into my hometown, Ploeze, which was about two hours away from where we left. It was a small town located off the shores of the Hondage Sea. The townsfolk depended mainly on fishing for their livelihood.
I suggested Noine buy an iPod so as not to keep distracting me while I drive. I remember the last time I drove. She kept moaning at the back seat and saying she’s bored. Good thing she heeded my advice. I’m literally only one step away until *Karoshi* catches up to me, which is death from overwork. Now she’s just sitting quietly without bothering anyone.
We drove out for a good hour, thankfully one a lot less noisy than last time, until we reached the town welcome arc I’ve come to so often see.
“Come on,” I called a second time, shoveling sausages and scrambled eggs onto her plate. She was my boss. Actually, she preferred being called Master, but there is no way that’s happening.
If we didn’t happen to be coworkers, you’d think she had kidnapped me or something. We’re polar opposites of each other. I liked the arts, especially the performing arts; music, theater arts and maybe some good old card flourishing as well; while she was more inclined to the sciences, online games, pure logic, and above all, cats.
And despite all that, she wasn’t anymore a genius than I am a girl. It was almost unnerving to think she’d turn to this line of profession when she had all the qualities needed to be a successful doctor, engineer, physicist, and all other things I could only dream of, while I for one am only gifted with a talent for the arts, cooking, and practically all other things that don’t involve numbers and logic. Why of all things she had to focus her efforts on cats I’ll never know.
You can tell this unexpected setup has led to a rather strange dynamics between the two of us, but since she’s my boss and pays my salary, I can’t go composing my songs when she needs peace and quiet. And that happens most of the time. The only bright side in this is that she’s equally quiet as she is contemplative, so the best time to paint is always when she’s in deep thought.
“Noine!” I called one last time.
“Mow way,” she grunted. Based on my past experiences of sleepy Noine language, that meant Go away.
This was one of the few perks about my job, waking the hell out of her whenever a client is coming over, only this time, my waking her has nothing to do with work. I went over to her bed and tugged at the sheets as hard as I could. She fell out of the bed, spun, and landed on all fours like an acrobat.
“Get up, Noine. You already promised me you’re coming to my sister’s wedding.”
She took one big soundless yawn, then followed me miserably into the table.
My sister Emily, the oldest of us three sisters, was a lot older than me and studied medicine. She met with a fellow doctor and boom. Wedding this weekend. It’s not like she and Noine have a close relationship. On the contrary, they haven’t even seen each other yet, let alone know the other. I’m just taking Noine with me because trust me, she can’t be left alone.
There was this one time when I had to leave for a few days, and I came back to find the place in shambles. There were empty cans everywhere, the couch smelled of sardines, and Noine hadn’t taken a bath for three days. I’m also suspecting from the overheated video game console that she hadn’t left the apartment even once.
Confession #7: I’m not just her assistant. I’m technically everything, not excluding personal cleaning lady. That’s why I’ve decided that if I’m going back home for the wedding, this time I’m taking her with me.
I marched her drowsy feet off into the dining table. Her dark red hair was messy and teeming with split ends and there was still drool over her face. The collar of her small shirt was sliding over her left shoulder. She slumped down onto the floor, of which a very short circular table was laid out. It was a traditional Japanese dining table, and was only one of the few things we both agreed to have.
“Eat,” I ordered. “We’re gonna head to Davies’ afterwards and get you a haircut. I can’t have you looking like this in front of my parents.”
She buried herself in the food without listening to me. Even after all these years, I can’t completely say I’ve known Noine. She rarely talks and is very antisocial, which, given her current job, is not such a good deal maker. You can see how crucial my role is here. I’m the only one setting the thin line between a crowd of happy clients, and a dissatisfied mob walking out the door.
We ate breakfast just as usual without talking much, or much to talk about. The TV was set to the third replay of My Cat From Hell, a show about treating intolerable cat behaviors hosted by what looked like a very modern looking Buddha, Jackson Galaxy, with his bald head, long, bristly black beard, sallow eyes and the guitar case he carried wherever he went. Noine’s eyes were unsurprisingly glued to the screen, and every now and then I’d hear her mutter random words like “tree climber”, “wrong” and “trauma”.
