Nekomata – The Split-Tailed Cat

Translated and sourced from Mizuki Shigeru’s Mujara, Yokai Jiten, Japanese Wikipedia, and other sources

Beware of keeping your sweet and patient house cat for too long. According to Japanese folklore, once that venerable pussy reaches an ancient enough age, its tail will split into two and it will begin to walk on its hind legs. Only then will your cat begins its second life as a nekomata, a cat-like yokai with a split-tail.

What does Nekomata Mean?

Nekomata is not an easy word to translate. Most translations for names of yokai depend on the kanji, and nekomata can be written in three different ways. Note that all three are pronounced the exact same way. The most ancient form was 猫また, which uses the kanji for cat 猫(neko), with the remainder written in hiragana. Words written in hiragana have no inherent meaning and often the definition can only be guessed at.

A later variation wrote nekomata as 猫股 which again uses the kanjI 猫(neko) for cat, but then uses 股 (mata) meaning “forked.” The meaning of this is straight forward, and translates as the descriptive “forked cat.”

But the most common variation is the most confusing. Nekomata is most commonly written as 猫又, which combines 猫(neko) with又(mata) meaning “again. This version directly translates as “the again cat,” but the reason for this is disputed. Some say it stands for the split of the tails, with “mata” being a numerical counter for tails, while some say it refers to the second life of a cat as a nekomata, thus the term “again cat.”

However, both of these kanji are most likely later additions trying to add explanations to a pre-existing word, what in English would be called a folk etymology. In its original form, with “mata” written in hiragana, is thought to relate somehow to the image of the nekomata living in the forest like a monkey, leaping from tree to tree. All of these explanations are, however, pure speculation. Nobody really knows what nekomata means.

The Kamakura Period – The Nekomata of the Mountains

Most Japanese yokai were born during the Edo period, but the nekomata has more ancient roots. Mention of the nekomata first appeared during the Kamakura period (1185-1333), where it was mentioned in the literary jottings of Yoshida Kenko in his scroll Tsurezure-gusa (徒然草; The Harvest of Leisure, also known as Essays in Idleness). Yoshida wrote “Deep in the mountains there is a creature called the nekomata. It is said that it feeds on humans.” At around the same period, Fujiwara Sadaie recorded in the scroll Meigetsuki (明月記; The Record of the Clear Moon, sometimes called Diary of the Clear Moon) that on August 8th in the first year of Tenpuku (1233) in Nanto (modern day Nara prefecture) a nekomata from the mountains killed and ate several people.

These are typical of Kamakura period accounts of nekomata. Far from the bizarre split-tailed cat of modern accounts, the ancient nekomata was a feared beast of the mountains rumored to attack, kill, and eat humans who wandered too deep into the mountain recesses. A physical description is given in the Meigestu-gi saying a nekomata has “eyes like a cat and a body the size of a great dog.”

There was nothing supernatural about these accounts of the nekomata during the Kamakura period, and it was treated like any other mountain predator. It is unknown if these accounts were based on an actual creature; there is fossil evidence of a small prehistoric Japanese tiger, and tigers were often imported from China and one could have gotten lose and made its way into the forest. Suggestions have even been made that ancient nekomata legends are based on a rabies-infected animal explaining its tendency to stalk and attack humans. But again, this is pure speculation.

The Early Edo Period – The Supernatural Nekomata

Like any good folk legend, the stories of nekomata began to change in the telling, and with each passing year nekomata increased in size. In 1685, in the book Shincho Monjyu (新著聞集; A Literary Collection of New Hearings) described the nekomata as being as larger than a wild boar. In 1775 the book Waku-shiori (倭訓栞; A Bookmark of Chinese Characters) described the nekomata to be as large as a lion or a panther, with a cry that resounded through the mountains. By 1809, in the book  寓意草 the nekomata was described as being over six feet long and large enough to carry a dog in its mouth.

The Middle Edo Period – The Nekomata Comes Indoors

The real transformation in the legends of the nekomata came during the mid-Edo period. While the mountains were still considered the abode of the great beasts, a belief arose that nekomata evolved from regular house cats that had lived a very long time. When cats grew old enough they changed into a new form and left they households to begin their new existence as nekomata in the mountains.Because of this, it was considered dangerous to keep a cat for too long in your house.

