I saw him squat there, under a gawker stall, day by day. He barely has fur left, and his bones are poking out of the thin layer of skin; the only protection he has from his surrounding.

I can see it from his size, that he used to be a fine man among his own breed. A champion, a road warrior, but now he is old, and his prime time must have been robbed off him by younger street cats.
And all he has now, is the skin and bone, and an empty tummy grumbling too long.

I cannot take him in. The sanctuary is full, if not overloaded, but my guilt is too great to leave him be.

My blood boils when I see him squat yet on the same spot, with the seller standing right beside him, smiling by himself, staring at his cell phone. He was so taken from his surrounding by that thing that he completely ignore a customer approaching him and place an order, and when that ignorant seller finally realize what's going on, moving in rush, kicking him. He felt disturbed, swore at the cat, kick the poor creature some more, and completely ignore it.

I stormed forward; and while that seller welcome me with a fake smile, I brushed pass him, pick the cat up, and bring him home.

He is definitely malnourished. He is dehydrated, His eyes were watery, and he is full of mange. His skin was thick and crusty like a rhino's. He didn't even try to escape or fight when I handle him, he probably don't care anymore about what happened, though I can see itin his eyes the tenderness of a child longing for love and gentleness that he might never have on the street.

It took me months to get him to look like cat again, and this holiday season, it will mean he has been staying with us for a year. His name is Samson.

I have rid him of his persistent mange. It took me doses of medication and various injection that makes the veterinarian wonder. It took me repetitive cycle to destroy all the resistant parasites in the inside, it took me insurmountable of special food for his delicate system, wrecked by the abuse of harsh street life.

Samson is approximately ten years old, according to the vet, but that is mostly because his teeth is so bad. We can't be sure how old he is exactly, but from the way he acted daily, we think he is probably around that age anyway.

Other stories about Samson:

The First Noel: Samson