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‘Of course, the first thing I noticed about Pavlov was the way he looked. I mean, it’s the very first thing anyone notices about everyone, you can’t help it. But still…’ The cat half lidded her azure eyes as she remembered. ‘It’s not every day you see a blue Russian cat of plain bluish grey soft fur, with long, dreadlocked hair, dressed in a closely cut apparently very expensive Italian suit that only emphasized his wiry frame. It was a play of contrasts, everything about it was wrong, and yet somehow it worked. The thing is, he doesn’t look like a stud. He’s not muscular. Not fat. He’s not even that handsome. His manhood is of a regular length. If anything he‘s just a bit tall. But somehow there was a truth to all these elements that made him really endearing to you. The suit is so silly, though, he wears them all the damn time. On cold days he’d wear a long grey charcoal coat over the jet black suit and if it weren’t for the dreadlocks, you’d think him a young enterprising CEO. That is, until you looked at his face properly.’
She leaned forward in her sitting position, now entranced in her own memories and narrative as she continued, a wide smile forming on her muzzle. ‘You’d look at him and he’d be always looking serious, lost in thought with this mile long stare. As if he was looking at some faraway place in his mind. You knew he had seen a lot, and some of it had stuck with him, maybe painfully. However, as soon as you’d engaged him, he’d have this lovely shy warm smile for you, always, no matter what.’
‘Our time was very brief, but I managed to learn a great deal about him. You see, he’s a lone wolf, that’s his nature. But more often than not he does look for companionship, though he’ll never admit it. Even then, it’s like he was an alien entity of sorts, just learning from its surroundings, and you are a part of that environment, so he has to learn from you, too, and that’s why he chose to be with you. It could get to be a bit jarring.’
‘As far as I know, he grew up in the steppes, he used to joke there is Hun blood in him, but then he used to joke about a lot of things. He was raised by his elderly grandfather, who taught him how to hunt, stalk, all the necessary abilities for surviving in the cold unforgiving place he was born in. He didn’t know much about his parents, or even if the cat he knew as a grandfather was even related to him at all. After he passed away he decided there should be more to life, and set out to wander the world. Moscow taught him a lot of bad habits, and truths about life, especially when you’re a half starved teenager who has never seen a city before. He learned quickly, though. He knows his way around a street brawl, and is not afraid to draw blood, or even be vicious. It’s that Hun thing again. However it’s not at all like him to look for trouble. Anyway, by the time he got to Berlin, on foot, there was little he didn’t know or experienced. From there onwards everything else was a fun bonus to him. He used to say the dreadlocks came from Jamaica, where he learned a lot more, learned how to love and mellowed out from the hard life, tuned to survival, always on edge, that he used to lead before.’
‘Yeah, he doesn’t look like a stud at all, but he’s learned his tricks somewhere along the way. He’s so dedicated and caring, all the time he’s with you, and afterwards, but give him some time, and it’s like nothing ever happened. He can be so detached, in a way. But still, leaves you nice memories.
