I'm sorry I couldn't say "I love you"—the lingering regret for a calico cat I "just owned."

Was she happy living with our family? I still regret my days with that cat. When I was in elementary school, my family had a calico cat named Mikeko.

At the time, I wasn't particularly fond of cats. Looking back, there were so many things I couldn't do for Mikeko, so many things I should have done to care for her, that even now, when I encounter a calico cat, my heart aches.

Mikeko, who followed my grandmother home

First, a disclaimer. I don't have any photos of Mikeko right now, so this article features photos of past family cats. However, Mikeko was the most beautiful calico cat of all, so please imagine a truly stunning calico cat as you read my story about her. 

Since I can remember, there have always been cats at my parents' house. There was a strange cycle where, whenever one passed away, another one would somehow appear, so there was almost never a time without a cat.

Mikeko was originally a stray. When she was a kitten, she came to our house with another calico kitten (presumably her sister). I remember hearing that she followed my grandmother home on her bicycle. 

At the time, there was a rule in my family that we could only have one cat. After feeding both kittens, my grandmother took the sister kitten to a nearby shrine and left her there. When I came home from school and realized there was only one kitten, I was devastated, even as a child.

I felt sad wondering how the unchosen sister cat felt, and even if Mikeko was chosen, I worried that she might be lonely.

All I could do was throw stones as an clumsy expression of love

In those days, outdoor keeping was common. The term "keeping" felt more appropriate than "living together." Mikeko was young, but she was strong-willed and would sometimes threaten our family. 

"Her mother was probably a stray too, and she taught her that humans are scary," my mother told me. I thought, "Her mother must have gone through a lot of scary experiences. So, it's natural for Mikeko to be scared of humans. I should be gentle with her."

As is common with cats who know the outside world, Mikeko was overly sensitive to the slightest sounds. As a small child, I desperately wanted to alleviate her anxiety, even a little.

But when I saw my father and grandmother getting bitten after touching Mikeko, I was scared to touch her myself. So, whenever Mikeko seemed concerned about her surroundings, I would throw stones from the garden in the direction she was looking.

"Don't worry, I'll get rid of anything scary for you," I'd say to Mikeko, and keep throwing stones.

But that was all the care I provided. Feeding her was my mother's job. Afraid of being bitten, I could only manage to gently stroke her cheek occasionally, which wasn't much of a proper physical interaction.

She became a cat that was "just being kept"

At that time, knowledge about the mindset of stray cats wasn't widespread. Before long, Mikeko became a cat that was "just being kept" by the family. 

"She's not affectionate, so she's not cute. She's just a beautiful cat on the outside." My grandmother and sister would sometimes say things like that. Every time I heard those words, I felt sorry for her, but I was just an observer who didn't take the initiative to show Mikeko affection myself, nor could I tell my family, "You shouldn't say things like that."

There was no way Mikeko would open up to me, a weakling. But she never got angry at me, even though I was a coward. Even though she was a cat that would bite and scratch the family fiercely enough to draw blood, she never attacked me even once.

Perhaps it was because I was timid when interacting with her, but I saw it as Mikeko's kindness. Maybe she understood my feelings when I threw stones in the direction she was looking every time she was wary.

Back then, when I was picking up stones one by one from the garden and throwing them far away, I was helpless and weak. But Mikeko would always sit nearby and watch what I was doing.

Only in those moments did I feel a connection with Mikeko, and it made me happy. Mikeko was the cat who taught me that there are moments when you can truly connect with a cat. 

I don't want to forget the weak me who couldn't say "I love you"

Why couldn't I express my love to Mikeko? That is my regret. Mikeko was not loved by the family, to say the least. But I can't help but wonder if she might have lived a little happier if I had at least told her, "I love you."

Because of my guilt towards Mikeko, even now when I interact with calico cats at cat cafes, I feel a tension I don't experience with other cats. The Mikeko of that day overlaps with the cat in front of me, and I feel like I'm reverting to my younger self, unable to say "I'm sorry" or "I love you."

As times change, recommended cat care practices evolve. Proper knowledge about keeping cats is constantly updated. Amidst this, realizing that my approach to a life was different makes my self-forgiveness even harder.

Indeed, now that I am an adult and understand the reasons behind stray cats' strong wariness, I regretted that "I should have spent more time and been more empathetic to Mikeko's wounded heart."

Now, I understand the weight of the kindness Mikeko showed me. That's why, instead of making excuses like "it was a different era," I want to carry my days with Mikeko with me for the rest of my life. Because living with the memories of a cat I couldn't make happy will also lead to making my current beloved cat happy.

Someday, if I can reunite with Mikeko, I want to shower her with affection. As I am now, where being bitten or scratched by my beloved cat has become a reward, I feel like I could accept Mikeko's cat punches with a smile.

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