‘Mornings With My Cat Mii’ joins other Japanese novels that confront the absurdities of modern life

I think back to when I was calling for a dead dog. It had only been four months since a close friend’s dog had passed away, and I winced right after I realised my mistake, spilling out a flurry of apologies. My friend was okay about it, flashing a knowing smile and thinking about P, his dog, I thought, for the sake of the narrativisation. P never liked me. Not that I ever gave him a reason to. He bared his teeth, and so did I. Another friend told me about a woman he used to date, who used to force him to tag along for dog rescue missions, feed every stray she encountered, and often lambast humans who didn’t show the same dedication. (He, like me, is apathetic to animals.) “She was obsessive,” he tells me. “Cats are better. You can’t bribe your way into their love.”

The other way

I know nothing about what it means to be a pet parent, so when I read Mayumi Inaba’s Mornings With My Cat Mii, translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori, I was surprised that I was engrossed in the novel. More surprising is how its gentle, contemplative style evokes this feeling, even as it...

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