The ferry was supposed to go to Matsuyama, but a miscommunication with the ticket clerk landed me on a 35-minute journey to somewhere called Aoshima. As we approached this tiny speck in the Seto Inland Sea, I noticed something extraordinary through the morning mist.
Dozens of cats lined the small concrete pier, waiting. Not one or two strays, but an entire feline welcoming committee. The ferry captain chuckled at my confusion and said simply, “Neko no shima” — Cat Island.
What I discovered that September morning would completely reshape how I think about Japan’s hidden corners and the unexpected magic that happens when humans step back and let nature reclaim space.
The moment I stepped off the ferry changed everything
Twenty cats surrounded me within seconds
The instant my feet touched Aoshima’s pier, I was engulfed by curious cats emerging from every crevice and abandoned building corner. These weren’t the skittish feral cats I expected — they approached with the confidence of longtime island residents greeting a visitor. Some brushed against my legs, others simply observed from nearby perches, and a few bold ones began following me down the 20-meter main alley that constitutes the island’s entire thoroughfare.
The mathematics of this place defied belief
Later, I learned the stunning reality: only five elderly humans remain on Aoshima, while approximately 80 cats call this 1.6-kilometer island home. That creates a ratio of roughly 16 cats for every human resident — a statistic that transforms from amusing trivia to profound experience when you’re actually standing among them, realizing you’re witnessing something that exists nowhere else on Earth.
What the abandoned village revealed about transformation
Every building tells a story of gradual surrender
Walking through Aoshima feels like exploring a real-life Miyazaki film set. Former fishing homes stand with doors slightly ajar, their interiors slowly being reclaimed by nature while cats have claimed the sunny windowsills and covered porches. The school building, post office, and community center remain structurally intact but functionally empty — monuments to a community that peaked decades ago when fishing sustained entire families here.
The cats have adapted with remarkable intelligence
What struck me most profoundly was watching the cats navigate their transformed environment. They’ve established feeding territories, created social hierarchies, and developed routines that revolve around the two daily ferry arrivals at 8:35 AM and 3:05 PM. Each cat seems to understand that visitors often bring food, but they’ve also learned to forage and hunt, creating a semi-wild existence that feels both dependent and fiercely independent.
The cultural guardian who changed my perspective
Meeting the island’s last caretaker
Near the old shrine, I encountered an elderly woman locals call “Cat Mama” — one of Aoshima’s five remaining human residents. Through broken English and patient gestures, she explained how the 2018 spaying and neutering program means no new kittens will be born. I was witnessing the final generation of Aoshima’s famous cat colony, a realization that shifted my tourist curiosity into something deeper and more poignant.
Understanding the conservation reality
Cat Mama showed me the designated feeding areas and explained the delicate balance required to maintain both cat welfare and island ecosystem health. Her dedication to caring for these animals while the human community gradually fades represents a form of interspecies stewardship I’d never considered. She’s not just feeding cats — she’s preserving the final chapter of an accidental experiment in coexistence.
Why this discovery transformed how I travel
The power of unplanned encounters
My accidental arrival at Aoshima taught me that Japan’s most profound experiences often lie beyond guidebook recommendations. This wasn’t a luxury destination with glass igloos or a carefully marketed attraction. It was raw, authentic, and ephemeral — qualities that make travel memorable rather than simply photographable.
Witnessing the end of something extraordinary
Standing among those 80 cats, knowing they represent the conclusion of Aoshima’s transformation, created an urgency I rarely feel as a traveler. Unlike Greece’s established cat sanctuaries or Iceland’s puffin colonies, Aoshima exists in decline — beautiful, peaceful, and temporary.
That missed ferry connection became the most important travel mistake I ever made. Sometimes the best discoveries happen when we stop trying to control our itineraries and start paying attention to the unexpected detours.
If you find yourself in Ehime Prefecture with an extra day, take that ¥700 ferry ride from Nagahama Port. You’ll discover something far more valuable than another temple or museum — you’ll witness the quiet magic that emerges when humans and animals learn to share space on their own terms.
Frequently asked questions about visiting Aoshima
How do I actually get to this cat island?
Take the train from Matsuyama Station to Iyo-Nagahama Station (59 minutes, ¥770), then walk 15 minutes to Nagahama Port. Two daily ferries depart at 8:00 AM and 2:30 PM, with the journey taking 35 minutes each way. Ferry capacity is limited to 34 passengers, so early arrival is essential.
What should I bring for the cats and myself?
The island has no facilities — no restaurants, shops, or vending machines. Bring water, snacks, sun protection, and cat food if you wish to feed the residents. Cash is required for the ¥700 ferry fare, paid directly on board.
Is this experience sustainable given the aging cat population?
All cats were spayed and neutered in 2018, meaning the current population represents the final generation. The experience becomes more poignant knowing you’re witnessing the conclusion of this unique ecosystem, making respectful visits increasingly important.
AloJapan.com