The belief was expounded on by Yusoku Kojitsu and Ise Fudatake, who wrote in their respective books Ansei Zuihitsu (安斎随筆; The Literary Jottings of Ansei) and Kazusai no Neko (数歳; Cats of Various Ages) that the tail of these old cats would split into two tails at the time of transformation. The scholar Arai Hakuseki further popularized this new belief in his essays on the mysteries of cats that were printed in widely-circulated newspapers.

One of the most famous accounts of nekomata is the 1708 Yamato Kaiiki (大和怪異記; Mysterious Stories from Japan) story The Nekomata Fire (猫股の火) which tells the tale of a samurai whose house is taken over by a poltergeist-like haunting that is only ended when the family cat is killed and revealed to have two tails. This story was later adapted by Mizuki Shigeru for his comic Nekomata.

This version of the nekomata has completely taken over the Kamakura period beliefs, and it is almost impossible to find a modern depiction of nekomata that does not show the split-tailed monster.

Nekomata Art

During the Edo period, illustrated reference books called zukan were published, including the popular kaidan emaki—illustrated kaidan manuals. Nekomata regularly appeared in these manuals.

Possibly the most famous picture of a nekomata comes from the book Hyakki Zukan (百怪図巻; An Illustrated Manual of One Hundred Weird Tales) by Sawagi Sushi. Sawagi drew an unconventional and ironic picture of a nekomata looking like a young woman playing the shamisen. At the time, shamisen were made from the stretched skin of female cats, and the cat looks to be singing a melancholy song while playing an instrument possibly made from a relative. Because the nekomata is dressed in the garb of a geisha, it is also a possible reference to a geisha whose nickname was “Cat.”

Toriyama sekien’s picture of a nekomata from his Gazu Hyakki Yako (画図百鬼夜行; The Illustrated Night Parade of a Hundred Demons) is also tinged with humor. His illustrations shows three cats, one a nekomata with a split-tale and two regular cats. The nekomata appears to be showing off walking on its hind legs, while the younger cat tries to imitate it can’t, because it isn’t old enough to transform yet.

Like many Japanese folklore creatures, in modern times the nekomata is depicted as cute and is far removed from the ferocious, man-eating beast of the Kamakura period. Probably the most famous modern nekomata is the character Kirara from the comic book InuYasha.

Nekomata and Other Supernatural Cats

Japan is full of supernatural cats and cat-lore, of which the nekomata is only one. Because of the glint in a cat’s eyes and their mysterious nature, cats have been thought to be supernatural from ancient times, and able to deliver curses. It was said that to kill a cat would result in seven lifetimes of inauspicious rebirth.

Other cat yokai include the kasha (火車), a type of demon that arouse from a cat owned by someone who died. If people weren’t careful, the cat would transform into a kasha and steal the body away before a funeral could be held. Nekomata are often mistaken for bakeneko(化け猫), another transformed cat, although they are two different creatures.

You can still see the lingering evidence of nekomata beliefs in place names around Japan. In Echu province (modern day Toyama prefecture) there was a mountain that was said to be the site of several nekomata slayings named Nekomata Mountain, and in Aizu provice (modern day Fukushima prefecture) a mountain named Nekomata Peak is has several nekomata legends associated with it.

Translator’s Note:

This was posted by request for reader Aub Driver, who was looking for references for a nekomata tattoo.  I found a whole lot of history, but not a whole lot of images.  Sorry Aub!  Hope the article sparks some inspiration though!

Further Reading:

Read more yokai magical animal tales on hyakumonogatari.com:

The Cat’s Grave

The Tanuki and the White Snake

The Appearance of the Spirit Turtle

The Seven Wonders of Honjo

During the Edo period, the area known as Honjo (modern day Sumida ward in Tokyo) was a meloncholy and shadow-haunted place that drew legends about it like a cloak. Vast fields spread about Honjo, with only a few houses scattered here and there, and many a night-traveler would walk far to avoid a trip though those fields at night.

