Unification of a single-headed cat in the Kingdom of Nutria
(Dedicated to the wise Zyuka)
This story happened last week with my old friend, the former KGB executive Yuri Tarasovich.
That morning Tarasych woke up from a very strange text from an open window:
and Tatiana! Tatiana is cattle! Go here my dear. What kind of man are you? I will earn a heart attack with you!
Tatiana was a small, twenty-year-old cuddled cat with a tail, with a broken rat tail, and also one-eyed.
Her mistress - a grandmother living in a three-story house, next to Yuri Tarasovich, somehow boasted that in her youth Tatiana bravely fought with the frog, and lost her eye. Although it doesn’t look like Tatiana at all, it’s painfully small and cowardly. If a crown had really attacked her, she would have taken her to her nest. Probably it was the maximum colibri.
Yuri Tarasych finally woke up, did a long and thoughtful exercise with small hats, but the street calls did not end.
Looked out the window, greeted the neighbor and learned that from the very morning, the bastard - Tatiana was somewhere. She ate the balls from the bowl, went out of the house to the garden and fought, she was not there.
It is not on the trees either, but although it is already on the tree and does not climb, it is too old. And for the fence she has not said a nose for a long time. When he hears that someone has waved in the distance, he immediately teleports into the house, closer to his pillow under the TV.
In short, the chances that she just escaped from home are roughly the same as the chances that Queen Elizabeth will suddenly escape from Buckingham Palace, with some guard in a black hat. No more than 10 percent.
Tarasych does not especially like cats, but for the sake of decency asked for the details of the disappearance of Tatiana, sympathized with the reluctant neighbor, and closed the window closer to no longer hear:
and Tatiana! My girl, go, I will give you the balls. PS, PS and PS. Tatiana is shit! Well, that is already too much! Tatiana, well, balls, balls, balls...
The whole day a neighbor walked around the village and asked the encounters about an old, single-eyed cat of an undetermined color. All in vain, people only depicted thoughtfulness and an attempt to remember.
The evening came.
Yuri Tarasovich went to bed with a book, turned on the torcher, but did not read.
Tarasych's head, in addition to his will, was slowly filled with facts, evidence, versions and other materials about the disappearance of the neighbor's cat. There are no former investigators.
When the folder swelled and finally ceased to fit in his head, Tarasych, drawing, put the book down, went down and looked closely at the neighboring house: yes, so, on the second floor the light burns, half the twelfth, and she is not sleeping yet, so she is not sleeping. is logical. The entrance door is slightly opened, so the door still awaits Tatiana's return with one eye. Suddenly, she will come back in the middle of the night, well, not sleeping on the cold doorstep, she will be closed until the morning. Also logical. Yes, yes, yes...
Tarasych walked a little around the kitchen and suddenly realized that for a successful investigation of this case, he needed only three things: a huge cup of strong tea with lemon, a button and time.
The tea was cooked, the button was brought out of the hallway, and the time until the morning was as much as possible.
Yuri Tarasych turned off the lights in the kitchen, sat down with a cup and a button at the window and began to waste time.
At four o’clock, they finally arrived, they were two. As soon as they walked through the neighboring fence and slipped inside the house, Tarasych pressed a button.
A minute later a group of Rosgard guards arrived with short machine guns, Yuri Tarasovich intercepted her on the street and redirected her to the house to the neighbor. A minute later, the guards already packed the sad guests right at the scene of the crime, between striped bags of various newly stolen goods.
As the old KGB-ashnik assumed, twenty-year-old single-eyed Tatiana would not dare to leave her garden and out of hooligan motives to go outside the fence, and steal such a cat will not even zombies. It hurts terribly.
It was stolen only to open the door in the house at night.
The thieves, whether the Gypsies of Moldova or the Gypsies of Moldova, quickly split up and gave a sincere confession that Tatiana was sitting somewhere in a cage in a neighboring village, on some nutria farm.
And already at lunch, alive and healthy, Tatiana was delivered to the place of permanent check-in.
She complained loudly to her mistress about fate, hunger, cold, nutria and demanded a double portion of balls.