One of my colleagues told me today. Her friend has a cat - a prosthetic black and white, but beloved. When he became old, the blindness disappeared, he loved to spend hours and days, in thoughtfulness lying in the shed, from where he came out only for important affairs. And the hostess bought another - but not a simple one, but a Persian with a genealogy. They lived friendly, the peach grew up, began to target, of course. A call from the club says, “There’s a girl for your boy.” The Persian girl was brought and the cats, shocked at the beginning of the first meeting, soon joyfully took up petting and role-playing games. The owners, washing up, went for a walk, like, let them alone. The old man in the garbage was forgotten, or he simply showed no interest in anything.

Kisa left, the owner soon called, said - all OK, valuable Persian cats to be. You know what cats are.