In the twelve years I have lived in the United States, I have never seen a single homeless dog here. I don’t know exactly why, but there are no homeless dogs here, and that’s all.
Homeless cats are full in the United States. They, indeed, are not very different from the households - all cared for and nourished, people are not trustworthy, but simply immersive.
I quickly became accustomed to this arrangement, and, in general, I was not surprised at all when seven years ago, this three-colour naked creature fell into my house in Richmond, which I had just bought. It collapsed entirely masterly, made itself scratch first, humbled over my efforts, and then that it wanted to eat.
Eating was given. The creation of a served lunch was a bit crazed, but also quite indulgence, and then hinted that everything, in my services, it is no longer needed. And set to rest on the veranda under the sun, all four legs up, only the shameful place covered with its tail.
Well, get out, then I went to do my business too.
In general, a gorgeous red cat lived on my veranda. I don't know what it did the days, I was at work at that time, but every morning and evening it properly took air baths in front of my house, and collected tribute from me in the form of food and scratches.
And so it would all go on, if I had not cut the grass in front of the house in one of the weekends. I was just setting up to start the grasshoppers when I saw a rather unusual pair.
In front of him was a raised six-year-old, with some big poster in his hand. Apparently her father was following her. And both of them shouted in two voices: “Squirks, Squirks, where are you?”
The girl first noticed me, and with tears she rushed, and immediately told me that she had lost a cat, that this cat was probably eaten by a big angry wolf, and that she is called Crab because she scratches the door, and now no longer scratches because she is gone, and did I not see her? I cry for my thousand. And on the poster painted with coloured pencils, a blink-eyed thing, a mutant Cheburashka, a spoiled pineapple with legs and ears. No, I’t have any idea what it was about if it wasn’t the color of the spots on Cheburacho ananas. He was just like the cat I had.
So I told the girl and her father that I don’t know exactly, but something like this is blowing up on my veranda right now. The girl didn’t even listen, she immediately watched.
Oh, it turned out to be the same. Oh, what a sea of spells and enthusiasm!
The girl grabbed the unconscious cat in a clutcher, her father long regretted my hand, named himself Stan, and thanked for the help in the search.
Three of them left, completely happy. That is, father and daughter were happy, I’m not so sure about the cat.
I would have forgotten all this safely, if the story had not received an unexpected continuation.
About two days later, quite late in the evening, my phone suddenly ringed. I picked up the phone and a woman called. She introduced herself, apologized for the concern, and said that she was calling all the neighbors because her daughter had a missing cat. The cat’s name is Sally, she’s three-colored, and has never run away before, and now she’s been gone for two days. Did I see this cat by chance?
I honestly answered that I saw the three-colour cat because it has been living on my veranda for a month, but that its owners have been found, and that the name of this cat is not Sally, but Tsarapa.
I was surprised then how many three-color cats are lost in my village.
A day later, a man called me and asked me about a three-color cat that was missing from his wife. This third cat was also called somehow, with a completely different name.
And a week later, when I was going to work in the morning, I saw a familiar portrait of a three-coloured naked creature attached to the tree to tears, with a tearful appeal below: "We have a family member missing, his name is Tommy, if you have seen him, please return for a reward!"
Then it finally came to me. I called Stan and asked how their favorite is. Stan said that the daughter is happy that the cat has been found, and that now she is no longer released from the house, or, don’t give god, she will be lost again.
Stan would have been spreading on the subject for a long time, how grateful he was to me, but I interrupted it. Just offered the cat to let go for a walk, and something didn’t matter to him about the avitaminosis, which will definitely happen to their pet if it is held locked up.

A week later, I noticed that Stan listened to me. Because the overwhelming multi-colored creature suddenly painted on my veranda again. Again, it required scratches and feeding. The calls from the desperate neighbors stopped.

I wondered one thing – is this cat really speaking of different names? I also experimented – every time I called him in a new way, and Maska, and Sanka, and Proška. It responded correctly to everything. And then he is fed, so why not repent?

By the way, it is still alive. I don’t know how many of my neighbors now consider him their domestic cat, and how many different names they call him. I think there are many such neighbors, and what else would this colorful creature become so fat under old age?

What sex is it, I don’t know, and why do I? Let it be so, in one house let it be a girl named Tsarapka, in another a lady named Sally, and in the third a gentleman named Tommy.
In my opinion, it is just a red-black-white, naked, very affectionate, and very cat creature.