The horse was the item that finally broke me.
Akira insisted that Mochi accompany him to the mountain cabin.
I had assumed we would put the cat in his carrier and drive him there. This was what cars were for. It was what cat carriers were for. It was, as far as I knew, the only reasonable way to transport a domestic cat over a substantial distance.
Akira disagreed.
“Mochi must travel by horse.”
I stared at him.
“I'm sorry?”
“The journey must preserve the integrity of the retreat.”
“It's a cabin, Akira. Not the thirteenth-century Silk Road.”
“The horse is necessary.”
“Why?”
He took a breath.
“Because Mochi is part of the restoration.”
Mochi, who had been asleep on a chair, opened one eye.
I looked at the cat.
The cat looked at me.
For the first time in our relationship, I felt we were aligned on a fundamental philosophical issue.
I called a stable.
A man answered and asked what kind of riding experience I had.
“None,” I said. “I'm trying to arrange transportation for a cat.”
Silence.
“A cat?”
“Yes.”
“On a horse?”
“That's what I've been told.”
The man asked whether I intended to ride the horse myself.
“No. The cat would be the passenger.”
Another silence followed, longer than the first.
“Sir, we rent horses for trail rides.”
“I understand.”
“We don't offer animal transportation services.”
“Could I rent a horse and arrange the rest myself?”
He asked whether I had any experience handling horses.
I said no.
He asked whether the cat had any experience handling horses.
I said that the cat had difficulty handling a closed door.
The man thanked me for calling.
I added a note to the spreadsheet: Horse rental unavailable. Cat has no equestrian qualifications.
Akira was not pleased.
“You should have explained the spiritual context.”
“I explained that the cat needed to travel by horse.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“What other information could possibly make that sentence more alarming?”
He considered this.
“Perhaps you could try a private stable.”
I called three.
One declined before I finished the explanation. Another asked whether Mochi was a trained therapy animal. The third said they might consider transporting a cat if the cat could be safely secured and the arrangement complied with their insurance requirements.
I told Akira.
He looked relieved.
“Excellent. We're making progress.”
“We are absolutely not making progress. We have identified a man who may permit us to discuss the possibility of a cat being transported by a horse.”
“That is progress.”
I wanted to disagree, but I had learned that arguing with Akira about the definition of progress only led to longer conversations about spiritual development.
We eventually compromised.
Mochi would travel in his carrier in my car. The horse would remain an aspirational component of the restoration.
Akira accepted this with the solemnity of a head of state signing a treaty after a devastating war.
Mochi accepted it by attempting to bite my hand.