After we had finished, I carried the plates over to the sink (yes, I’m also her dishwasher) and after a furious wrestling match, managed to drag Noine out of the apartment and into the car, only to find out it had a flat tire, most probably her doing.
“Not me,” she purred innocently when I gave her the look. Since there’s no more budging her, I decided to just give her a haircut myself. Her hair was starting to outgrow the length of what is normally considered attractive and luckily, I know a thing or two about haircuts. Not to brag, but I once placed second at a local hairdressing competition, losing only to a beehive hairstyle because one of the judges had had a long standing rivalry with my aunt.
And so, for the first time in my life I ended up as Noine’s official hairdresser. She kept running away at first, but I was able to keep her head in place with back to back episodes of Cats 101, where a particularly smug Turkish Angora was being groomed as well.
After two hours and three back up plans (she kept scratching her hair so much), I finally managed to pull off a classic shag cut. It’s definitely not an *Age-Otori* (her looking far worse after the haircut). I’d say it was a bit short for her facial shape and I’m not sure if it matches her taste, but fortunately she didn’t say anything to the mirror, so it’s safe to say my work was satisfactory.
After that I called our neighbor Robert to fix Noine’s car while she was taking a bath. Yes, it’s her car but as you might’ve already guessed, it’s me who’s going to do all the driving. It’s not that she can’t drive, but in spite of her thin stature she’s actually a very competitive road racer, probably brought about by her fondness for racing video games. The last time she sat behind the wheel we won against three city leaders and got twenty-five tickets for overspeeding.
It took Robert only five minutes to set the wheel, but I had to send Noine to the bathroom three times because she hadn’t rinsed all the hair bits out of her head completely. When she had finished and donned her best smart casual dress, I ushered her into the car, and a few hours later we were cruising across the suburban interlanes into my hometown, Ploeze, which was about two hours away from where we left. It was a small town located off the shores of the Hondage Sea. The townsfolk depended mainly on fishing for their livelihood.
I suggested Noine buy an iPod so as not to keep distracting me while I drive. I remember the last time I drove. She kept moaning at the back seat and saying she’s bored. Good thing she heeded my advice. I’m literally only one step away until *Karoshi* catches up to me, which is death from overwork. Now she’s just sitting quietly without bothering anyone.
We drove out for a good hour, thankfully one a lot less noisy than last time, until we reached the town welcome arc I’ve come to so often see.
Part 3
Spoiler! :
“We’re here,” I said jovially as we drove across a familiar line of stalls. There was the local park where me and my classmates used to loiter afterschool. And I could also see the sea food restaurant we used to go to.
“There’s also a pet shop here, Noine,” I pointed to a brightly colored building. She leaned forward. “I remember I used to beg my parents for a parrot when I was a kid.”
“Used to…”
“Well, no bird is ever safe with you around,” I said darkly, not taking my eyes off the road. “Listen. I haven’t told my parents about your actual profession yet. What they know is that you’re the agent who referred me to a starting video games company (Confession #8), so please do act like my agent, even if just for now. Okay?”
“So you deemed it necessary to lie?”
“I can’t tell them I’m now a cat expert’s assistant, can I? They’ll kick me out! And besides, it’s just for a few days. You’ll probably never see them again.”
“Good…”
We drove past the church remnants, the town plaza, and then the familiar, always glum looking elementary school where nothing special ever happened but was still riddled with the best ghost stories in town. Then I saw it, the sunny porch and two people waiting by the breezy front lawn of a small house. I could feel the nostalgia bubbling from within. I pulled over so abruptly Noine was almost thrown forward.
“Sorry about that. And that’s what you get for not wearing seatbelts.”
She ignored me and jumped out of the car. I wish she could listen to what I say for once in a while, but right now I was too preoccupied to worry about her current disposition. I also got off the car and blessed my parents. They, unlike the house, had clearly aged a little.
Dad was a retired coast guard and since the money he got from his salary was enough to cover our family expenses, he didn’t have anything against me taking up fine arts. It’s a bit sad I lost to the stereotype, but I didn’t have to go through the trouble of convincing Dad even once.
