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(This story is dedicated to the memory of the cat ‘Gola’. His brief life was permeated with many loves and neglects from my end. Even his death taught me a lesson. Mortally ill, one night, he went away on his own to experience his death. No one saw him after that.)   There’s no way to know whether he was blind from birth or blindness was something he had picked up from his fights with other cats. He wasn’t an urban cat. He lived in a little village, soaked in the smell of fish with a river running right beside it. Cats like these have stories of a different kind. The two-storied hotel where he lived had a wooden floor. It stood right on the riverbank and had more than a tilt towards the river, as if deliberately leaning on the water.