Pablo was a very old cat. You could easily feel his back bones when petting him. He shed hair, leaving a distinctive trace. His big green eyes had a whitish velvet surface, he probably suffered from cataracts. Other than that he was a common tabby cat, very slim, white belly, he became part of the environment, as if he was invisible. He never asked for food. He walked very slowly, like measuring his steps. Walking along the corridor his figure resembled a pilgrim in a long journey. Once he reached his end point, he sat quietly, regaining his breath and looking around. He was calm and transmitted peace. Pablo was old, but the kind of old I would like to be: calm, slow, industrious, relatively healthy, no pains and debilitating sufferings. He did not eat much, a few bites. He never vomited, no major issues. The litter box had a terrible smell, his urine had a intense note. Nobody’s perfect.
His owner, Mr Baginski, was a serious man, he was in his 70’s. He was leaving the city to visit his sick daughter in Chicago. Not sure if it was because of the circumstances but Mr Baginski had a defensive look. He looked isolated. We barely exchanged a few words. We set Pablo free off his carrier, he gave me a few cat supplies. He asked me to mix Pablo’s food with lukewarm water. His cat almost never drank and needed to drink, that was important. He was in a rush, a cab was waiting outside to drive him to JFK airport.
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