On the other hand, Mom had always strongly disagreed about me taking up art studies, saying it would land me no job in the future. It was ultimately my sister who convinced her that I’d be happier walking the path I chose for myself, and that she’d be more than happy to support my education with her initial salary.
“Sorry I was a little late. Something came up. Oh yeah. This is Noine, a coworker at my company.”
“Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, shaking both their hands.
“Also nice to meet the person who watches over our little daughter,” Dad greeted firmly. “Please do take good care of her.”
“I really don’t ca-”
“JEZZAAAAAAAA!!!”
I wheeled around. The scream had come from a tall, cheery blond woman standing by the oak front door.
“Emily!” I cried as she ran towards me and flung her arms across my shoulders.
“You haven’t been replying to my texts lately,” she cooed.
“Oh,that. The mind forgets sometimes,” I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. The truth was that Noine and I had to take a short trip by sea to get to our previous client’s hometown and she, being so paranoid of the water for no apparent reason, accidentally knocked my phone off into the sea while I was texting. Confession #9: If anyone calls my old phone, I’ll be happy to answer it once I find a way to swim to the bottom of the sea without drowning, or suffocating from the extreme pressure, or suffering from any massive injuries.
I wasn’t entirely lying when I told her that though. I had already bought a new phone and just forgot what her number was. How I even managed to remember all of the other contacts, I’ll never know.
After a long and pointless argument with her, we finally entered the house. A warm, snug little fire had been lit across the fireplace. The walls were lined with framed photos of three girls on various points of graduation. It’s exactly just as I remembered, except for one thing. Or rather, person in this case. On the sofa sat a fine-looking man, hands clasped together. He was dressed in a striking black suit but his gentle auburn hair wove a subtle contrast and texture to his appearance, which hinted at late 20’s or less. He was a foreigner by the looks of it, at the very least, a mestizo.
“Sweetie, this is my little sister, Jezza,” Emily gestured.
“Jezza, nice to meet you,” he said shaking my hand. It was warm. Unusually warm. So warm I could’ve sworn I felt myself blush, if that’s what I think blushing felt like. I wouldn’t know. My cheeks just felt like a hot towel was being dabbed under the skin. “I was in fact on my way out, but having seen my betrothed’s sister, it would only be below outward rudeness to skip the introduction.”
“R- Really?” I flustered, immediately thinking of *Koi no Yakan*, which is the feeling, upon first meeting someone, that you will eventually fall in love. It’s like a Japanese version of a lower love-at-first-sight, though I hope very much this wasn’t it. “You didn’t have to…”
“And this is…?” he said gesturing to my accompany.
“Oh. This is my friend, Noine,” I said brashly in an attempt to divert his attention. She shook his arm with a very heavy eye contact. I could tell she was gripping his hand as hard as she could, but he still didn’t show any sign of discomfort.
“I do believe I may not be able to witness the rest of this reunion,” he said straightening his tie. “I’m very sorry but I still have an important appointment to attend to. We’ll just see each other again tomorrow.”
He kissed Emily on the cheek and after saying goodbye to my parents, finally drove away in the car that was parked in front of our house earlier.
“Whrere’s Shiela?” I suddenly remembered to ask. She was the youngest of us three, and I was as sure as Noine dropping my phone that she wouldn’t let any guy have their pass with my sister without anything to say.
“She’s still asleep,” said Mom. “You know her. Summer break fever. She’ll be spending half the day on her bed, and the other half in night parties.”
“Yeah, she did always have that pretense.”
“Why don’t you guide your friend here around the house first while I prepare lunch?”
“Good idea!” I said quickly, ushering Noine out of the room before anyone starts noticing how uninterested she was.
“What are you doing?” I whispered frantically once we were out of earshot. “This is supposed to be an important event. Don’t ruin everything by being a curmudgeon.”
“But this house is so boooring.”
“We have a cat.”
“Where?” she suddenly demanded.
“Well, they errr… I’m not sure.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, wait!”
