Cats and Geisha Ladies
A riveting memoir by Hari Suzume


Taking train trips was supposed to be fun. I sat on the top bunk as the sun outside my window slowly set. My parents were in the cart reading. I leaned against the wall of my bed, listening to the Pokémon the First Movie soundtrack I had bought over five years ago when Pokémon ruled my life (which, truthfully, was still the case). It was on some song about following your dreams, or trying your best, when I decided that the only thing to do to quell my boredom was to rummage through every piece of luggage we brought on board the train. Instantly, I jumped down from my top bunk and dragged out the suitcase. My parents didn't notice. I began to open each zipper and pull out everything I had brought in order to entertain myself. There were a few books, which I wasn't in the mood to read, and a game system with over five games that I had already beaten.

A woman walked by with the cart of food she carried from car to car. She sneered at me and nodded her head toward the food cart, as if she expected me to buy something from her. In my head, I imagined her waving cheerfully and saying, "Anything from the trolly?!" as they do in the Harry Potter movies. I shook my head and the mean train-food-and-snack-cart lady walked on. As soon as she left, I moved everything I brought from my suitcase onto the bed until I had reached what I was looking for.

While we were in Germany, I had purchased a small prank toy at a pawnshop. It was a small paper bag with a fuzzy tail protruding out at the end. Inside the bag was a small plastic ball that, when turned on, flailed about this way and that. When I activated the little ball and stuck it on the floor, it perfectly resembled a cat stuck in a paper bag. Making sure my parents didn't see me with my precious Cat-in-a-Bag, I creeped over to the entrance and opened the door. The mean train-food-and-snack-cart lady had already disappeared from this compartment of the train, so I looked over at the car next to us. A heavy-looking woman sat in there, chatting at high speeds in Italian on a tiny cell phone. She wore the most hideous tank-top-see-through-shawl-shirt-hybrid, and her whole face was painted white, as if the white makeup was supposed to cover her tan skin. Her black hair was pulled into a messy bun on the left side of her head. I smiled. She would make an excellent target. I snuck out in my bare feet and reached inside the bag. The button was pushed, the bag began to flail helplessly, and without a word, I chucked the cat in the bag like a bowling ball down the isle way.

My "cat" instantly threw itself into the Geisha lady's compartment door, making a thudding noise against the glass. The woman looked over from her cell phone and made a face as if she smelled something awful. The little bag then flipped over and made its way further down the hallway, hitting the walls and door of the other compartments. I ran down the hallway to retrieve my Cat-in-a-Bag before a worker caught me. I ignored the gross sticky feeling under my feet as I ran down to the end of the hallway, where my "cat" had gotten stuck in a corner. I picked him up and turned it off.

The Geisha lady opened her cart door and looked at me. My face flushed and I held the bag to my chest. I was not in the mood to be furiously yelled at in Italian. Usually, though, no one was in the mood to be yelled at in Italian, unless they were in a bad mood, and they were Italian. The lady only pointed at my feet, made that ugly face again, and shook her head, muttering something in Italian. I frowned and looked to where she was pointing. My feet were bare.

That pissed me off. I wanted nothing more than to stamp my "embarrassingly naked" foot against the floor and say, "Excuse-a-me, Geisha lady, but I just chucked a Cat-in-a-Bag at you, and you're angry that I broke your custom! We're going to Montana, not Venice, you bitch!" I over-exaggerated about the "bitch" thing, since I don't swear in front of Geishas. Instead I shrugged, muttered a quick "sorry", and went back to my compartment to listen to the Pokerap. Maybe later I'd chuck the bag inside her room.

Serves her right, stupid Geisha lady.