Several of the ghost legends of Honjo were collected together and called the Honjo Nanafushigi (本所七不思議), the Seven Wonders of Honjo. The number seven is purely nominal; as in many places in the world, the number seven carries mystical significance and when you are telling ghost stories the “seven wonders” sounds scarier than the “nine wonders” or “eight wonders.”

Many local places had their own collection of “seven wonders.” They form a typical model of urban legend, passed down through word of mouth, told and retold over kitchen fireplaces, then transitioning from local legend to stage performance.

The Seven Wonders of Honjo moved from the streets of Edo into the halls of Rakugo performers, who took the seven wonders on tour. In the late 1880s Utagawa Kuniteru (歌川国輝) made a series of prints called the “Honjo Nanafushigi.” In 1937, Shinko Kimura filmed “Honjo Nanafushigi” (本所七不思議), which was remade in 1957, as “Ghost Stories of Wanderer at Honjo” (怪談本所七不思議; Kaidan Honjo Nanafushigi) by Katano Goro. The films featured yokai stories and did not really focus on the authentic Seven Wonders.

Today of course, the Seven Wonders of Honjo are largely remembered as tourist attractions.  You can buy special sweets in the shape of the seven wonders, and take walking tours of Sumida where you read all about the seven wonders on helpful tourist maps and plaques.

The Seven Wonders are:

• The “Leave it Behind” Straggler-  置行堀(Oite Kebori)
The Sending-Off Lantern 送り提灯(Okuri Chochin)
The “Following Wooden Clappers” 送り拍子木(Okuri Hyoshigi)
The Unlit Soba Shop  燈無蕎麦 (Akarinashi Soba)
The Foot Washing Mansion 足洗邸 (Ashiarai Yashiki)
The One-sided Reed 片葉の葦 (Kataba no Ashi)
The Chinkapin of Unfallen Leaves 落葉なき椎 (Ochiba Naki Shii)
The Procession of the Tanuki 狸囃子(Tanuki Bayashi)
The Taiko of Tsugaru 津軽の太鼓 (Tsugaru no Taiko)

The Bodhidharma Button

I recently got a request from a reader to help her identify what she called an “old Japanese button.”  She had suspected that the image was an onryo, a Japanese vengeance ghost.

The Image

The image on the button—not really a button but I will call it that for the time being—was easy to identify. That is not an onryo, but the Buddhist monk Bodhidharma, known more popularly as Daruma.

Daruma is one of the most popular figures in Japanese folklore art and in contemporary Japan. From whisky bottles to women’s underwear, you can find Daruma’s scowling face on almost every product-type in Japan. Daruma is a super-figure in Japanese folklore, credited with inventing everything from tea to Shaolin martial arts. He is most commonly found as the wish-granting, roly-poly Daruma dolls. Sold eyeless, you paint in one eye while making a wish, then paint in the other eye in thanks when the wish comes true.

The historic Daruma comes from 5th or 6th century AD. Most of his life is so completely wrapped in legend it would be impossible to sort fact from fancy, but he is often considered to have come from South India, or “from Persia.” Whatever his origin, he is the divine transmitter of Ch’an Buddhism, known in Japanese—and English—as Zen Buddhism. In art, he is depicted as being grumpy, ill-tempered, scowling, with a beard and deep-set eyes.

The image on this button, with the emaciated, skeletal form, is very different from the portly and robust figure found in most depictions of Daruma.  The scene is most likely taken from Daruma’s “nine years of wall gazing.”In this legend, Daruma was denied entrance into a Shaolin Monostary, so he went to a nearby cave and stared at a wall for nine years.  There are several variations on the legend, including one where he fell asleep after seven years and—disgusted with himself—tore off his own eyelids so they couldn’t betray him.  Casting his eyelids on the ground, they sprouted up into the first tea bushes which Daruma brewed and drank to keep himself awake for the final two years.

