Fish, Cats, and the Origin of Babies

“That’s the story you went with?” Koji said as he sat across from me.

“Yeah…” I replied, taking the last few sips of my beer.

We were sitting at a table in our usual, tacky bar, slightly drunk and ready to have our fourth meaningless debate of the night.

“Your daughter is getting a bit old for fantastical stories like that, isn’t she? There’s no way she bought that, right?” Koji threw mini-pretzels into his mouth, without breaking eye contact. “You definitely should’ve told her something more believable.”

“When you have a daughter of your own, then maybe I’ll take advice from you. Or, when you’re able to stay out of jail for longer than two years. Besides, she’s not exactly at the age where I’m able to tell her how babies come into existence. This is the best I’ve got for now.”

I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair.

“Okay, maybe she’s at an awkward age where the real answer isn’t an option, but I definitely could’ve come up with a better story than that.”

“Yeah? Maybe you can give me a better one right now then.”

“Sure thing.”

“If there’s even a single mention of a stork, or a conveyor belt factory in the sky that’s managed by God, you’re out,” I interrupted.

“Wait, what’s the conveyor belt factory story? I don’t think I’ve heard of that one,” Koji replied, finishing his own beer.

“Never mind, just tell me if you’ve got anything better. I’m all ears for something new that I can tell to my other kid.” I thought of my second child who was just a few weeks away from being born. I would need a better story for when she gets to the age where she starts asking those questions.

Koji stared down at his now-empty glass, thinking for a few moments. Finally, he looked up, and placed his hands on the wet table. He leaned forward and spoke.

---

Well, before people are… people, we’re things. Not animals, or parts of nature, just objects. Yeah… objects.

We observe the world around us, and see how people and things interact, and this shapes who we’ll become when it’s our turn to be human. I don’t know what you were before becoming a human, and there’s no way I could know without you telling me. All I can do is tell you about what I was, and how that shaped who I am now.

I was a little Maneki-Neko figurine - one of those white cat decorations you see in Japanese shops, beckoning customers with my arm that swings back and forth. I was placed in a sushi restaurant, where I welcomed all kinds of guests. I’d sit there every day, powered by a little solar panel at the bottom of my feet.

It was usually pretty boring, so I had a lot of time to think and observe my surroundings. That’s likely why I’m so smart and composed now. Yeah, you could say I was a “cool cat”. I may even be the reason that term exists, I’m not too sure.

The restaurant I was placed in was usually calm and quiet in the afternoon, but nighttime was when things really started to get busy. All kinds of people would walk in, and if I was lucky, they would sit at the table closest to me, and I could hear their conversations. Every night, I would see businessmen, musicians, high schoolers in love, or homeless people coming in asking for change. I would welcome them into our restaurant and wave goodbye when they left, every day like clockwork. In hindsight, I feel pretty lucky. I was probably one of the more interesting objects you could be in the world.

One day, two new customers that I had never seen before entered the restaurant - a man and a woman. The man was tall and skinny, with thinning hair that went down to his shoulders. The woman was average height, and decently beautiful. She may be the reason I like the type of women that I do. She had amazingly straight and dark hair - so perfect that you could’ve sworn it was a new wig. They both wore men’s suits that were tailored perfectly to their bodies, with every inch looking clean and sharp. Their facial expressions, their posture, and their overall presence were different from the hundreds of customers I saw every day. They looked confident, and they always seemed incredibly aware of their surroundings. It was like being in a room with the president or something. Sure, he’s a human like the rest of us, but knowing he’s the president makes you feel some sort of threatening energy coming from him.

The man and the woman took off their coats, hung them onto the back of their chairs, and sat at the table closest to me. Even though everybody in the restaurant was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay any attention, the man and woman spoke quietly and carefully. They came in every night, ate only edamame, then talked for a few minutes and left. But each time, I could catch just one or two words from their conversations.

‘Plan’

’Windows… doors…’

’Hold-up…’

By the third night, I was able to put it all together. I knew, without a doubt, that they were planning a robbery!

The fourth night had arrived, and right on schedule, the two of them entered the restaurant. I welcomed them in, but this time, they didn’t head to their seats. Instead, they each pulled a pistol out from their coats. The woman took a deep breath and yelled in a stern, scary voice:

‘THIS IS A HOLD-UP. PUT YOUR HANDS ON THE TABLES.’

I wanted to listen to their commands, but my tiny, plastic body only allowed me to have one hand in the air, and the other was attached to my chest!

I remember thinking:

This is bad. How much money will they walk out with? Why rob a sushi restaurant of all places?

It’s not like I ever had a conversation with the owners, but they were a kind, old couple. Being with them for so many years made me grow pretty fond of them.

The man in the suit started to pull out two folded up sacs from his coat.

‘You,’ he said, pointing his gun at the head sushi chef.

‘Hand over all of the fish. Put them into these bags. Make it quick.’

After taking the restaurant's entire fish supply, they hurried out of the front door and were immediately apprehended by the police, who were already waiting outside. Someone must have phoned them. It turned out that the man and the woman were part of a radical animal rights group, and planned to set all of the fish free, even the ones that were already chopped up.

I was a Maneki-Neko for a few more years after that incident, but that was definitely the one that stood out to me the most. I’d like to think that seeing that failed heist, along with years of listening to random conversations in that restaurant, is what led me down my path of trouble - and is also why I’m so good at talking to people.

When I felt that I had finally seen everything, heard everything I needed to hear, and learned as much as I could as a solar-powered Maneki-Neko, I decided it was time to move on and begin my new life. I used all of my power and desire to jiggle my way to the edge of the counter. I fell from high up and shattered into pieces when I hit the ground. I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. But nobody remembers the moment they’re born, do they? Apparently you can’t remember anything before the age of three. Outgrowing my small, plastic body, my consciousness must have moved to a bigger, more adaptable one that could support it - and that body just so happened to need support from an even bigger body, which was my mother. And the cycle continues.

---

“A bit of a chaotic story, isn’t it?” I said to Koji.

“You don’t need to tell her MY story. Tell her about YOUR object story - before you were human. I just thought you’d be interested in hearing what my experience was like. What do you think?” Koji leaned back, proud of his story.

I adjusted myself in my seat. “Well, it’s a bit ridiculous. Maybe more farfetched than a stork that leaves babies at doorsteps. So, when an object outgrows itself, it moves to our mothers’ bellies?”

“Something like that.”

The more I considered the idea of his story, the more it grew on me. Something about the idea of it appealed to me in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Be honest, you know it’s a better idea than the story you told her.”

After looking up at the ceiling to think, I returned my gaze to Koji. “I think I like my story more.”

Knowing that his was much better than mine, he stood up and threw money onto the table, covering his side of the bill.

“Yeah, whatever, it’s time I get out of here anyway. You coming with?” He asked, putting on his jacket.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

I threw money onto the table and waved goodbye to the bartender. As I was about to walk away, I paused for a second and looked at the tacky, robotic singing fish hanging on the wall above our table. By some odd timing, its last song had ended with its face positioned toward our table, making it look as if it had been observing the two of us the entire time. I looked at the fish, and it looked back at me.

I suddenly got nervous.

I threw some more money onto the table, leaving an extra-large tip. Koji looked at me and smiled extra wide, and we left the bar together.