Seeking Out Caracals

One of the things I do to ensure my continued existence on this planet is sing Disney songs to
children on the telephone. I like this job for two reasons. For a start, when someone asks what I
do here in Tokyo, I get to say "I sing Disney songs to children on the telephone." In Japan —
where most foreigners teach English, whether they like it or not — this line is total gold dust.
There are two favoured methods of delivery.
The all-in-one approach. This involves describing my entire job in a single breath and in as
much detail as possible: "I sing Disney songs on the telephone in a call centre to predominantly
Japanese children who sometimes sing along and for some reason I get paid 30 quid an hour to
do this etc." Points are awarded for speed. This approach is marvellous because of the
expressions people tend to display as they process the information they've just heard and
contemplate if they could possibly have misheard.
The drip-fed approach. Here, we split the information into separate easily consumable bites.
Observe this example:
"So what do you do in Tokyo?"
"Well, I sing Disney songs..."
"Ah right. Like a recording artist, then? Sounds intere-"
"On the telephone."
"Wait, what? So you work from hom-"
"In a call centre."
"Huh? To, like, Disney enthusi-"
"To Japanese children between the ages of 0 and 18."
At first glance, the all-in-one approach may seem more fun, but skilled application of the drip-fed
approach can lead to far more satisfying results, particularly if you apply it over the course of a
20-minute conversation. The trick is knowing when to interrupt the other person.

As always, I digress. The other reason I enjoy this job is that some children request 10-minute
"free conversation" classes. Often, these require us to spend ten minutes trying to get the
children to speak in full sentences:

"So Takumi, what's your favourite colour?"

"Blue."
"OK, why is it your favourite colour?"
"... yes."

Not always, though. The other day, I had a child on the phone. I had a feeling his English was
pretty good because he had been able to answer the question "What's your name?" without
hesitation, deviation, or repetition. This is quite an achievement for an eight-year-old. However,
some doubt entered my mind when I asked what he wanted to talk about. "Caracals!" he
replied.

I should explain something here. After 1945, the Japanese language started lurking around dark
alleyways and waiting for the English language to go out to do its grocery shopping before
beating the shit out of it and stealing all its words. This is the reason for bi-ruu (beer),
dekorehshon keki (fancy cake), and konsento (plug socket, for fucks sake, I will never know this
language).

Armed with this information, my brain went into overdrive trying to work out what exactly this
poor child might mean. "Calico?" I hazarded. "Like … the fabric?" Nope, apparently this child
was not a textile enthusiast. "Caracals!" he insisted, understandably quite pissed off that I wasn't
getting this right. "Well, all right," I said, typing "Carackles (?!?!)" into the lesson request field on
the computer. "Tell me about carackles!"

I honestly took notes during the next ten minutes. Caracals are a type of wildcat native to Africa
and parts of Russia. They can jump over 12 feet into the air to catch airbourne birds. They can
run as fast as a baby cheetah with a gym membership, and sometimes they get eaten by
crocodiles. But not often, because they have extremely large ears that are useful for detecting
predators or eavesdropping on their neighbours.

Each fact was precluded with the phrase, "Did you know…?"

"Did you know caracals can jump 12 feet into the air?"
"No, I didn't know these things existed until about three minutes ago."
"Did you know they sometimes catch two birds at a time?"
"It is quite literally news of the freshest possible variety to me, kid."

What really impressed me was the unrelenting enthusiasm with which each factoid was
expressed. This child had stayed up until 3am looking at pictures of caracals on the internet. He
had binge-watched every single caracal video on Youtube. He had sent emails to scientists,
requesting dried caracal poo to be sent to his home address.

The wonderful thing about this sort of enthusiasm is that it's infectious. I had no idea what
caracals were when I woke up that morning. After ten minutes, I was convinced they were the
most awesome things ever. I even used my paltry seven-and-a-half minute break to Google the
Hell out of them, and I am not even remotely ashamed to admit it.

Now, I'm not going to say that, as adults in a dark and confusing world, our enthusiasm has
been reduced to empty Buzzfeed lists and Facebook 'likes,' because I don't think that's fair. But
few people can be as enthusiastic about anything in the same way as an eight-year-old. We
become objective in our reasoning. We lose the belief that something can be the most amazing
thing ever. We come to the realization that not everyone can be as interested as we are in the
hind leg capabilities of an African wildcat as we are. (12 feet, right? Straight up into the air.
BAM. Bye bye, birdies).

I have met, and even dated, adults who retain that childlike capacity for enthusiasm. I once had
a discussion on snow monkeys with a guy I was seeing. The next thing I knew, he was planning
for us both to go and see snow monkeys in Nagano. We had to bunk off work and spend hours
travelling, but it was worth it. It remains the sexiest thing someone has ever done for me.

So what's the takeaway from this meandering story, I hear you ask? (But not literally because I
am on my own in my room as I write this). Being lectured passionately by an eight-year-old on
the subject of caracals cheered me up no end on a day when I was thinking that the world - and
everyone in it - was a little bit shit.

So talk about the things you love. Talk about them passionately. And give other people the
chance to do the same. Listen to them. Ask questions. Be interested. That's all.

… well, not quite.

Before I said goodbye to that little boy on the phone, I asked him what he wanted to be if he
grew up.

"I'm going to be a pilot," he said, with nothing less than 100% certainty. "So I can fly to where
the caracals live and take pictures of them. And I want you to come with me."

Hell, yes. If anyone needs me, I will be seeking out the caracals.

Fun Caracal Facts

Chinese emperors used to have a habit of bestowing caracals on foreign dignitaries and the like
as "gifts". Given that they're wild animals, I'm not sure how well they were received because I
bet they wreck houses.

In colonial India, a number of caracals would be placed in a pen full of pigeons, and bets would
be placed on which caracal would bring down the largest number of pigeons with a one-paw
swipe. This pastime is credited with the creation of the British idiom 'to set the cat among the
pigeons.'

Embalmed caracals have been discovered in Egypt. Cats were once worshipped there as gods.
They have not forgotten this.