猫咪Gonzalo
没想到在此刻提及Gonzalo的时候他已经离开了
Gonzalo是一只柔软又坚强的猫
它的一条腿有一点点瘸
那是因为10年前的它从将近10楼的高楼摔下去
而它活下来了但腿有些问题
我第一去看家的时候
它因为年老生病在医院
1月14日房东M跟说说她心都碎了（中国时间傍晚）
因为Gonzalo状况很不好
也跟我说了她的决定：明天让他睡过去
而同样1月14日的一早姐姐跟我说
昨天晚上12点回来的时候月亮很亮
有点小时候的样子 又亮又圆
而M决定了农历16日让Gonzalo不要继续痛苦的离去
我当时就跟她发了14日晚我拍的月亮给她
我知道她懂 我跟她分享过一首诗是
李白的《静夜思》
那是一个很美的夜晚
我们一起赏月和体会这诗的意境
初遇Gonzalo是4月份的时候
是我还未见到它之时
我去看房跟M聊了1个多钟
她就跟我说G在医院
因为有癌症
虽然我还未搬入，但M有跟我分享G毛剃了缝针的图片
我当时是有些不敢看和心疼
其实对于猫那个时候
我是怕的也不敢撸的
6月我搬入了家
我很喜欢Gonzalo和Miso的高冷与优雅
而最让人爱的是他们的眼睛
Gonzalo
它此时的毛发长起来了
许是年纪老了
它不像Miso那么调皮
但却又有自己内在的一份优雅和从容在
在我做饭菜的时候
Gonzalo总喜欢一台阶二台阶跳
跳到桌上，然后坐立前2抓交叉
默默的陪伴着我
其实它和Miso都不怎么粘人
我很喜欢
一开始我还是挺怕这种毛茸茸的动物主动接触的
而6月12日突然在阳台上
Gonzalo主动跳到我身上
那一刻我是幸福的温暖的
我是一个新手
体验着撸猫的欢乐
我也知道这是它对我放下的防备
而我通过一段时间很喜欢它和Miso
日子就这么平淡的过着
我非常适应有喵咪
每天回来会逗逗
有一天快递员上门送件
一个激灵Gonzalo跑出了门外
我拿着快递并且在机器上签署着名字
放下快递
我跑下楼梯唤着他的名字
感谢它在并没跑远
我第一次主动的抱着它回房屋
平时我都是拍拍我的大腿
让它主动跳上来
它如若是不跳 那也就算了
10月份我旅行回来
一个月未见到Gonzalo
它有了很大的变化
它不再跳桌子了
它不再在大厅的篮子里睡觉了
而是跑到了电视机房的床上
许是温度稍有些变凉了
确也是真的感觉它虚弱了很多
10月后的午后
只要下午没课
在有阳光的日子里
我大部分的时间跟Gonzalo和Miso躺在沙发床上
一起睡着享受太阳的温暖
10月份的瓦伦开始有些起凉风
但中下午时刻Gonzalo总喜欢在阳光下沐浴
12月份当我再一次从外面待了几天回来
我感觉它更虚弱了
猫粮都不需要很多 只是需要更多的水
偶尔它会跑到我床上跟我玩耍
我珍惜着与他们相处的日子
在我准备离开的那天
上午我把东西打包好
中午我约了朋友来把冰箱的菜清掉
我们一起吃了顿饭
饭后发现我床上有些异物
那是Gonzalo在我床上吐的
朋友的包，我的衣服袋子和床单上都有些泛黄
下午M回来送我
我跟她说Gonzalo在我床上吐了
被单我来不及清洗了
我不知道这是不是Gonzalo跟我道别的方式
只是我很担心它
此时它的呼吸声都很重了
临走的时候我跑去电视房去摸摸它的头
就当最后的道别了
没想到书写它的时候就已经是两别了
尽管是半年时间
但Gonzalo的自处 自爱 从容 优雅 温柔等展现的淋漓尽致
此刻带着无尽的思念缅怀
Gonzalo the Cat
I never imagined that when I mentioned Gonzalo now, he would already be gone.