The Artist

 The rest of the request—who made this button and what is it?—went out of my area of expertise.  Even reading the kanji on the button was difficult, as it is in archaic form and written in a calligraphic style.  Neither I nor my wife, who is Japanese, could read the signature. So I called on my friend Aaron Rio, with his big brains and phd in Japanese Art to help in the identification.  And help he did!

First off, what is the object exactly?  All we know for sure is that it is not a button.  Without seeing the reverse side and depth it is difficult to make a determination—Is it a medallion or a container? A lid? And why are there cords attached?  The best guess is that it is a netsuke 根付, possibly of the kagamibuta 鑑蓋 variety missing it’s ivory surround. Or it is possibly the lid of a small netsuke container.

As to the writing, the three characters at left are 民乗, the artist/carver’s name, and then his cipher (花押, kaō), i.e., a handwritten (carved) signature. 民乗,whose actual name was 海野珉乗 (Unno Minjō, 1873-1910; note the different character used for ‘min’) is a known netsuke carver. He was a professor at 東京芸大 when he died, as was his far more famous father Unno Shomin (海野勝珉), who was also a metalworker. The Museum of Fine Art (MFA) in Boston has at least one netsuke, a kagamibuta, by this artist, and they date it to the late 19th century.

Just because it is signed doesn’t mean it is real, of course. There are lots of netsuke fakes. However, Minjō wasn’t exactly a celebrity carver, and he did die rather young, so I’m not sure why anyone would fake his signature. And the signature resembles (though isn’t identical) to the signature on the MFA piece, The MFA has an extensive online catalogue, and you may very well find this other Minjō netsuke there as well.

Please Donate to Japan Relief Effort

Hello,

This isn’t kaidan related, but a plea for help. Both my wife and I have deep connections to Japan. She is Japanese, born and raised, and I lived in Japan for several years. Japan is where we met. Japan is were we fell in love. Japan is as much our home as the US.

Japan is suffering now. So… I am asking you, personally, to please help.

The biggest help we all can give is cash donations. Donations of goods, like blankets and food, just cause logistical problems of shipping and distribution. Prayers and good vibes are wonderful, but they aren’t as tangible to someone like our friend who just gave birth to twins but doesn’t have enough water to feed them, or the seven people sharing a single blanket in a shelter.

Money is the most direct and beneficial way to help the hundreds of thousands of people who are in danger now.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. $20, $50, $100…whatever you can afford. We made our donation through the Red Cross, but there are many other organizations available.

http://abcnews.go.com/International/japan-earthquake-donating-relief-funds/story?id=13122660

Thank you for reading this, and for helping.

Zack and Miyuki Davisson

The Two Opposing Stories of Tanaka Kawachinosuke

Translated from Nihon no Yurei

The gruesome death of Tanaka Kawachinosuke was told by author Tokugawa Musei, in story “Traveling Companions,” from his book “The Days of Tokyo.” According to Musui, the story originated in a game of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai played in the Mukoujima Hyaken garden.

My father, however, never missed a chance to dispute this.  And to be honest, I don’t really know which one was telling the truth, Musui or my father.  The very nature of these kinds of stories compels the storyteller to bend the facts, to make the story seem like they are speaking from personal experience.  And to fiercely defend their version of the story to be true. 

Of course, a stranger’s version would be entirely different. 

Now my father claimed that the story of Tanaka Kawachinosuke did not come from a game at the Mukoujima Hyaken garden, but from his own storytelling circle at the Shogakan Gahakudo building, which stood opposite the bridge in Kyobashi.   Shogakan Gahakudo was a legendary gathering place for Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai.   At the entrance there was a permanently burning lantern hanging, of the sort normally only used for the Obon festival of the dead. You didn’t even need to plan the event, for such was the passion for the game that on any given night you could be assured a spontaneous round of storytelling would begin, with members alternating turns, exchanging their favorite kaidan. 

My father would boldly say:

“The author Musei certainly never showed his face at the Shogakan Gahakudo!  But this story I heard directly with my own ears, and the storyteller I saw with my own eyes, until he died. This detail alone casts doubt on Musei’s claim of the Mukoujima gatherings!

