An unforgettable encounter!

I went to the zoo. I thought I’d look at the animals and go home. But I came away feeling as if I had left a piece of myself there. Because of one manul.
To be honest, at first he seemed perfectly ordinary. Small, fluffy, sitting on a rock as if he didn’t care about people at all. Around him, more "spectacular" predators were running about: tigers, lions, lynxes. And for some reason I kept looking at him more and more.
A manul doesn’t try to be liked. He doesn’t pose. He doesn’t beg for attention. He behaves as if humanity exists somewhere far away and has absolutely nothing to do with him. And there is something incredibly powerful in that.
He has the funniest face I’ve ever seen. Permanently displeased. As if he woke up five minutes ago and is already tired of everything going on. And those eyes... round, alert, alive. Not angry. More cautious, really. As if every second he is assessing the world and deciding: "Is it even worth getting involved?"
And his fur... You can’t tell from photos. He looks like just a fluffy cat. No. He’s a real ball of the thickest fur. It seems that if the wind blows, he won’t freeze even where people wouldn’t survive an hour. So dense that you want to reach out and touch it... though you understand: better not.
Manuls are amazing in general. They don’t run around for no reason. They don’t fuss. They don’t make unnecessary movements. They sit, watch, and sometimes lazily move their paws. And you get the feeling that they’re the ones who found the right pace for life, while the rest of us are all rushing somewhere far too much.
What really got me was the way he yawned.
A perfectly ordinary yawn. But so slow, so sincere, as if he said with his whole being:
"Your deadlines, traffic jams, loans, and the news... that’s all very interesting, of course. But I think I’ll sleep a little longer."
And you simply can’t help smiling.
I caught myself standing by his enclosure for about twenty minutes. People came, took photos, and moved on. But I kept watching. Because every time he did something new: tilt his head a little, squint, place a paw in a funny way, ruffle his fur, look straight at you as if he knew more about you than you’d like.
There are beautiful animals.
There are majestic ones.
There are intelligent ones.
And then there is the manul, somehow... real.
Without any desire to please. Without theater. Without showiness.
He simply lives the way he thinks is right.
Perhaps that is exactly why he is so easy to grow attached to.
I went home with my phone stuffed full of photos of the same fluffy grump. And a couple of hours later I caught myself reading articles about him, watching videos, finding out where else I could see manuls.
A strange thing.
Sometimes one look into those round, attentive eyes is enough to unexpectedly find your favorite animal. And then for a long time you keep catching yourself thinking: "I wonder how that fluffy, grumpy philosopher is doing now?"

P.S.: The author of this wonderful note allowed me to copy their text and post it here anonymously. They offered to provide the photos themselves. But I don’t have anything suitable. Maybe Roman will find what’s needed in his archive.

With love for manul kittens, Lena ❤️