Gonzalo was a soft yet resilient cat. One of his legs was slightly lame—a result of surviving a fall from nearly the tenth floor ten years ago. He lived, but his leg never fully recovered.
The first time I went to see the apartment, he was already old and sick, hospitalized. On January 14th, my landlord M told me (around evening time in China) that her heart was broken—Gonzalo’s condition had worsened. She also shared her decision with me: tomorrow, she would let him go peacefully.
Coincidentally, earlier that same day on January 14th, my sister had told me that the night before, at midnight, the moon was exceptionally bright—round and luminous, just like in childhood. M had decided to let Gonzalo pass without further pain on the 16th day of the lunar month. That evening, I sent her a photo I had taken of the moon. I knew she would understand. One of the poem I shared with her was Li Bai’s “Quiet Night Thought.” That was a beautiful night—we admired the moon together, and felt the essence of this poem.
I first “met” Gonzalo in April, before I had even seen him in person. When I went to view the apartment, M and I talked for over an hour, and she told me Gonzalo was in the hospital—he had cancer. Though I hadn’t moved in yet, M shared photos of him with shaved fur and stitches. At the time, I was too afraid to look closely; my heart ached for him. Back then, I was still somewhat afraid of cats and hesitant to pet them.
In June, I moved in. I quickly grew to love Gonzalo and Miso’s aloof elegance—but what captivated me most were their eyes. By then, Gonzalo’s fur had grown back. Perhaps because of his age, he wasn’t as playful as Miso, but he carried himself with a quiet dignity and composure.
Whenever I cooked, Gonzalo would hop up onto the counter, step by step, then sit with his front paws crossed, silently keeping me company. Neither he nor Miso were particularly clingy, and I liked that. At first, I was still nervous when furry creatures approached me. But on June 12th, out of nowhere, Gonzalo jumped onto my lap while I was on the balcony. In that moment, I felt nothing but warmth and happiness—I was a novice, discovering the joy of petting a cat. I knew then that he had lowered his guard around me.
Over time, I grew deeply fond of both him and Miso. Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I adapted effortlessly to having cats around, playing with them every day when I got home.
One day, a delivery person came to the door, and Gonzalo darted outside in a flash. As I signed for the package, I quickly put it down and ran down the stairs, calling his name. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone far. It was the first time I ever picked him up to bring him back inside—usually, I’d just pat my lap and wait for him to jump up on his own. If he didn’t, I’d let it be.
When I returned from a trip in October, after a month away, Gonzalo had changed noticeably. He no longer jumped onto the table. He no longer slept in the living room basket but instead curled up on the bed in the TV room. Maybe it was the slight chill in the air—but I could tell he had grown weaker.
On sunny afternoons after October, whenever I didn’t have classes, I’d often lie on the sofa bed with Gonzalo and Miso, napping together under the warm sunlight. Even as Valencia grew cooler in October, Gonzalo still loved basking in the afternoon sun.
By December, when I came back after another short trip, he seemed even frailer. He ate very little, only drinking more water than usual. Occasionally, he’d climb onto my bed to play. I cherished every moment with them.
On the day I was preparing to leave, I packed my things in the morning and invited a friend over in the afternoon to finish the food in the fridge. We shared a meal together. After eating, I discovered something strange on my bed—Gonzalo had vomited there. My friend’s bag, my clothes, and the bedsheet were all stained yellow.
When M returned in the afternoon to see me off, I told her about Gonzalo’s accident. I apologized for not having time to wash the sheets. I didn’t know if this was his way of saying goodbye—but I was deeply worried about him. His breathing had become so labored.
Before leaving, I went to the TV room one last time to stroke his head—a final farewell. I never thought that by the time I wrote these words, we would already be separated.
Though it was only six months, Gonzalo embodied self-possession, dignity, resilience, elegance, and gentleness in every way. Now, with endless longing, I remember him.