The opening years of the Taisho era were an easy-going time.  Japan had yet to be ravaged by the Spanish flu, and the Great Kanto Earthquake was still years away. Things were booming.   The storytellers gathered as usual on the third floor of the Gahakudo to entertain each other with kaidan.  On that day, an unfamiliar face appeared amongst the group.  As was the custom at the Gahakudo, any stranger was compelled to tell a story. And what story did he tell, you may ask?  Why, the story of Tanaka Kawachinosuke. We all listened intently to the tale.

The stranger began by saying that this was the true story of Tanaka Kawachinosuke, and what happened to him following the notorious “Event at the Terata Inn.”  The tale, he said, was one of ill omen, and carried a curse that would fall on anyone who told it.  As a result, the true story of those events has never been told.

“Those who know the true story grow less and less every year, and none remain but I who can tell the tale.  Because I am the last, I will finally speak of those events.”

Of course, as everyone knows this is the same Tanaka Kawachinosuke written about in the Yamamoto Yuzo play “Kindred Spirits.”   The events took place during the time of the Tenshu army, when Fujiwara Yoshiko, daughter of the Chief Counselor of State Nakayama Tadayasu and little sister of Captain Nakayama Tadamitsu, gave birth to Emperor Meiji.   Tanaka Kawachinosuke read stories of filial piety to the baby emperor, although he was far too young to understand them.  But when he came to power, the Emperor remember Kawachinosuke fondly, and asked those of his inner circle what had become of him. An enquiry was made, and Kuroda Kyotoka intimated to Okubo Toshimichi: “Okubo, you know something of this don’t you?” Okubo answered this question with great reluctance. For there was a rumor going around that Tanaka Kawachinosuke had come to a violent end on the orders of Okubo.

Because this man was talking about the death of Tanaka Kawachinosuke we all sat perched on our knees and with ears at attention.

 “This is a story that should not be told, even though I am telling it now, I have never told it before.  Thus it has become that only I remain who knows the tale. Now, this was a time when Japan’s Westernization movement had taken over society…”

 Listening to this man speak, with the nuance of his elegant language, we instantly felt his age and were transported back in time to the Meiji era.  Say what you will about Japan’s modernization, when this old-fashioned man spoke he made an immediate impact on those who remember him. And we all remember him. Although we disagreed that there was any story that couldn’t be told,

“Now for the first time I will tell this tale, so everyone listen closely…”  

 He said again, finishing his preface.

The stranger broke into a vigorous ramble, stating that all those listening should take care because of the curse of the tale, and anyone apprehensive should leave now, but that those who chose to stay would find the story most interesting.   He stated his introduction again, and then wandered from subject to subject almost as in a daze, returning again to the beginning:

 “Of those who know the true story I alone remain, and at this time in the middle of Japan’s Westernization movement there are those who would say that there are no more forbidden subjects. So I am resigning myself to speak…” 

From there he would begin again, going a little bit forward but always returning to “Of the people who know Kawachinosuke’s fate…”  It was like he had no true subject.

In the middle of this ramble, one person sitting and one person standing became two people standing.   I wouldn’t go so far as to say they were trying to escape the stranger’s pointless story, but they found themselves called away bit by bit.  For example, my father suddenly had a phone call from home.

My father went downstairs for the phone call, and then had a cigarette at the counter.  While smoking, when another person followed him down saying “He is on the Westernization of Japan again” and they both broke out in laughter.

While the two men were sharing a laugh at the bizarre turn of events, another man came walking down the staircase.  When he reached the main room, suddenly, and with no one immediately near him, the man fell face-down onto a small desk in the middle of the room. And he died.  Of course, it was that same man who had moments ago been upstairs relating the story of the last days of Kawachinosuke.

Author Kimura Shun wrote in detail about the early life of Tanaka Kawachinosuke in his book “Emperor Meiji” (Japanese History New Book, Published in the 31st year of Showa).  When Keiko was pregnant, it was said Kawachinosuke would go daily to the Osaka Ikasuri Shrine to write compositions praying to the gods for a male child.  However, because Kawachinosuke is not the focus of the book, his final fate is not touched upon.

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