On August 22nd, I brought a cat to the vet. I first saw this very thin male cat three days before that and I tried to feed him with some cat food that I have from my lost cat. I could tell that he was about four months old because I rescued his sister in late March. He was struggling to swallow the food and it was more painful fro him to poop, even the color was dark because it was mixed with blood and sticked on his orange fur. That day my feeling told me to bring him to a vet, but I was too selfish to do my work and deliver a small feature on time.
On Saturday morning I found him in a nearby mosque entrance. I tried to feed him with a pipette but he refused, I also got him a small box with couple of my tshirts for his bed, he looked comfortable in it. He got scabies on both of his ears. I called the vet place and found out that they were open since 6 am. So I went back to my place to find a bag to put him. At first I called him Paco but then I changed it to Buroq, a mythical creature that was used by the prophet in Islamic literature. I called him Buroq because I was so optimistic that he will fight it and survive. He got scared to know that he was being taken away, so I wrapped both my tshirt to cover his body before get into the car.
When I arrived to the vet place, Buroq was still close to my chest until a nurse took him to get his weight. When I met the doctor, he said Buroq had anorexia, his body temperature was 33.6 C way below normal, he got ear-mites too, and fcov so he needed to be hospitalized.
That night I was forecasting my spending for the next three months since another kitten would join my clan. Around 10:30pm that night I got a text from the nurse, the very bad news that the doctor tried to warn me earlier that day. I blamed myself that night for not following my feeling to save Buroq the first day I saw him. On Sunday afternoon I buried Buroq behind my place near a chilly plant.