Hokke and his troublesome appetite

Like any good crazy cat couple, each member of our clowder has their own silly little nickname. When we first got Hokke (pronounced hoe - kay), we began to refer to him as ‘Hokke square’ owing to his unusual body shape. Hokke’s minuscule tail accentuated the unusually straight contours of his torso and over time he began to look less a cat and more a miniature bear. Thus he gained the title of ‘square bear.’

This July 2020 informal social media survey of @sparklesofsol instagram followers apparently agrees that Hokke resembles a bear, over a cat.

If he hadn’t already been named by the shelter he adopted us from, Kuma would have been an excellent name for him. As you’ve probably already deduced, Kuma is the Japanese word for ‘bear.’ The place we lived, Kumamoto, roughly translates to ‘bear’s origins’ or ‘place of the bear.’ So the name would have been doubly fitting. Instead, his name refers to a type of mackerel. We can’t imagine him with any other name now, so Hokke it is.

Our Hokke Square Bear

Hokke’s unofficial title has entered our own private lexicon to the extent we use Hokke in place of square. For example, when looking at homes for sale, a common question is how many Hokke feet the place has. We are comfortable with who we are.

While he will not win any beauty contests, Hokke is the most affectionate cat I have ever been around and as these blog posts surely attest, I’ve met more than a few. Most of these pieces are written with Hokke on my lap, I don’t even notice when he does it anymore. His second great love, which has gotten him into mischief from time to time, is food.

Look, you don’t start to resemble a bear if you don’t eat like one. To coin an old Simpsons joke: he’s everywhere, he’s omnivorous. We do try to limit his portions to keep him a healthy weight but he is adept at stealing food. He’s not particularly picky about what he eats.

When we lived in Japan, we kept to a fairly set diet largely free of added sugar for six out of seven days of the week. We lived near two supermarkets so ate plenty of vegetables and refrained from buying any snacks. The one exception to this rule was Saturday. On Saturday evening we’d indulge a bit. My snack of choice was usually a roll cake. They come in various flavors but I was most partial to the chocolate variety. It came in a pack large enough to be a pretty major treat but small enough to not undo an entire week’s work in one sitting. I’d have my cake and eat it on Saturday evening followed by a few beers while watching the game from back home.

Japan is nine hours ahead of the UK so matches which began at the standard time of 3 pm there would be 11 pm or midnight in Japan depending on the time of year. That was ideal as my team’s fortunes at the time usually made alcohol consumption necessary. I used to have my dessert and drinks while watching the broadcast at my desk. More often than not, Hokke would lie peacefully on my lap. On one occasion he was a bit more alert than usual and, just when I took my eyes away from the cake, he went for it.

This wasn’t a little cat nibble, this was a full-on chomp. His little jaws extended as far as possible in an attempt to pilfer as much of the spongy goodness as possible. I only caught on when I heard him attempt to chew his ill-gotten prize. The worst part is that cats cannot even fully appreciate cakes, their spiky wee tongues can’t physically register sweet tastes. If you’re a cat owner you’re doubtless aware of that mixed feeling of annoyance and charm when your cat does something like that. I was peeved he’d nicked my weekly treat but undeniably beguiled by his audacity.

I still finished it.

There was another occasion where his penchant for illicit snacks got him into some bother though. We came home one evening to find he’d taken a hefty bite out of a yoga block. He refused food the following morning and threw up bile several times. Uh oh. We rushed him to the vet later that day.

Tomoda Animal Hospital, Kumamoto, Japan

Our vet in Kumamoto was a family-run business that we gave a significant amount of business to in our time there. The patriarch was a kindly older man who was in tremendous shape. His cauliflower ears suggested a background in either rugby or judo. I never possessed the vocabulary to find out. The reception was run by the mother and daughter and there was also a son, in training to become a vet, who worked there during vacation times. The son’s English was pretty good and made visits a little easier. If he wasn’t present, I usually just had to say in Japanese where the cat was suffering and give some extremely vague descriptions like a small child.

“Right eye … ouch. Second cat… first cat… fight… big ouch.”

I guess vets are already used to patients who can’t describe their ailments, so an idiot foreigner struggling to put problems into words wouldn’t be that daunting. Fortunately, the son was present so the diagnosis was much smoother this time. The father listened and determined that the piece of block was likely causing a blockage. The options were waiting for it to pass or performing surgery to get it out. There was a risk in waiting so we chose to have it cut out of him.

Every cat owner recognizes their cat’s different meows, from hunger to fear to anger. We knew Hokke’s frightened meows only too well and it was quite heart-wrenching to have to leave him there. When we came to check up on him the following day, he was wearing the cone of shame and a pink little jumper to prevent him from chewing on his scars. He was confused and obviously wanted to leave with us but we had to leave him in the cage for another day.

Post surgery Hokke. He had to wear the cone of shame, and a little sweater to make sure he didn't groom his incisions. He was so sad when he had to leave him at the vet overnight.

The vet was delighted with his work and proudly showed us the meteor he’d cut out of Hokke’s stomach. The son was a little embarrassed to relay his father’s comment that such surgeries made him a lot of money over the years. Now that Hokke was on the mend, I could see the absurdity of it all. Honestly though, the fee for the services rendered was extremely reasonable.

Weeks later, Hokke was able to take his pink sweater and cone of shame off. This is the hubs and cat fam on a quick video chat with Levy.

For the surgery and aftercare, we parted with about $500 all-in. They waived part of the fee because he was a shelter cat and because they are saints. Had this incident taken place in the US, I’m certain at least another zero would have been added to the price. We took him home after a couple of days and he soon recovered from his ordeal. I wish I could say he’s learned from it, but he’ll still munch whatever he can get his little paws on.

He is as dumb as he is sweet.

Many months post surgery. Somehow, Hokke opened some containers, and tore into these bananas.