He was beautiful, our Frimousse, wasn’t he? Even on the last day. At the last hour, I should write.
He was quiet, resigned, facing the inevitable. We would have liked so much to keep him with us! But he was no longer the lively cat, running in his garden, climbing on his lime tree, running up at full speed to eat his big shrimps. We gave him as much love as we could. But keeping him as he was on that day of April would have been selfishness from our part.
He let us lay him gently in the box.
He knew, Frimousse.