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The young cat for some reason panicked when he saw a girl on his heels. The girl didn't melt, the shoes were the most ordinary, no twists, and he was on half-swinged slopes, then ran, jumped, and metal so until the shoes were removed. Why this panic, I never understood.
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Last summer, I bought watermelon, brought it home, pulled off all the hands. He took the laundry to the bathroom, put it on his shoulder, the cat slept quietly on the washing machine. As I saw the watermelon on my shoulder, shrugged, swallowed up, stumbled into the door, crashed into the wall of the corridor and hid behind the refrigerator. I sat there for half a day, not lifting my nose. And when he came out, the half-eaten peanut did not even deserve a glance.