There was a cat named Benjamin. He spent all his time sitting at a small table in the kitchen, drinking wine. But unlike happy connoisseurs, Benjamin was always sad. Every evening, he would pour himself a glass of red wine, thoughtfully look at his reflection in the glass, and sigh.

Once, he had been a street cat, free and wild, but now his life had turned into a gray routine. He had lost interest in hunting, playing, and even in the sunny patches on the floor. The only thing that still brought him solace was his glass of wine, in which he tried to find comfort. But every time he tasted the wine, Benjamin realized that no notes of fruit or oak could drown out the melancholy that had settled in his heart.

Thus, his days passed: with sadness, wine, and quiet evenings in solitude.