Those who’ve been to Japan are likely to agree that the
nation’s people are amongst the most outwardly caring people in the world. Even
if they don’t speak English, they’ll go out of their way to help visiting
foreigners; often putting a total stranger’s needs before their own and
expecting nothing in return.
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They reserve an even more intense display of kindness and
adoration for babies and all things fluffy. It’s not uncommon to hear women screaming
‘kawaiiiiii’ in one of Tokyo’s many parks before spotting a designer dog stroller
with mounds of fluff protruding from the carriage. With matching bows and
booties, these dogs are pampered more than most children I’ve taught in
Australia. With names like Hoshi (star) and Momo (peach), they regularly escort
their mums and dads to cafes and
boutique shopping strips. In restaurants they patiently sit on laps under heightened
tables and regularly get passed around by patrons and staff like it’s visiting
hour at the nursery ward.
Having observed these sorts of friendly, heart-warming
interactions daily for the past six months, I’m baffled by the lack of
compassion for the welfare of hundreds of animals in Tokyo’s pet shops and animal-themed
cafes.
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| Toy dog grooming in Ikejir |
featured in sterile boxes in shop windows? How many of them start life like
And the gloom doesn’t even stop there.
Beautiful exotic marine life are subjected to swim in barren
display tanks; the hand-scrawled price on the outside of the glass being the
most decorative element afforded to them. Birds, cats, snakes and lizards are
purchased to serve as tourist attractions in cafes. With foreigners paying for pats and selfies, these animals receive
the opposite end of the wick to their pet shop counterparts when it comes to the
privilege of companionship. The café environment is so far removed from most of
the animals’ natural habitats, those drawing large crowds are likely to suffer sleep
deprivation and over-bearing amounts of noise and light.
"I’ve never heard an owl demand a strong morning expresso because he didn’t get much sleep at night."
Last week I visited an owl café in Shibuya to see what all
the fuss was about. There’s roughly eight bird/owl cafes listed online, but
most of which are located in Akihabara (also home of the human café captives
known as maids). There was an A-frame on the sidewalk specifying that owls
could only be viewed between 5-11pm, however, this was clearly not the case as
I spotted several birds perched upon wooden frames inside. Upon entering, I was
shown a price menu offering customers
the option to stay 30-60 minutes. I picked 30-minutes for 1,500 yen which
included one drink (approximately $18AUD). I ordered a latte and sat down while
seven owls (6 species) squawked, nattered and flapped close by my table. The
smallest owl of the bunch, a tawny, involuntarily became a table guest after
the owner tied her to the wooden centre piece.
My latte arrived shortly after; garlanded with tin foil over
the mug. I wasn’t sure whether this was to prevent added extras from dropping
in or to keep the beverage hot in case I wanted to pay an additional 500 yen
for the bird to have an ‘arm ride’. Apparently I was lucky to have found this café, as most owners charge guests to take
their own photos. An owner dressed in an owl scarf, owl tights, owl apron and adorned
with owl jewellery taught me how to pat the owls on their beak and feathers so
that they wouldn’t bite. Even through a limited exchange of English, it was
evident that these people were very fond of their birds— despite whether they
identify themselves as animal exploiters or are even fully aware of their
business’ implications. When I asked the male owner about each owl, he
enthusiastically told me details of their age, species and how he obtained them.
He ensured me that they get some sleep through the day by being placed inside a
black-clothed cage at the back of the room. Despite his attempts to highlight
the team’s effort to manage the birds’ welfare, watching them tied down to furniture
whilst attempting to fly away has been etched into my mind. During my short
stay, the largest of the owls tried to take flight several times, only to be whipped
back to their post and dangle from a foot-noose whilst trying to re-establish
their footing. The fighting amongst one another (likely brought on by
frustration) and the heavy sound of beating wings left me deeply saddened hours
after I’d politely thanked the owners and exited through the sunroom facing the
busy side-street. Guilt has been nesting inside my mind ever since, as I recognise
that it’s curious foreigners like me who sustain these horrible businesses.
The array of animal cafes have perhaps become somewhat
accepted as a unique quirk to Japan’s already bizarre and fascinating culture. However,
it’s disturbing that despite there being far more pet shops than cafes, they
are less discussed or put under the microscope. I’m yet to visit one of the 23
wards in Tokyo that hasn’t got at least one tiny pet shop situated close to the
major train station. Due to the shortage of space, it’s common to see shelving
not much bigger than a microwave oven mounted against the glass shop front
displaying fluffy kittens and puppies. Each box has been decorated in a minimalist
fashion—six faces of acrylic plastic and a blanket for its one resident. Each
day I walk past an aging Pomeranian who sometimes spends 14 hours a day in the
window. When he eventually disappears, I’ll spend the next few weeks wondering
whether he was lucky enough to break into the café scene.
Included in this horror series are the marine animals,
possibly drawing the shortest straw of all. Although I’m not familiar of the
buying/selling laws when it comes to exotic sea creatures, it seems Japan is
all for supplying exquisitely colourful eels and dinner-plate sized turtles as family
pets. I felt compelled to enter a store in Setagaya after setting eyes on a motionless
fighting-fish laying sideways in a glass jar in the shop window. Surrounding siblings
in their identical glass jars looked like they were mourning their losses or suspected
they were next. A beautiful leaf-green frog with brown spots sat in a fogged up
plastic cube as if someone had locked him inside an indoor heated swimming pool
centre. As I walked the aisles of the make-shift store, things looked even more
dire for the black and white striped eel, the pig-nosed looking turtle and the
little neon cow fish skimming the surface with his antenna. Surprisingly, the
luckiest ones seemed to be the most average of the tropical fish, sharing a
tank lined with small grey pebbles. Up until this point I’d never considered
buying a fish, let alone starting an aquarium encompassing every creature featured
in store…minus the fighting fish.
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| Moray eel in tank outside Don Quijote, Naka Meguro |