A cat-shaped hole that cannot be filled… A bereaved owner’s decision on how to "reunite with Jiji" one year later during Obon

There is a cat-shaped hole that can only be filled by that specific cat. Those who have lost a beloved cat often describe their pain this way, a grief that is too easily dismissed by the five-letter word "pet loss." I share that sentiment. Before Obon this year, I found myself filled with various thoughts, wondering, "Will they come back to me?" or "I wonder if a miracle will happen and I'll be able to rescue Jiji's reincarnation."

I thought I had accepted my cat's death, but... the hardship before Obon

Jiji developed a rare illness for a cat called hemangiosarcoma. After a four-month battle, she passed away in May of last year. At first, the feeling that "I wanted to be with her longer" was overwhelming. But gradually, I came to believe that "she fought the disease with all her might and lived out her cat life to the fullest."

It’s not that the thought "I wanted her to live longer" has disappeared completely, but I felt that if I kept thinking that, Jiji would scold me from heaven, saying, "I tried my best!"

By general standards, it was a short life. But for her, it was a full natural lifespan lived to the limit—I think many other cats, not just Jiji, have that kind of ending to their lives.

Although I had slowly begun to accept my cat's death, as Obon approached, my heart became unsettled. While I hoped, "Will Jiji come back?", I also spent more time facing myself, wondering, "Was I the kind of home and owner she would even want to return to after death?"

Was I a good family to her? Before Obon, I kept asking myself the same question I had when she first passed away—the one for which I had yet to find an answer.

I'm glad we have the custom of "Obon," even if it is painful

I wanted to offer strawberries—Jiji's favorite treat—for Obon, but I couldn't find them at the supermarket, perhaps because they were out of season, and my plan for a "Commemorate and Celebrate Jiji" gathering stumbled from the start.

Instead, I bought her other favorite: plain yogurt. I teared up a little at the store, remembering how she would shove her face into the cup to lick it clean after I was finished.

After returning home, I stroked her urn, saying, "It's been a year since we said goodbye, hasn't it?" As I ate the yogurt, my other cats gathered around. Watching them demand a taste, I remembered the past and started crying, thinking, "Jiji was the only one who understood when I said 'I'll give you some if you wait,' and would always patiently wait for me to finish."

I hoped that at least during Obon, some mysterious phenomenon might occur, like the times right after her death when I felt like I saw her shape in the house or felt her presence. But reality was cruel and real; the days just passed by, flat and unchanging.

To be honest, Obon was painful, as it made the reality that Jiji is not here more agonizingly clear than ever. But at the same time, I felt that it is a good thing to have a custom that allows you to slowly and deeply focus your thoughts on your precious lost loved ones.

In the rush of daily life, caught up in various tasks, there are many days when it is hard to reflect on the preciousness of the cats currently with me or to think of the ones I've lost. That is precisely why I was glad to be born in Japan, a country with the custom of Obon, where we can face life directly and truly savor the preciousness and transience of life, as well as the love we feel for those we have lost.

No more waiting! The decision to "go out and find" Jiji's reincarnation

And so, this Obon, I made a big vow to myself: "I won't just wait—I will make an effort to find Jiji's reincarnation myself."

Jiji would wander onto my property and we would reunite—that was the passive delusion I had held onto until now. In my family, there was a strange cycle where a new cat would arrive after one passed away, so I had part of me thinking, "Maybe that will happen here, too."

But when I think about it, Jiji was a bit of a klutz and could be scatterbrained. There’s a chance she might make a careless mistake and end up charging into the wrong house, thinking, "This is the one!"

So, I decided to increase my opportunities to go outside and actively create chances to meet Jiji. Thanks to the efforts of animal welfare organizations, there are fewer stray cats than there used to be. Yet, there are still many cats forced to live harsh lives outdoors.

Perhaps Jiji is also wandering the streets, wondering, "Where is my home?" So, instead of waiting for a meeting, I decided to go out and grab that reunion myself. Since making that resolution, I have started walking around the neighborhood and driving out more frequently.

I used to go days without even leaving the house once a week, but now, solely for the goal of "reuniting with Jiji," I go out for short trips three or four times a week. I also never fail to check the public health center’s "Cat Adoption Wanted" listings.

Jiji surely remembers the promise I made at the very end: "I'm a bit slow on the uptake, so if you do reincarnate, give me a sign so I know it's you." That’s why I believe that when we do meet again, there will be something that just clicks.

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