I quickly grabbed her arm. “This is a really really special occasion for me, Noine. Please understand. Please. This is the only time I’ve seen my family in three years.”
She stared at me expressionlessly for a minute. I always found this *Boketto* a bit creepy, that seemingly distant, expressionless face of hers, not knowing what’s going on inside her mind as the seconds race past each other. I guess it wasn’t technically a *Boketto*, but it was far from human, and although it creeps me a lot more than it puts me at ease, whenever she pulls that expression off she reminds me of a doll that came to life. A doll in the world inside its own doll house. Well, she did manage to scare off a group of armed robbers with that look, but that’s a different and very very complicated story altogether.
“Fine.”
It’s obvious she was only doing that for the cats, but I know Noine. She never goes back on her words. Once she agreed, I led her into the lounge where the very antique painting of an old man hung.
“Okay. First off, we have the portrait of our great grandfather Don Tom Ploeze. He is said to be the founder of our clan, as well as founder of this town and the first person to ever claim equal rights to the sea of the people of--- Hey are you even listening???”
Apparently a wandering bee seemed more interesting to her than our ancestor’s heritage. “I don’t want to listen to your story anymore,” she yawned.
“Why you… Just because you’re not interested in something doesn’t mean you’re free to spit on it, you know. There’s still a thing as common courte-”
“I. Know… Okay? Don Tom Ploeze. Son of the late Rey Luis Ramirez II. Childhood severely influenced by the aftermath of the First World War. Following the revolution, was sent to the southern parts of the archipelago. There he found employment with an owner of an ironworks to support his education.
“Not much is known about his early years as he constantly migrated across the continent, as was his profession demanded, but he was most notable for exploring uncharted, remote group of inhabited, forested islands somewhere east. Locally notable for a sturdy tree Drypetes Bordenii, which were only found to grow across the banks of a certain river. Early settlers relied mainly on fishing to sustain their market. Trade and commerce flourished even in the absence of a governing body, a perfect example of the 18th Century Resource Concentration Theory.
“He pushed for its approval as part of the state, which would later turn into… the heart of this very town, in fact. Ratified. Short-lived. Two sons and a daughter. His grave currently lies inside the Rhode Cemetery, where a monument of him also stands as a symbol for his undying efforts to found this town.”
“R-… Right….”
She didn’t so much as glance at me while she was saying all this. It was as if she was talking to a wall, which would be capable only of listening and not contributing anything important to the conversation.
“Don’t think I don’t want to hear you dabble on about your history or whatever, but I already know too much about him to even care. Though unless I am very much mistaken, you confessed earlier to being the 7th generation successor of the bloodline, yes?”
Left speechless by this sudden load of information, I just nodded wordlessly. How in the world did she find out about that? I mean, it’s not something you’d easily find in history textbooks. Trust me, I’ve tried. This is just a small town, and small things such as this are usually not something you’d find with a click down the internet. The only records in the world are probably kept inside the municipal hall or regional libraries. Maybe only the one at Capital at best.
“Anyone here?” popped Dad’s head from the door.
“I smell fish,” Noine said bluntly. Luckily, Dad took this what I take as an ill-disguised insult in a lighter view.
“Yes, this town specializes in the fishing industry. Even neighboring towns voyage here everyday to partake in the fresh catch. Right now, my wife’s cooking-”
“Southern Trout.”
My dad looked half impressed and half as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Dear Davy Jones. How did you know Martha’s making Southern Trout?”
Noine stared at him apprehensively, as though he just asked something completely rhetorical. “I smelled it, obviously.”
“What?”
Here we go, I thought to myself.
“Though it has the same distinct aroma as the Blue Manila Trout and Monkfish, only the Southern Trout can be found present in this area. The Blue Manila Trout would not migrate past this route until mid-November. Monkfish is too ugly to serve a guest. Although it is similar in taste to lobster, in addition to being considerably cheaper, it implies a connotation of thrift and frugality, as to the saying, The Poor Man’s Lobster.”
“Wow,” he said breathless. “How in the world did you know all that?”
“I’m just interested in fish,” she said blowing on her fingernails. “I do my own research from time to time.”
