The reason for the nickname Aoshima became clear to us before we even set foot on the island. As our small boat stopped and its few passengers prepared to disembark, the dock was filled with white and orange spots: a mustachioed welcome party that forms as soon as its members hear the hum of an approaching engine.
The only human who welcomes us is Naoko Kamimoto. Appropriately, she wears a cat-themed dress. She ties the boat with a rope while half a dozen cats gather at her feet.
A 35-minute ferry ride off the coast of Ehime Prefecture on Shikoku – the smallest of Japan’s four main islands – Aoshima is the best-known of the country’s 11 “cat islands.” Despite the lack of shops, restaurants or accommodation, this small island in the Seto Inland Sea has become a must-see stop for visitors intrigued by a remote community where cats far outnumber humans.
However, Aoshima’s days as a feline-centric tourist destination are numbered. A decade ago there were around 200 wild cats here, descendants of those that fishermen had introduced to the island to eliminate the rodents that destroyed the nets used to catch enormous quantities of sardines.
Kamimoto, who moved to the island after marrying Hidenori, a local man, believes the number is now around 80. All cats are over seven years old, and a third of them suffer from illnesses such as blindness and respiratory conditions, the result of decades of inbreeding.
“I notice right away when a cat is missing. If he doesn’t show up for a week, we assume he’s gone to die and we try to find his body,” says Naoko, 74, adding that the location of the animal cemetery will remain a closely guarded secret.
The decline of the feline population is not only due to the passage of time. Aoshima is the victim of a demographic crisis affecting thousands of rural and island communities across Japan. About 900 people lived here at the end of World War II, but that number had fallen to 80 about 10 years ago, as older fishermen and their wives moved to larger islands, leaving their families behind. cats behind. By 2017, only 13 residents remained. Today there are four left: Naoko and Hidenori, and another couple who prefers to stay away from the media spotlight.
“I’m not thinking about what will happen in five or ten years,” says Naoko. “We live in the present, day by day. But the time will come when there will be no more people or cats left. The only thing we can do is take care of them while we are here.”
In anticipation of the day when the last resident leaves, in 2018 local authorities began a mass spay and neuter program, led by experts from the Ehime Prefectural Veterinary Medical Association.
Although a resident who opposed the program reportedly hid several cats, no kittens have been born since the program was launched, says Kiichi Takino, a member of the Aoshima Cat Humane Society, an NGO that is responsible for ensuring the well-being of the felines.
“We want to avoid the worst possible scenario,” says Takino, who compares the island to a cat kennel. “If the feline population had been allowed to continue growing while the number of people decreased, the situation on the island would have ended up being unsustainable.”
Although the Kamimotos are in good health, there is no guarantee that they will spend the rest of their days in Aoshima, where there are no medical services. “If the island is deserted in the near future and there are still cats, volunteer groups and individuals will take in as many as they can,” Takino says, adding that some could also be housed in shelters.
“It’s very sad, but I think people will disappear before cats. The island has almost 400 years of history, but it will become extinct. The best we can do is take care of them until the end.”
Fumiko Ono, a professor at the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine at Okayama University of Science, said there was no alternative to the sterilization program. “Given the aging and declining population of the island, spaying and neutering the cats was the best option.”
According to Ono, who is part of a team that has been monitoring the health of the cats, “It is difficult to predict, but even if the islanders continue to care for the cats, the feline population is likely to decline as the human population ages. “Caring for the animals can become too difficult, so we believe additional measures should be implemented, such as relocating some of the cats to new homes.”
Decline and decay are visible on this narrow strip of flat land that was once home to a small, close-knit community of fishing families: empty houses with broken windows covered with yellowed newspaper pages, a faded and rotting wooden balustrade in what was once a grand old house. The only school, up the hill next to a Shinto shrine where fishermen prayed for safety at sea, is eerily silent.
In the afternoon, the second and last ferry of the day brings dozens of tourists. They have an hour to explore and play with the cats in a designated feeding area. They take photos and empty snack packages on the floor, while their new furry friends are unfazed by the encounter with another group of strangers who whisper affectionate words to them.
Naoko—known to many as the “cat mom”—is the unofficial guardian of the felines, feeding them twice a day, administering medication, and keeping an eye on them while they interact with visitors. “People see images on the internet and think they are abandoned, but nothing could be further from the truth,” he says. “Some are blind, others are very thin and others look normal. But that is the reality of wild animals in places like this.”
Despite their obvious affection for the four-legged islanders, the couple does not allow them into their home. “We see them as pets, but they have their territory and we have ours,” says Hidenori, 74 years old. “Plus, they leave hair everywhere.”
Activity picks up again when Hidenori, a fisherman, returns from the sea with his catch. Moved by the possibility of feasting on a fish, the cats shake themselves out of their evening slumber, some stretched out on sun-warmed cement, others huddled in the shade between disused buoys and decaying fishing nets.
“Aoshima is not a tourist site or a cat theme park,” says Naoko, as the felines swarm around her. “It remains a living, breathing island.”
Translation by Julián Cnochaert.
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