Gōtoku-ji is tucked away in the Setagaya district, a 17th century Edo-period temple that happens to be the spiritual home of the maneki-neko — the beckoning cat you’ve seen in every Japanese restaurant window you’ve ever walked past. There is a lovely legend about how it got that way:

In the 17th century Edo period, a poor monk lived in a small, run-down temple in Setagaya. Despite his poverty, he took cats into the temple and shared his meager meals with them. One day, Lord Naotaka Ii of the Hikone district was out hunting when a storm suddenly came up and he took shelter under a mighty tree near the temple. At the entrance to the temple, he noticed a cat named Tama raising one paw as if to beckon him to the temple. Curious, he left his cover and went to the temple to get a better look at the strange cat. Just as he reached the temple, lightning struck the tree under which the ruler had been standing, completely destroying the large tree. Naotaka Ii was so grateful that he declared himself the patron of the temple, renovated it and turned it into his family temple.

I did in fact encounter a descendant of the legendary Tama during my visit. He declined to be photographed. He’s a cat — what did I expect.

Setagaya

There is a specially decorated Maneki-Neko train that serves the area, which sounds delightful until you discover it runs infrequently and is apparently treated as a tourist attraction in its own right. I took the Odawara Line to Gōtoku-ji station instead, and arrived to a part of Tokyo that felt like a different city entirely. Small shops, narrow streets, a quietly residential atmosphere that reminded me faintly of Italy — suburban life, unhurried and unperformative. Hard to square with the fact that Setagaya is actually the most populous district in Tokyo Prefecture.

I wandered through the streets at a gentle lunchtime pace and reached the temple within minutes. After the grandeur of Asakusa and Meiji-Jingū, the quiet here was striking. Very few tourists — understandably so, since the temple sits well off the main circuit and there isn’t much else drawing visitors to the area. Which, as it turns out, is precisely what makes it worth the trip.

Maneki-Neko in Gōtoku-ji

The temple itself is a beautiful Buddhist complex — a well-tended garden, weathered lanterns, a three-story pagoda renovated in 2006, and a historic bell. All lovely, but clearly not the main event. That honour belongs to the Shofuku-den, the small shrine dedicated to the beckoning cat.

Inside, over 2000 Maneki-Neko of every conceivable size line the shelves in silent, paw-raised rows — an sight that is simultaneously adorable and mildly overwhelming. You can buy one in the shop, leave it on the shelves with a wish written on a separate wooden board, and contribute to the ever-growing ceramic congregation. I chose to take mine home instead. It now sits beside Hubi’s urn, and the two of them keep watch over the household together — he was always a little lucky cat too, just a particularly rotund one.

One practical note: don’t leave the shop until late. By the time I arrived at around 3 p.m., stock was running low — one cat per person, and several sizes already gone entirely. I would happily have taken a few more as gifts. Something to keep in mind.

I spent a while enjoying the afternoon sun, drew water from the fountain in the traditional way, and held out hope for more feline encounters beyond Tama-San. The resident cats, however, had things to attend to. Around four o’clock I set off toward Miyanosaka, where I boarded the tram — a slower, gentler mode of transport that felt lifted straight out of a Studio Ghibli film.

All in all, a thoroughly worthwhile detour off the tourist trail, and one I’d recommend to anyone — not exclusively cat people, though it certainly helps. Entry is free and the complex stays open until 6 p.m.

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