When I was about 5 years old I took my cat, Heinrich, with me to kindergarten. I carried him in my arms on the way there, and left him to wait for me outside until school was over. When I came back he was gone. I walked home and hoped he would be there, but he wasn't. Every night I stood on the doorstep and called out his name — “Heinrich!" — into the dark garden but he never came. It was the first real loss in my life, and I was so sad.
Five years later my father came home with good news: He had found Heinrich! A colleague of his, who lived a few miles away had adopted a stray black and white cat at the time Heinrich got lost. I was so happy to get him back after all those years. But when we arrived at the man’s house, Heinrich didn't recognize us. He was an old cat quietly enjoying the twilight of his life — so we left him there in his new home.