Hakimi Observation Diary

Cat^[1]

Suanni Cat has been driving a taxi for years, but hasn't saved a single penny — that's just how the rules work: cat drivers only earn 30% of what humans make.

That night, Suanni Cat suddenly didn't want to drive anymore. He parked by the roadside and stared at the distant city lights for a long time, then got out and walked into a convenience store to buy three cans of his favorite tuna.

At the register, Suanni Cat suddenly asked the clerk: "Do you know where England is? Everyone says I'm a British cat." The clerk didn't even look up and replied flatly, "England is to the west."

Suanni Cat glanced at the balance on his phone, then got back in his car and drove west. Still had over seven hundred yuan left — enough for two tanks of gas. Hopefully England wasn't too far.

Suanni Cat said: "Besides, I still have three cans of tuna."

The tabby cat had decided to leave. In the season when snow was howling and swirling in the north, it left this warm island where bougainvillea still bloomed in full glory, even though at night it could fall asleep to the sound of waves and fish that could never be caught.

It resolutely boarded a northbound train, with seventy-three yuan and forty-six cents stuffed in its pocket — all that remained after buying the ticket.

"At least I have freedom." It touched its pocket and murmured softly. Yes, what could be more precious than freedom? It left without looking back, laughing loudly: to hell with big fish and future prospects, I don't care.

In the end, the cat returned to the mountains, and the fish went back to the sea.

The ginger cat decided to leave on a whim, without any warning. That day after work, it was still buying a skewer of chicken cartilage and a rice ball at a convenience store.

Just then, a motorcycle taxi driver screeched to a halt in front of it and asked: "Hey buddy, need a ride?" The ginger cat suddenly decided to go. It said, "Sure." The driver asked where to.

The cat said: I'm going home, to the home with mottled walls, with the shadows of tall poplar trees, with songs and stars.

The driver said: five yuan, deal? The cat said: deal. The ginger cat stood on the motorcycle, wind flipping its fur and ears back. It began to sing at the top of its lungs: "This is it — I ride the Fengshen 125 and bid farewell to this asthmatic city. To hell with prosperity and future prospects, I don't care."

The cat stood on the slide, a bit puzzled. The slide was for children, but the cat was neither a child nor a kitten.

As for being an adult — the cat didn't have a proper job. As for being a grown cat — it didn't have any real skills.

A middle-aged cat, I suppose, the cat thought. I'm a middle-aged cat, and that's just what middle-aged cats do — climb up, stand for a bit, then prepare to slide back down.

The cat saw the sunset during its travels, like a salted duck egg yolk oozing oil.

Then the evening sky must be like the eggshell, the cat thought, sticking out its tongue to lick the air as if it could actually taste the salty, briny flavor on the shell. Its stomach growled. The cat looked down and comforted the unruly belly: "Didn't you just eat a salted duck egg? Why are you still hungry?"

The belly fell silent, but the wind kept howling. The cat hid in a cardboard box, squinting at the gathering dusk, and felt a surge of boldness rising in its chest. It hummed a couple of lines about "lying awake at night listening to wind and rain," only to be interrupted again by its unruly belly.

It shook its fur and stood up, bought a duck egg with the two coins it had, and while licking the shell, imagined it was swallowing the sky; while chewing the yolk, imagined it was devouring the sun.

I'm really something else! The cat cheered up after finishing the egg. It let out a long howl and composed a clumsy little poem, feeling like the most poetic cat in the world.

The cat once had a place to live. Back then, in a small county town, it had a rental apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows — a real rarity at the time. From that window, you could see students from the middle school across the street, buying cigarettes from the little shop after school and strolling around, noisy and boisterous. Then at night, when the lights and sounds all faded away, the whistle of an old-fashioned train five kilometers away became startlingly loud.

Later the cat left. When the apartment door closed, there was still a faint smell of dust and beer. The cat still preferred wandering — or maybe it just didn't like that particular dwelling. It didn't like the city either, stuck in the middle of the continent, where monsoons arrived right on schedule, raining at fixed times, snowing at fixed times, blowing roughly the same direction at roughly the same time of year.

The cat struggled its way out of the remote northwest through exams. The cat doesn't understand big cities, but the cat doesn't want to go back. The other cats don't understand — why not go home? Because the cat's hometown has no metro, no Pang Dong Lai, no Domino's, no Wanda Plaza. Time and again, the cat hears others mention these things so casually, and the cat wants to see the world too. The cat is scared, scared of not making it, but the cat still doesn't want to go back.

You're awake? You seemed to be having a nightmare, kept mumbling about school and work and overtime and all that nonsense. Yes, it's 2025, but we're just little cats. Did you eat some bad catnip? Get some rest. The humans bought a new couch — let's go scratch it later!

Chouchou (Ugly Orange)

Chouchou is a cat. Strictly speaking, it's a cat that looks a bit rushed. When a friend first saw the photo, they fell silent for three seconds, then carefully asked: "Is it... crying?" I said no, that's just how it looks.

Chouchou isn't ugly, it's just a bit hard on the eyes.

Chouchou isn't ugly; it was named Chouchou because the owner figured an ugly name would be easy to raise. Just an offhand remark, and that was that.

Chouchou didn't know what this meant, but Chouchou liked it very much — because having a name meant it wasn't a stray cat.

Chouchou knows it's not good-looking, so it doesn't dare pull clever tricks or throw tantrums like other kittens. When it feels sad, it just sits alone, staring into space and sighing. Nothing to be done — Chouchou doesn't want to be abandoned.

The owner gave Chouchou a little bell, and that was Chouchou's favorite thing. Every time the bell rang, Chouchou felt something warm inside.

But one day, Chouchou accidentally lost the bell. Chouchou thought to itself: Chouchou really isn't as good-looking as other kittens, and it's clumsy too.

But Chouchou is also made of flesh. Chouchou felt a tightness in its chest, a bitterness in its mouth, and the water flowing from its eyes was hot and salty. The person in front of it slowly grew blurry. It felt like something was empty inside. Chouchou was miserable and full of regret.

Chouchou isn't ugly, really. Chouchou is just heartbroken.

A Century of Hakimi

"Zhaocai," he tapped out the morse key sadly, "Hakimi is hissing."

After a long silence, the colonel's cold code came chattering back on the machine — "Don't be silly, Xiao Cai," the message read, "It's perfectly normal for Hakimi to be stressed."