“No one likes fish that much! Plus, to be able to tell the exact kind only by smell, it’s almost as if you have the nose of a dog!”
“Cat.”
“So you’re a cat person, huh? Where do you come from?”
Noine glanced at me by the merest of a second. I actually, despite being her roommate for some time now, have no idea where her hometown is. She never told me. Whenever I asked anything about her, she would just either ignore me flat out or say her personal information does not concern me in any way.
I mustered some quick thinking and signaled her to come up with a lie. It’s better than nothing, and it’s not like my Dad’s gonna come visit her house anyway.
“Irisville.”
“Oh, so you’ve come from far away.”
“The fish there is terrible.”
My dad chuckled. “Well, in any case, I hope you’ll find the fish of this town a lot more suitable to your taste. Now as for you, benevolent daughter,” he turned to me. “When are you planning on introducing a catch?”
“Dad, we’re not fish. Stop calling men catch. And I already told you, I’m not interested in any of that stuff.” Confession #9.5, I’m actually having second thoughts now after I saw Emily’s marrier.
“Really now. I always thought you’d be the first to give us a grandchild. To think Emily would overtake you. *Fake sigh*”
“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to be an insult or compliment, but whatever.”
“Lunch will be ready in ten minutes. If you’re going to take a tour around town, you can do it after we eat.”
“There’s also a pet shop here, Noine,” I pointed to a brightly colored building. She leaned forward. “I remember I used to beg my parents for a parrot when I was a kid.”
“Used to…”
“Well, no bird is ever safe with you around,” I said darkly, not taking my eyes off the road. “Listen. I haven’t told my parents about your actual profession yet. What they know is that you’re the agent who referred me to a starting video games company (Confession #8), so please do act like my agent, even if just for now. Okay?”
“So you deemed it necessary to lie?”
“I can’t tell them I’m now a cat expert’s assistant, can I? They’ll kick me out! And besides, it’s just for a few days. You’ll probably never see them again.”
“Good…”
We drove past the church remnants, the town plaza, and then the familiar, always glum looking elementary school where nothing special ever happened but was still riddled with the best ghost stories in town. Then I saw it, the sunny porch and two people waiting by the breezy front lawn of a small house. I could feel the nostalgia bubbling from within. I pulled over so abruptly Noine was almost thrown forward.
“Sorry about that. And that’s what you get for not wearing seatbelts.”
She ignored me and jumped out of the car. I wish she could listen to what I say for once in a while, but right now I was too preoccupied to worry about her current disposition. I also got off the car and blessed my parents. They, unlike the house, had clearly aged a little.
Dad was a retired coast guard and since the money he got from his salary was enough to cover our family expenses, he didn’t have anything against me taking up fine arts. It’s a bit sad I lost to the stereotype, but I didn’t have to go through the trouble of convincing Dad even once.
On the other hand, Mom had always strongly disagreed about me taking up art studies, saying it would land me no job in the future. It was ultimately my sister who convinced her that I’d be happier walking the path I chose for myself, and that she’d be more than happy to support my education with her initial salary.
“Sorry I was a little late. Something came up. Oh yeah. This is Noine, a coworker at my company.”
“Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, shaking both their hands.
“Also nice to meet the person who watches over our little daughter,” Dad greeted firmly. “Please do take good care of her.”
“I really don’t ca-”
“JEZZAAAAAAAA!!!”
I wheeled around. The scream had come from a tall, cheery blond woman standing by the oak front door.
“Emily!” I cried as she ran towards me and flung her arms across my shoulders.
“You haven’t been replying to my texts lately,” she cooed.
“Oh,that. The mind forgets sometimes,” I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible. The truth was that Noine and I had to take a short trip by sea to get to our previous client’s hometown and she, being so paranoid of the water for no apparent reason, accidentally knocked my phone off into the sea while I was texting. Confession #9: If anyone calls my old phone, I’ll be happy to answer it once I find a way to swim to the bottom of the sea without drowning, or suffocating from the extreme pressure, or suffering from any massive injuries.
