When I left the house to go to work in the morning, I had a great panic. Goncagul was not there. I looked left and right, toward the back of the wall where he was always dozing off, calling for a kitten, turning my head in the treetops and whispering his name, but he didn't show up.However, for the last eight years of my life, he had come to me every time I left the house. The same thing happened every day. First he would try to rub my legs, meow a little and then walk with me to the end of the road. Although I was not privileged, I knew that he had given this ceremonial farewell to a few other people in the apartment. But he still made me feel special. There weren't as many palm trees in the garden as the gaudy ones in the apartment, which they decorated with illuminated ornaments on New Year's Eve and holidays. It wasn't the first time in eight years that she'd queued up and rushed to my side. First time. Goncagul's absence whispered in my ear that today would be an extraordinary day different from the others.I went to the supermarket, checking under the cars parked on the side of the road.