The cats of the city spend their days sleeping in window sills, on shelves, atop cash registers, and in front of storefronts—wherever they can catch a few stray rays. Paws wagging, they beckon to outsiders, come in and spend a fortune.
With porcelain skin, eyes congenial, and mouth a perpetual serene line, the lucky cat is not so different from the Buddha statue resting overhead; both exist because of faith. Both are talismans. And as one learns, it is good fortune to go unnoticed.
But where does good fortune come from?
Each month, when the moon is a milk bowl in the sky, and all the patrons and tourists and common folk are fast asleep, a massive scavenger hunt takes place on the Krung Thep streets, and all the lucky cats come alive to chase their luck.
Released from their perches, the cats spend the first fifteen minutes of their freedom in serious concentration licking the pads of their sore paw, the one that have been doing all the wagging. In the full moon’s reflection, their labors magnified.
All the while, the cats ponder, where luck is lying low this time. On a billboard, 20 meters overhead or dozed off under a concrete BTS station?
In truth, it could be right nearby, in their owner’s empty slipper. Luck is awfully shy when it knows a pack of prowling cats will search for it without fail at night’s brightest hour.
See, the lucky cats roam in packs. For everyone knows that good luck is multiplied when shared. And after all, it is tough to sniff out luck in the city, the alleyways form the perfect maze for a chase.
“When you find luck,” the wise Maneneko says first, “ask it why the rains stay late.” Maneneko was the title given to the oldest cat, and at present, the honor happened to be bestowed upon a massive calico cat that guarded the Gateway Shopping Center.
Tonight, the Gateway clan finds luck squatting in the frame of a temple gate.. As the Maneneko jumps onto luck’s lap, the warrior wakes. There is lightning in his touch. He bends down to kiss the old cat, then to let his hand pet each of the felines in the winning pack; for at times, luck is all about proximity.
Luck’s gentle contact fills the bowls of their bodies with good fortune, which they will obediently take back to their masters before dawn breaks.
Having blessed all the cats in proximity, Luck lifts his moonstone katana from its sheath, and slices clean the head of the Maneneko. The hollow globe skitters down the Naga staircase, the bell on its red leash gives a final ring, frightening the Naga from off its path.
“Master, what of the rains?” a young, pink kitten asks, remembering Maneneko’s request.
Luck drains the milk bowl in the sky, alerting all the unlucky cats that the hunt has ended.
Leaning down to see the eyes of the little cat, he replies, “As for the rains, they have cleansed the lungs of the city, but they soon will pass.” He raises his voice to be heard by all. “If they return, we should welcome them back with open paws.” And as he lifts his right hand to the sky, he reveals a small patch of calico fur that has remained.
The hunt ended, all of the less fortunate felines must pitter-patter back to their perches, heads hanging from the recent defeat. For luck is not something crafted into a being at birth, no indeed, luck must be hunted; it must be seized. And those without it have to feign good fortune, and wait patiently for another chance to to seek their destiny on moon-drenched city streets.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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