The Traveling Cat Chronicles made me cry in the best way

I spent this past week listening to The Travelling Cat Chronicles, and I wasn’t expecting it to move me the way it did. The story felt gentle at first, almost simple, but as it unfolded, it touched something deep: about life, friendship, and the quiet strength of commitment. Maybe it resonates more now that I’m getting older, when the bonds that endure feel even more precious.

The narration was a big part of why it stayed with me. George Blagden’s voice carried warmth and nuance, making every moment feel personal; sometimes light and amusing, sometimes heartbreakingly tender. It’s rare to find an audiobook where the performance feels like an extension of the story’s soul, but this was one of those times.

And then there’s Hiro Arikawa, the author. She began her career writing light novels, but this book is something else entirely: a meditation on companionship and gratitude, told through the eyes of a cat named Nana. It’s a story that doesn’t rush; it invites you to pause and notice the small, enduring acts of love that shape a life. Published in Japan in 2012 and later translated into English, it has become one of her most beloved works for good reason.

As I listened, I found myself thinking about the people, and pets, who have walked alongside me. Growing up, I had cats and dogs whose names I still remember, even though decades have passed. They were constants in a world that kept changing. And then there are the people I’ve lost, family, friends, whose absence still feels sharp at unexpected moments.

Being an expat adds another layer to this. Life abroad means gaining friendships and losing them all the time. People come into your life like chapters in a book. Intense, meaningful, and sometimes fleeting. You share meals, laughter, and secrets, and then one day, someone moves back home or on to another country. You promise to stay in touch, and sometimes you do, but often life gets in the way. And yet, those connections matter. They shape you, even if they don’t last forever.

What struck me most in this story was the quiet determination behind every choice. Satoru wants the best for Nana, even if it means letting go. There’s something profoundly moving about that kind of love, the kind that puts another’s well-being above your own.

And yet, Nana has his own ideas about what loyalty looks like. His journey isn’t just about being cared for; it’s about caring back, in ways that go beyond words, beyond even the limits of time. That silent understanding between them, unspoken but unwavering, feels like the heart of the book.

Listening to Nana’s journey reminded me that commitment isn’t always about permanence. It’s about showing up, again and again, for as long as you can. It’s about being present in the moments you’re given. That feels like a lesson worth holding onto.

If you’re looking for a reminder of what truly matters, this book will give you that. Just be ready, it might make you cry, but in the best way. I know, because I was crying as I listened on my daily walk. It was a good cry, the kind that clears something inside and leaves you feeling grateful for every bond that has shaped your life.