I wasn’t entirely lying when I told her that though. I had already bought a new phone and just forgot what her number was. How I even managed to remember all of the other contacts, I’ll never know.
After a long and pointless argument with her, we finally entered the house. A warm, snug little fire had been lit across the fireplace. The walls were lined with framed photos of three girls on various points of graduation. It’s exactly just as I remembered, except for one thing. Or rather, person in this case. On the sofa sat a fine-looking man, hands clasped together. He was dressed in a striking black suit but his gentle auburn hair wove a subtle contrast and texture to his appearance, which hinted at late 20’s or less. He was a foreigner by the looks of it, at the very least, a mestizo.
“Sweetie, this is my little sister, Jezza,” Emily gestured.
“Jezza, nice to meet you,” he said shaking my hand. It was warm. Unusually warm. So warm I could’ve sworn I felt myself blush, if that’s what I think blushing felt like. I wouldn’t know. My cheeks just felt like a hot towel was being dabbed under the skin. “I was in fact on my way out, but having seen my betrothed’s sister, it would only be below outward rudeness to skip the introduction.”
“R- Really?” I flustered, immediately thinking of *Koi no Yakan*, which is the feeling, upon first meeting someone, that you will eventually fall in love. It’s like a Japanese version of a lower love-at-first-sight, though I hope very much this wasn’t it. “You didn’t have to…”
“And this is…?” he said gesturing to my accompany.
“Oh. This is my friend, Noine,” I said brashly in an attempt to divert his attention. She shook his arm with a very heavy eye contact. I could tell she was gripping his hand as hard as she could, but he still didn’t show any sign of discomfort.
“I do believe I may not be able to witness the rest of this reunion,” he said straightening his tie. “I’m very sorry but I still have an important appointment to attend to. We’ll just see each other again tomorrow.”
He kissed Emily on the cheek and after saying goodbye to my parents, finally drove away in the car that was parked in front of our house earlier.
“Whrere’s Shiela?” I suddenly remembered to ask. She was the youngest of us three, and I was as sure as Noine dropping my phone that she wouldn’t let any guy have their pass with my sister without anything to say.
“She’s still asleep,” said Mom. “You know her. Summer break fever. She’ll be spending half the day on her bed, and the other half in night parties.”
“Yeah, she did always have that pretense.”
“Why don’t you guide your friend here around the house first while I prepare lunch?”
“Good idea!” I said quickly, ushering Noine out of the room before anyone starts noticing how uninterested she was.
“What are you doing?” I whispered frantically once we were out of earshot. “This is supposed to be an important event. Don’t ruin everything by being a curmudgeon.”
“But this house is so boooring.”
“We have a cat.”
“Where?” she suddenly demanded.
“Well, they errr… I’m not sure.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, wait!”
I quickly grabbed her arm. “This is a really really special occasion for me, Noine. Please understand. Please. This is the only time I’ve seen my family in three years.”
She stared at me expressionlessly for a minute. I always found this *Boketto* a bit creepy, that seemingly distant, expressionless face of hers, not knowing what’s going on inside her mind as the seconds race past each other. I guess it wasn’t technically a *Boketto*, but it was far from human, and although it creeps me a lot more than it puts me at ease, whenever she pulls that expression off she reminds me of a doll that came to life. A doll in the world inside its own doll house. Well, she did manage to scare off a group of armed robbers with that look, but that’s a different and very very complicated story altogether.
“Fine.”
It’s obvious she was only doing that for the cats, but I know Noine. She never goes back on her words. Once she agreed, I led her into the lounge where the very antique painting of an old man hung.
“Okay. First off, we have the portrait of our great grandfather Don Tom Ploeze. He is said to be the founder of our clan, as well as founder of this town and the first person to ever claim equal rights to the sea of the people of--- Hey are you even listening???”
Apparently a wandering bee seemed more interesting to her than our ancestor’s heritage. “I don’t want to listen to your story anymore,” she yawned.
