The Admiral adopted the Alférez at the turn of the century, as a six month old, the last of his litter, just before we moved to Miami. He was our first cat, and because we did not want Sebastian to be lonely when we left the house, he opened the door for Philippe and Isabella not too long afterwards. That was the first favor he did us.
He used up several cat lives. In 2005 in Miami Beach, he ate the ribbon of a birthday balloon, which had to be surgically removed; the scar ran from neck to lower belly. In 2009, he underwent a nuclear medicine treatment to combat an overeager thyroid. In 2013, he was diagnosed with renal failure, and given three months to live. No matter. Not much later, he moved aboard, and went on to travel to six countries in two continents for the next two-and-half years.
Sebastian was devoted to the Admiral. On land, in the air, or at sea, he curled at her side. During her shifts sailing Peregrinus, for instance, he sat on her left, like a dependable co-pilot, no matter the time of day or night. He found peace with the Admiral. He lived his long life in no small part because he trusted her and meekly accepted from his Admiral whatever procedures and medications were needed, without complaint.
Some said he was a lucky cat, but in truth, we are the ones blessed to have had him with us, even if the years with him now seem all too short. Sebastian went to rest, peacefully, in Cartagena, on January 23rd, 2016.