Those who know me well, know how much I love cats. Not just mine, that I cherish not only as a child but that I place, obviously, very high on a scale of beauty, kindness and perfection. Not. I love all cats, whether they are pure and graceful race, or simple gutter cats with all these morphological defects that make them so endearing: a snout of traverse, eyes too close together, a skeleton a little too thin …

Every time I cross a cat in the street, it’s stronger than me: I can’t help but approach it. I almost always get to tame them quickly, and it is naturally that they first come to sniff me, then rub my legs like to thank me for taking the time to greet them.

Saturday afternoon, while I was walking with a friend at the Butte aux Cailles, I crossed the emerald look of an absolutely splendid cat. To tell you the truth, I think this is the first time I thought “this cat is more beautiful than mine” (based on purely aesthetic criteria of course). To see his coat of fire as bright, there is no doubt that his master takes care of him daily. In order to spoil nothing, he was not savage for two sous and blithely left to photograph, with sometimes even the air to take the pose. Probably to please me, the cat friend.

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