The Cat

I came to the cave in a fit of emotions, a dangerous thing for a person such as myself. I came feeling as if I were ready to die, and commenced to sit and wait for time to wither me. At the time, I was prepared to take my own life if necessary, but I sat and reflected instead, thinking that it would not take much longer until I was ready. As I did, a great cat appeared—neither striped nor spotted and without a mane—hunkering into its domain. It was old and weak, and slowly dying. I watched, hidden in the shadows as it paced back and forth suddenly fearing for my life as the beast seemed to weigh its own options.
It did not attack. It acknowledged my presence with a heavy look in my direction, but why it left me and did not kill me for invading its cave was beyond me. I inched close to it, reached out and petted its nose as it breathed, all the while watching me. At that time, I saw a feeling in its eyes—a sort of emotion I could not place; I wanted to think it sympathized with me but I could not say. I felt sad, upset with myself for thinking stupidly about my own life and my options, while this creature sat here with me, dying, unable to stop its own demise.
Finally it collapsed to the ground, and there it lay, still staring up at me. It stopped its strained breaths, and I reached out to shut its eyes. I wanted to do more, but what could I do but mourn over such a gallant creature? I left that cave, and never returned, for fear that I would be reminded of such a foolish decision on my part, and I lived till an old age, and died as the cat died.