Excerpt from The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa, Philip Gabriel, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He retrieved his hand and walked off, heading up the stairs of the apartment building.


That's how we first met. It wasn't until a little later that he finally gave me my name.


From that moment on, I found crunchy cat food underneath the silver van every night. One human fistful – a full meal for a cat – just behind the rear tyre.

If I was around when the man turned up to leave food, he'd wrest some touch-time from me, but when I wasn't there he'd humbly leave an offering and disappear.

Sometimes, another cat would beat me to it, or the man would be away and I'd wait in vain till morning for my crunchies. But, by and large, I could count on him for one square meal a day. Humans are quite flighty, so I don't rely on them a hundred per cent. A stray cat's skill lies in building up a complex web of connections in order to survive on the streets.

Acquaintances who understood each other, that's what the man and I had become. But when he and I had settled into a comfortable relationship, fate intervened to change everything.

And fate hurt like hell.

I was crossing the road one night when I became suddenly dazzled by a car's headlights. I was about to dart away when a piercing horn sounded. And that's when it all went wrong. Startled, I was a split second late in leaping aside, and bang! the car rammed into me and sent me flying.

I wound up in the bushes by the side of the road. The pain that shot through my body was like nothing I'd experienced before. But I was alive.

I cursed as I tried to stand up, and even let out a scream. Oww! Oww! My right hind leg hurt like you wouldn't believe.

I sank to the ground and twisted my upper half to lick the wound, only to find – good Lord! A bone was sticking out!

Bite wounds and cuts I can mostly look after with my tongue, but this was beyond me. Through the wrenching pain, this bone protruding from my leg was making its presence known in no uncertain terms.

What should I do? What can I do?

Somebody, help me! But that was idiotic. Nobody was going to help a stray.

Then I remembered the man who came every night to leave me crunchies.

Maybe he could help. Why this thought came to me, I don't know – we'd always kept our distance, with occasional stroking time in thanks for his offerings. But it was worth a try.

I set off along the pavement, dragging my right hind leg with the bone jabbing out. Several times my body gave out, as if to say, I can't take it, it's just too painful. Not one. More. Step.

By the time I reached the silver van, dawn was breaking.

I really couldn't take another step. This is it, I thought.

I cried out at the top of my lungs.

Oww . . . owwwww!

Again and again I screamed, until my voice finally gave out. It killed me even to call out, to be honest with you.

Just then, I heard someone come down the stairs of the apartment building. When I looked up. I saw it was the man.

'I thought it was you.'

When he saw me close up, he turned pale.

'What happened? Were you hit by a car?'

Hate to admit it, but I messed up.

'Does it hurt? It looks like it.'

Enough of the irritating questions. Have a little pity for a wounded cat, okay?

'It sounded like you were desperate, the way you were screaming, and it woke me up. You were calling for me, weren't you, cat?'

Yes, yes, I certainly was! But you took your time getting here.

'You thought I might be able to help you, didn't you?'

I guess so, Sherlock. Then the man started sniffing and snuffling. Why was he crying?

'I'm proud of you, remembering me like that.'

Cats don't cry like humans do. But – somehow – I sort of understood why he was weeping.

Excerpted from The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.