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The Carthusian is the real essence of the word cat. 

He is not sophisticated, does not have a long coat, no bright colors, no strange features as folded ears or curled coat, not even quirks of character: he is not possessive or chronic libertine. 
He is calm, gentle, quiet, little meows, live at peace with the world. Only when he sees a prey, real or fictitious, he becomes a bundle of nerves and muscles ready to shoot. 

The Carthusian, simply and wonderfully is a cat cat, 
just this, all this. 

He is the true incarnation of the feline, along sweet and sly, sleepy and vibrant. 
He does not need anything else to be loved. He doesn't need aesthetic frills or exaggerations. He is just himself, beholding over the world with his golden eyes. And in those eyes you read ancient knowledge, the certainty that the true, absolute perfection is that of simplicity.
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