A Cat’s Memory.

This story began in the late 90s. My friend (studying at the institute in the same group and living in the same room in the dormitory) married and with a young wife rented an apartment not far from my home. I was still single at the time and sometimes visited them.
Once there was a conversation about pets and his half said that they wanted to have a cat or cat, and not necessarily racial. And then one beautiful evening, coming back from work, I decided to jump to visit them. On the second floor (and they lived on the third floor on the fifth floor) I met a charming red kitten, then it turned out to be male. I used to call him “Kiss-Kiss” and go on to the third floor. The cat replied “miu” and drowned after me.
I knock at the door, a friend’s wife opens. We say goodbye and I ask, “Can we?Focus on the word “us”. The answer is a blatant look. I repeat the question again, while looking down. She lowers her eyes and sees a cat sitting at my feet. “Well come in.” There was an answer.
So in the lives of my friends and to some extent in my, this cat entered. He turned out to be quite clever, immediately accustomed to the pot and was left on "pleasure".
In the first days it was a very affectionate kitten, but literally a week later he felt like a master and already reluctantly climbed on his arms and let himself be licked. But a couple of weeks later the guys left for business, left me the keys and asked me to feed the cat. I worked, so I could only come in the evening. The cat, due to lack of attention, became cute again. He himself jumped on his arms or shaking his legs and constantly murmured.
When the owners returned, the kitten slapped for several days, and then became the same, slightly uninhabited.
Then a friend and wife bought an apartment at the other end of Moscow and moved with the cat to a new place. It was a long way away and I had not seen the cat for a long time. Then I got married, and a car came into the family. The mobility of travel allowed me to meet the cat again. My wife and I came to visit. The girls went into the room to discuss their “female” questions, and my friend and I went to the kitchen. I sat down on a chair, telling my news, and a red cat appeared on the doorstep. The little red cat turned into a furry red cat.
He went into the kitchen, looked up, approached me, jumped to me on his knees and lay down. I, without stopping the conversation with a friend, began to machine him, the cat murmured.
Five minutes passed, the cat got up, pulled, slipped from my knees to the floor and rushed out of the kitchen. A friend, when the cat has already left, said that no one of the guests himself is ever fit, and the owners do not give themselves to chew especially. Probably remembers who brought him out of the hungry wandering life to the people.
Later, when we visited, the ritual of kindness was repeated every time. It's good that friends don't have mice, but could get dead mice :)

This is such a story. And who would say that cats don’t remember good?