He died in the apartment where he lived with his family. I’m not talking about his sisters or all those nieces who immediately claimed their home as heirs because they had no children. She died with her two dogs. A cross taken from the street and a fluffy poodle half lame due to years and old age. They were his last company.
The police warned me and I approached the house. It was one of those modern families that did not combine DNA or blood, but combined solitude. The house was clean and tidy. Two bowls of food and water on the floor presided over the kitchen. The animals lay at the foot of the bed where their owners slept.
It wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced something similar. Same thing always happens. Surprised because they haven’t seen anyone for a long time or heard the helpless barking of dogs, the neighbors finally report to the police and the police open the door after the necessary checks.
A close relative is found there. The rest are legal procedures. The person is buried, and the animals are placed at the disposal of their relatives, who will hardly be able to feed them. Interestingly, no one refuses jewelry, money or housing, everyone can always gladly accept them. But animals are something else.
So often, what usually happens is that those poor dogs or cats go from living in a house overnight to living in a cage. And in this case, the same thing would have happened if one of the angels who occasionally appeared to help the animals had not appeared there. This time he was in uniform as he was one of the cops. He said he felt sorry for the animals and wanted to adopt them. I already told you, I call them the angels of animals because they seem to help you, at least when you imagine it.