Messenger Cat Café — Shimeno Nagi
When night starts pussyfooting around again, there comes a time to open a new book. But what kind of book should it be? An adventurous novel that won’t let you bat an eyelid? A picaresque romance? Or simply whatever happens to fall under your paw first.
Good books pull you in, bad ones get pushed aside. But there’s a third kind: the one-time reads, the harmless little stories that leave almost no traces. And those, strangely enough, are not a waste; they’re invitations. A single throwaway detail is often enough to send you tiptoeing into the unexpected. And that’s exactly what happened here.
Who would deny a walk across the bridge—the one between the netherworld and the Great Beyond? Not me, for sure. Be my guest: see how and what life is like for all sorts of people—all this through the eyes of a ginger furball with paws and claws (a cat, of course, creatures best known for slipping through any crack).
In a small café that exists on the edge of the living and the dead, Fuuta becomes a messenger, carrying notes between those who are gone and those who remain. Each delivery is a gentle adventure, a chance to witness the small, fragile ways people connect across life and death. All for one big goal—to see his beloved keeper Michiru again on her birthday.
No worries: this small book by Shimeno Nagi has nothing to do with the blue moods of complex dramas or the philosophical phrase-mongering of The Little Prince.
The idea that without due diligence a cat might do what he loves, that is, cause a little mayhem (and upset the balance on Earth), is nothing more than a bogeyman story. Five difficult tasks turn out to be not so difficult. And cats can complete them with a bit of luck, or even backwards. They can also fall asleep during important briefing, develop an irrational dislike for someone on sight, and even do the impossible a couple of times. However, don't be surprised; we've all seen ginger cats having the zoomies.
The book won't feature any tedious overcoming or 007-style chase scenes. And if you're not particularly sentimental, the stories with happy endings will be just as tiresome as the eternal “a happy ending is when everyone dies.“
But even when a book ends up only so-so, there’s always some small detail worth chasing, something that nudges you into a rabbit hole of unexpected knowledge. This time it was a throwaway mention of Mount Osore, a bleak landscape in northern Japan long believed to be a gateway to the afterlife, and the itako shamans who still gather there to call forth the voices of the dead. A single line in a middling novel, and suddenly you’re knee-deep in real folklore.
Mount Osore, or Japan's Terrible Mountain, lies on the remote Shimokita Peninsula in northern Japan: blackened volcanic soil, bubbling pits, hot steam rising, and a crater-lake said to mirror the river souls must cross after death. Some call it hell’s doorstep, others a sacred waystation between life and death.
In that strange geography dwell the itako: blind women trained, often from girlhood, through rites and long discipline to become mediums between the living and the dead. Historically their paths were many; today only a handful remain. In summer, they come to Mount Osore to perform the ritual known as kuchiyose, claiming they can summon spirits and let grieving visitors commune with lost loved ones.
Japan isn't alone in its thin places. Those uncanny borders where the living brush against whatever comes after. The Greeks imagined a river and a ferryman; the Celts spoke of windswept thresholds where the veil thins; in Korea, mudang shamans still negotiate with restless spirits on behalf of families. Every culture seems to carve out a spot where the ordinary world feels porous.
However, what seems like folklore or mysticism also reveals the practical ways societies historically supported the vulnerable. Despite their mystical reputation, itako were also, in practical terms, a kind of social lifeline for blind women in Japan. Consider:
• many were born blind or lost sight early, leaving few options for education, work, or independence
• training as an itako offered structure, skill, and social status, even if the path was harsh (cold-water purification, ascetic discipline, memorizing chants)
• performing rituals and serving grieving families provided a tangible role in the community, a form of economic and social participation
Over time, this tradition shrank, leaving only a handful of practitioners, but it remains a striking example of how marginalized individuals found a meaningful place in society.
***
And so even a small, simple book can open doors to worlds you didn’t expect. Through Fuuta’s paws, we wander not only the cozy corners of a café but also the misty, sulfur-scented slopes of Osore, alongside spirits and itako, seeing the delicate ways life and death intertwine. Sometimes a single line is enough to keep your imagination wandering long after the book is closed.
What to read on the topic;
Mount Osore: The Dark Side of the River
Voices from the Other Side: Aomori’s Traditional “Itako” Mediums
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