Until the Last Encounter
HAVANA TIMES — In the beginning he wasn’t called Gabi. He was simply a frightened kitten in the middle of a bustle of human feet on muddy ground.
The moment he came into this world, the weeks of nursing from a loving mother, the first visions of everything around him, blurry at first, then more precise, all of it suddenly vanished when someone, one day, grabbed him and dropped him off somewhere else.
It was a fenced-in plot of land that turned to mud if it rained. There were almost always humans going in and out. There was also a little female dog he immediately became attached to. She sensed his fear and protected him with her warm body. One of the humans gave them some food once a day. Sometimes Gabi felt hungry, but he didn’t dare go outside even though there were gaps in the fence he could slip through.
Where would he go? What if things were worse out there? True, here he was sometimes pushed away with a foot or scared off with whatever object was at hand.
Sometimes a child tried to catch him and he would avoid him. But sometimes, someone would place a big pile of food in front of him, pet him and speak softly while he devoured it eagerly, and delightfully saw that they were serving him more.
*****
The first time I saw Gabi I thought he was female. He looked beautiful even with his dirty, scruffy coat. I felt the impulse to take him out of there. But I couldn’t. I asked the owner of the place (a kind of small agricultural market where they sold produce). The man clarified that he was male and that he had no interest in having him neutered.
Days went by. Whenever I could and bought ground meat for my cats, I would go to the farm. Gabi recognized me and came running. I would place the meat on a high, clean surface. He always seemed so hungry! I always walked away distressed, thinking he was too fragile for that environment.
*****
Gabi didn’t understand words. Instead, he could feel the energy that thoughts gave off. Some humans around him didn’t want him there, so he learned to stay out of their sight as much as possible. Nights were best. There was silence and the place was finally deserted. He could go out exploring. Climb through the bushes. Flee if he was chased by some intruding cat, always strong and fierce. Sometimes he found edible things among the grass. Or chased an insect, a mouse, until he grew tired and went back to curl up beside the little dog. There were also strange nights. He vomited, had diarrhea, and lacked the strength to go exploring through the grass.
*****
One day I passed by the farm and Gabi looked weak, with a sheen of exhaustion in his eyes. And his little snout was dry.
The owner already knew of me through the rescuer who had taken care of the little dog’s sterilization. So he allowed me to take Gabi to a veterinarian. For several days I picked him up in a carrier and at the clinic he was dewormed and given vitamin injections.
*****
Nights and some days once again became pleasant. Running through the nocturnal silence, unseen, stretching out in the sun after a cold rain. Trying to lick the mud-stained paws… Eating what they gave or searching for food. Sleeping, sleeping… Waking up frightened by a noise or a shake.
*****
I’ll never know exactly how much time passed. Maybe two years. I stopped buying the food for my cats in that area. One time I went to the farm and Gabi came running, smelled my empty hands, and although I stroked him, he walked away disappointed. A rescuer who lived closer told me she brought him food and he always devoured it desperately. When chance took me through that street, I preferred not to go in if I didn’t have food for him. I limited myself to searching for him from the outside with my eyes. As soon as I spotted him, I felt immense relief and could leave more at ease.
But one day I was walking nearby looking for rice and saw that everything at the farm had changed. The shelves where they placed the produce were not the same, the door was different, and even the vendors seemed unfamiliar. I felt something wedge itself in my chest like a spike and, holding back tears, I asked what had happened to the man who had managed the place. One vendor said he no longer worked there and had no idea where he’d gone. I naively asked, “But what about the little cat?” The man looked at me, surprised, and shrugged.
I went outside and cried, and as if an abyss had opened beneath my feet, I didn’t know how to accept never seeing Gabi again. Then I remembered that a friend knew the former manager and I called her. She told me that they had indeed moved and told me where I could find them.
I walked on, unable to contain my anxiety. Yes, there they were: the place was smaller, with less vegetation, surrounded by an improvised, incomplete fence.
Under the counter the little dog lay stretched out on a sack. And Gabi, a bit tense from the change. I was so happy to see him that I picked him up to my face without feeling ashamed of my tears. I felt his limp little body, the dull fur, the watery eyes. The man confirmed he was sick and asked me if I could take him to the vet again. I said yes.
We left without a carrier, I held him to my chest, and I swore that never again would they separate us.
Oh, he was dehydrated, anemic, with signs of liver problems…! The veterinarian couldn’t hydrate him intravenously. She was blunt: “He’s in serious condition. If you want to save him, he can’t go back to that farm.”
I told her I understood. I brought him home, continued the treatment, and watched every detail of his progress: he ran to hide in terror if a door opened, if there was a noise, if anyone but me tried to hold him. He didn’t understand kisses or affection unless they were tied to food.
It took effort to relax, to trust his surroundings, to climb onto the bed, to bask in the sun beside the other cats. It was hard for him to stop feeling anxious about food, to accept that it was there, secure and abundant.
When he was neutered, the veterinarian extracted a loose tooth.
He began to blossom. To play. To be happy.
My rescuer friends told me not to go near the farm. That the owner hadn’t taken it well…
I remembered a fixed idea I’d had the first day my eyes and Gabi’s met, when I’d had the impulse to grab him and take him away: “One day we are going to be together, you and I. Because a remote, invisible thread ties us, heart to heart. And destiny is stronger than anything.”
