So now I sit down to write a letter. A letter which is also my last will and testament. Who should I address my last letter to? I ponder this for a while when Cabbage comes up to me and meows. Ah yes, that’s it. Now I know. I will address my letter to the same person that I’ll deliver Cabbage to before I die. There’s only one person it can be. Maybe I’ve known for a long time, but couldn’t admit it to myself.
On the day Mom found Cabbage, when she brought him in out of the rain, I was against the whole thing at first. Someday the cat was going to die and once again Mom would be devastated. I didn’t want her to feel so sad again so at first I didn’t think we should take in another cat. But you, Dad, felt differently.
“Why not keep it,” you said. “We all die eventually anyway, both humans and cats. Once you understand and accept that, it’s OK.”
Somewhere deep inside I always knew that in your own way, you did care about Mom’s needs. And you even felt something for Lettuce, our first cat, even though you didn’t show it the same way everyone else did. I realize now that I was wrong about you. You always said the right thing, and you were honest. I wonder if there was something about that that made me reject you.
I didn’t know how to respond, and fell silent. Then the kitten mewed and walked on its still-unsteady feet to you, Father, and you picked it up and stroked it. I remembered you would do the same with Lettuce. Mom smiled when she saw this, and when you saw that Mom was happy, you brightened up too.
“He looks just like Lettuce, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.”
“Then we’ll call him Cabbage.”
After you said this you looked all embarrassed and handed the kitten to me. Then you went back to your shop, sat down at your desk, and carried on repairing clocks.
You were the one who named Cabbage. So I’m leaving Cabbage with you, Dad.
So then I began writing this letter. My first and last letter to you, Father. It’s gotten pretty long… A long, long will and testament. It’s because there’s so much I needed to tell you, starting with the strange events of the past week, and then things about Mom, and Cabbage. There are things I’ve wanted to tell you for so long now, about me for instance.
I place a clean white sheet of paper on the desk and begin to write. At the top of the page I write –
Dear Father…
SUNDAY: GOODBYE WORLD
Morning came. The letter lay on the desk in front of me, finally finished. I’d written and written without eating or drinking, with Cabbage occasionally interfering by jumping up on the desk and walking on the letter as I tried to write. And now that I’m done, I’ve put the letter in an overly large envelope, and carefully picked out the stamps from my old collection. I chose a stamp with a picture of a sleeping cat on it, and stuck it to the envelope.
I picked up Cabbage and left the apartment. It was early morning and still a bit chilly as I made my way down the hill to the nearest mailbox. The red mailbox with its large mouth was waiting for me. It’s the perfect ending. Or at least it should have been. I post the letter, my father gets it, opens the envelope, and reads the letter. And in this way my father gets to know what I was thinking and feeling.
But something just wasn’t right. I stood staring blankly at the gaping mouth of the mailbox and then had second thoughts. I immediately turned and retraced my steps, back up the hill with Cabbage in tow, and back to the apartment. Out of breath from the exertion, I opened the closet and pulled out some clothes. A white shirt, striped tie, and charcoal-grey suit. It was my postman’s uniform. I put it on and looked at myself briefly in the mirror. The figure in the mirror looked a lot like my father. Over time, I had come to look just like my father. My face, posture, and gestures had all come to look just like the father I’d hated so much for so long.
My father who sat for hours hunched over his desk repairing clocks, the same father who squeezed my hand tight in the movie theater, who bought me stamps, who held Cabbage, smiling, when he was a kitten, and who ran through the hot-spring town with me, looking for a vacancy. The same father who arrived late at Mom’s funeral and sat alone in a corner crying and trying to hide his tears.
On the day I left home my father left my treasure box in the middle of my empty room. Now I remember that my father had stretched out his hand to me as I was about to leave. All I had to do was take that hand. I should have taken it, as he had mine in the movie theater when I was still small.
Father—
All these years I really wanted to see you. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I wanted to say thank you, and goodbye. I felt the tears beginning to run down my cheeks. I wiped them on the sleeve of my postman’s uniform and put the letter in my bag, then I ran out of the apartment. I clattered down the stairs and got on the bicycle I’d left at the bottom. I put Cabbage in the basket and sped down the hill. It was hard pedaling and the frame of the old bicycle squeaked. The tears ran down my face as I pedaled, and soon I reached the next hill, which I had to climb.
The wind began to blow. The sky cleared and I got the feeling that spring was on its way, the warm rays of the sun enveloping me. Cabbage was enjoying the wind in his face and let out a meow. Directly below me I could see the dark blue of the ocean. My father lived on the other side of the bay. I often looked down on that town from the top of the hill. It was so close, yet I’d never gone to visit him. That’s where I was headed. To the neighboring town to see my father. I pedaled hard, and then coasted downhill, gradually speeding up. Faster and faster I went as I got closer to my father’s house.
About The Author
Genki Kawamura is a bestselling author of three novels. His first novel, If Cats Disappeared From The World, has sold over a million copies in Japan and has been translated into eleven languages. His other novels are Million Dollar Man and April Come She Will. He has also written three children’s picture books, Tinny & The Balloon, MOOM, and Patissier Monster. Kawamura is a producer, director, screenwriter, and a showrunner as well.
Copyright
First published in the UK in paperback 2018 by Picador
This electronic edition published 2018 by Picador
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
ISBN 978-1-5098-8918-1
Copyright © Genki Kawamura 2012
Translation copyright © Eric Selland 2018
Cover images © 1940 Clare Turlay Newberry
Author photo courtesy of author
The right of Genki Kawamura to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Sekai kara neko ga kieta nara © 2012 Genki Kawamura. All rights reserved.
Originally published in Japanese as 
by Magazine House, Ltd.
Publication rights for this English edition arranged through Kodansha Ltd., Tokyo.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.