“Why you… Just because you’re not interested in something doesn’t mean you’re free to spit on it, you know. There’s still a thing as common courte-”
“I. Know… Okay? Don Tom Ploeze. Son of the late Rey Luis Ramirez II. Childhood severely influenced by the aftermath of the First World War. Following the revolution, was sent to the southern parts of the archipelago. There he found employment with an owner of an ironworks to support his education.
“Not much is known about his early years as he constantly migrated across the continent, as was his profession demanded, but he was most notable for exploring uncharted, remote group of inhabited, forested islands somewhere east. Locally notable for a sturdy tree Drypetes Bordenii, which were only found to grow across the banks of a certain river. Early settlers relied mainly on fishing to sustain their market. Trade and commerce flourished even in the absence of a governing body, a perfect example of the 18th Century Resource Concentration Theory.
“He pushed for its approval as part of the state, which would later turn into… the heart of this very town, in fact. Ratified. Short-lived. Two sons and a daughter. His grave currently lies inside the Rhode Cemetery, where a monument of him also stands as a symbol for his undying efforts to found this town.”
“R-… Right….”
She didn’t so much as glance at me while she was saying all this. It was as if she was talking to a wall, which would be capable only of listening and not contributing anything important to the conversation.
“Don’t think I don’t want to hear you dabble on about your history or whatever, but I already know too much about him to even care. Though unless I am very much mistaken, you confessed earlier to being the 7th generation successor of the bloodline, yes?”
Left speechless by this sudden load of information, I just nodded wordlessly. How in the world did she find out about that? I mean, it’s not something you’d easily find in history textbooks. Trust me, I’ve tried. This is just a small town, and small things such as this are usually not something you’d find with a click down the internet. The only records in the world are probably kept inside the municipal hall or regional libraries. Maybe only the one at Capital at best.
“Anyone here?” popped Dad’s head from the door.
“I smell fish,” Noine said bluntly. Luckily, Dad took this what I take as an ill-disguised insult in a lighter view.
“Yes, this town specializes in the fishing industry. Even neighboring towns voyage here everyday to partake in the fresh catch. Right now, my wife’s cooking-”
“Southern Trout.”
My dad looked half impressed and half as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Dear Davy Jones. How did you know Martha’s making Southern Trout?”
Noine stared at him apprehensively, as though he just asked something completely rhetorical. “I smelled it, obviously.”
“What?”
Here we go, I thought to myself.
“Though it has the same distinct aroma as the Blue Manila Trout and Monkfish, only the Southern Trout can be found present in this area. The Blue Manila Trout would not migrate past this route until mid-November. Monkfish is too ugly to serve a guest. Although it is similar in taste to lobster, in addition to being considerably cheaper, it implies a connotation of thrift and frugality, as to the saying, The Poor Man’s Lobster.”
“Wow,” he said breathless. “How in the world did you know all that?”
“I’m just interested in fish,” she said blowing on her fingernails. “I do my own research from time to time.”
“No one likes fish that much! Plus, to be able to tell the exact kind only by smell, it’s almost as if you have the nose of a dog!”
“Cat.”
“So you’re a cat person, huh? Where do you come from?”
Noine glanced at me by the merest of a second. I actually, despite being her roommate for some time now, have no idea where her hometown is. She never told me. Whenever I asked anything about her, she would just either ignore me flat out or say her personal information does not concern me in any way.
I mustered some quick thinking and signaled her to come up with a lie. It’s better than nothing, and it’s not like my Dad’s gonna come visit her house anyway.
“Irisville.”
“Oh, so you’ve come from far away.”
“The fish there is terrible.”
My dad chuckled. “Well, in any case, I hope you’ll find the fish of this town a lot more suitable to your taste. Now as for you, benevolent daughter,” he turned to me. “When are you planning on introducing a catch?”
“Dad, we’re not fish. Stop calling men catch. And I already told you, I’m not interested in any of that stuff.” Confession #9.5, I’m actually having second thoughts now after I saw Emily’s marrier.
“Really now. I always thought you’d be the first to give us a grandchild. To think Emily would overtake you. *Fake sigh*”
“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to be an insult or compliment, but whatever.”
“Lunch will be ready in ten minutes. If you’re going to take a tour around town, you can do it after we eat.”