Recall that moment and write 500 words.

The world is full of miracles, pushing open the small window of memory and splicing the fragments of memory. Some things are not simple stories in their own eyes. Close your eyes gently, but inadvertently think of the old back, recall that moment, with sadness as if ignoring life and death.

That is a cat, not an old cat. It's not a rare species, and it's covered in hair.

I remember the first time I saw it, it was at menstruation's house. I was not old at that time, but I could pick it up with one hand. Look at it in the summer vacation. It's already the mother of several kittens. When I habitually stretched out a hand to grasp it, I found it was old, and the turbidity and vicissitudes in my eyes were an unspeakable feeling. It began to guard against me, and I have to say that I am afraid of it.

One day, it quietly basked in the sun under the eaves. I walked over and it looked at me warily, but it didn't pounce as usual. But when I got a little closer to it, it suddenly opened its green eyes and ran away. I haven't seen it for several days since then. Another day passed, and it appeared under the eaves again. I asked the elderly people, and they said that the cat was dying and wanted to find a quiet place for themselves. I sometimes think that if it dies under the eaves, it will be unlucky, but it avoids me again, so I have to let it go helplessly. Until one day, it was sultry in summer. I tried to open the window to get some air, but my hand shrank back as soon as I touched the glass. I saw a cat on the windowsill. He looked at me sideways, closed his eyes and looked serene. I saw her eyes glowing in a trance. It was a tear, which had turned amber. Maybe it can't bear it? Or maybe the child is not at ease? I don't know. The next day, the old cat disappeared. It slept in a nest made of firewood far away from home and closed its eyes forever. Listen to the old man who sticks firewood in the neighboring village. He told me that the cat's eyes were stained with something sticky and a little gray ... I remembered its quiet appearance under the eaves again and felt unlucky to die. ...

When I came to menstruation's house again in the winter vacation, the kittens all grew up, but I remembered the old cat and everything about it. After all, the human heart and the animal heart are different. Perhaps the word maturity is more suitable for animals that are used as toys. Humans, please protect animals! Maybe this is the only thing we can do for them.