Cosita Linda

Written By: Maria Victoria Almarza

Photographed by Sylvester Sabo

My cat got ran over by a car last week. I got the call from my mom on my way to

work; she said he’d been puking and she took him to the vet. Then, she told me to call off work. That’s when I knew something wasn’t right. On my way home, I spoke to my friend Yanser, so I could calm down and drive. When I got there, she told me everything. The truck, how my cat slipped out of her hands, the blood, the drive and the verdict. He had broken his tail and his back legs; he was bleeding internally. There was nothing I could do to save him. My knees buckled and I fell down to the floor. I had seen him just that morning. I wailed over and over “mi bebé.” I got to say goodbye one last time; half of his body was covered, his eyes were open but unaware and I kissed his head, caressed his chin, smelled his humid fur and told him I loved him. A needle and a final breath later, he was gone. His name was Yoongi. He was my best friend, my protector and the one thing that got my family through the past four years.

My mom, brother and I immigrated to Miami on October 20th, 2021. We came here to escape my father. He was abusive, cruel and taught me to confuse the feeling of love with fear. During this time we lived with my aunt who had recently come from Costa Rica. She gifted me my cat, Yoongi, in April. I had never been allowed to have one, and he was a source of joy we all needed in our lives.

After my mom filed for divorce, my father slowly took everything. Suddenly, we didn’t have a house, a car, safety at school and eventually a life. Had it not been for my mom’s second cousin, Nana, taking us in, we would have been homeless with no form of income as my mom’s 20 years of savings had been depleted by the divorce. Sadly, we couldn’t take Yoongi with us and we had to give him away.

For almost two years, all three of us lived in a single room. My mom’s tenacity got us

back on our feet and we were able to get Yoongi back. Our new house was completely empty and for months we slept on air mattresses and ate on the floor. Yoongi was there to bring joy. He’d pee in our boxes, drink our Guayoyo, fight with cats through the window and even fall multiple times in our pool. One day, after school, my father showed up while my mom was at work. I locked my brother and I in the bathroom and dialed 911. When he was apprehended and taken away, Yoongi came running back inside. He’d been outside keeping us safe and, despite his seafood allergy, demanded tuna. He puked it all up, but it was worth it. I swear he smiled.

Yoongi was sweet, funny, bilingual and adventurous. I’ll never know why he died so young, or why he ran straight to the car. He’d been through so many houses, families and cities that maybe this newfound stability bored him. He had seen it all. I know he loved us and he knew we loved him too. I felt it when he’d run to me when I screamed out “bebé” and in his purring when my mom called him “cosita linda.” He taught us true love. When I’m done screaming at God, I console myself by believing he was ready for his next adventure.

Yoongi, photographed by Maria Victoria Almarza