It happened in a small suburb of Athens. The dead woman had lost her husband, a businessman, eleven years before and ever since had lived a quiet life in a two-room apartment with several cats as her only friends. One day the woman collapsed facedown on her sofa from a heart attack and expired. It wasn't known how much time elapsed between her attack and her death. At any rate, the woman's soul passed through all the set stages to bid farewell to its old companion, the body it had inhabited for seventy years. The woman didn't have any relatives or friends who visited her regularly, and her body wasn't discovered until a week later. The doors were shut, the windows shuttered, and the cats couldn't get out after the death of their mistress. There wasn't any food in the apartment. There must have been something in the refrigerator, but cats don't possess the skill to open fridge doors. Starving, they devoured the flesh of their owner.
Fragmento de Sputnik, Sweetheart, que estoy leyendo, cortesía del pastrulo de Haruki Murakami.