For the first ten years of his life he was a cat. A strong, hardened creature of gray-brown color, with a dense long hair that collapsed on the sides into eternal coltures. The impassable deep scratches on his mouth and the ears drawn into the scratch gave him a completely bandit look. In the vast spaces of our old and abandoned apartment, he, as a proud and free nochcha, lived in robbery and robbery. There was no violence outside her. He demanded the observance of rights and placed his small, but rather burdened percentage, on all duties. Being centered in the area, he ruthlessly pissed all the surrounding cats, responding completely inadequately to the slightest calls in his direction. Sometimes it seemed that the unwavering spirit of the great karatist Masutatsya Oyama was instilled in him, it was with such a disastrous-kiokushinovsky pressure that he threw on all the opponents, crushing them, throwing into the dust even the thoughts of some resistance.
His name appeared only when his daughter grew up, and he named it for the unification of Tim, as well as the tearful domestic snoop, eternally drying under the couch. The cat was cruel. Taking me as an equal, he put his wife and daughter clearly below himself in the family hierarchy and treated them with indulgence. The little girl, growing up, took such a arrangement as it is, and the wife, having received the steering wheel of control of me, tried to jump from the bottom to undermine herself and the Cat. However, % of.
Encountering, in the final stage of a tumultuous honeymoon association, a crumbling, like in the seventh beech, half-puddle, through which the Cat scornfully watched the master's sweat, she was embarrassed every time, and interrupted by half-friction, smelled in dust, demanding to remove this disgusting animal. Having achieved the desired result, the cat pulled the tail and left himself.
Pride never allowed him to ask, he always either demanded or took with battle. Carefully placed by the wife in a clean bowl, the food was ventilated and disappeared. Hungry and angry, he fell down to participate in a family dinner: sitting in front of the table on a free table, he laid his head on the table and closed his eyes, demonstrating complete indifference to what was happening. But it was worth distracting only for a second - from under the table rapidly flew out the melted, with the nails released, the leg and unmatched movement grabbed from the nearest plate the cottage or sausage. Same as in his bag. Having deservedly received a wretched pinch from me, he did not let go of the prey, flew through the kitchen and the hallway and crashed into the bathroom door with a thunderstorm, as in nothing, he rose up and proudly shrugged his tail and went back, so that my feet could calmly eat the honestly earned piece. We respected each other, but the rules also had to be observed. Law is law.
He was from the neighbor’s first cat. The first to understand is always the strongest. Three grey smoky and one dirty brown. He was naked from birth – while the other kittens, finding a free chest, were quiet and saturated, he outragedly crawled around his mommy, ignoring the free nipples, until he expelled one of his brothers and took his place.
Fish was his passion. Any: fried, cooked, salted, ice cream, dried. Especially alive though. He ate virtuously. As an experienced footballer when serving the corner, he broke his head to the sound of the opened refrigerator and confused under his feet tried to realize the standard joke in turmoil. None of the fact of taking away anything eaten came past his deliberately indifferent gaze. Everything forgotten or left for a moment became his legal prey. Therefore, meat and fish travelled around the house in a short passage, like a ball at the base spring, not remaining uncovered for a minute.
The fish almost lost him. Sleep a night at the neighbors through an open shelf cut off the tail of the healthy, a kilogram for three chubas, he sprinkled it home, of course, and tried to eat on the carpet in the living room. The banquet ended in the fact that one of the bones, stuck in the throat, pierced his esophagus and trachea. I found it around six in the morning in the kitchen corner. There was foam out of his mouth, and he was like a shellfish. Part of the exhaled air through the hole went under the skin, and the Cat was blown up literally in front of his eyes.
It was Saturday morning. The veterinarian worked on that day. It was urgent to take action.
The role of the savior was assigned to the neighbor – a 75-year-old Jewish woman, a retired gynecologist. Awakened neither the light nor the dawn, the grandmother-God's dwarf with the blue hair was a little stunned, but could not refuse. Carefully, according to Spasokukotsky-Kochergin, washing out the yellow bone pins, and wearing rubber gloves, the glow of domestic gynecology went into the kitchen with a confident step of the winner.
Cat, open the mouthpiece.
In her hand in the rays of the rising sun shone a polished stainless steel something, resembling the shape of the simultaneously worn clove, a large clutch and a male edge.
The innate sensitivity suggested to me that this device can safely be called a pi%doscope. My suspicions were indirectly confirmed by my wife, who cried, turned red and shamefully hid in the bathroom. Surprised by such a retreat, the Cat unfoundedly decided that now this device, which saw more than an Internet explorer, would snoop him in the mouth, and moved to active defense, causing a few deep scratches to his potential savior. The fight ended with a technical knock-out and a clear advantage of one side. While the grandmother, wishing the Cat of various long and painful deaths, healed the combat wounds, I found the phone of the girl — the veterinarian. Agreed for 9.
The veterinarian in our city is a large brick hangar of a pre-revolutionary building with a concrete floor. In the middle of the room is installed a machine for sadomasochist playgrounds with cattle. Behind the stool is a metal table. It is operational. Another rescuer is a young, frightened girl from my school, but five years younger.
“My name is Lena, and you’re going to help me,” she says, “Are you not afraid of blood?
I am afraid, but what to do...
By this point, the Cat had filled the entire sports bag in which it was planted for transportation and had to be cut. Inserting some shit into his inner surface of the hip, Lena ran away to prepare a "operative".
Now he will cut off and take it.
The cat did not cut. Five minutes later, the injection was repeated. And then more. Finally, half an hour later, when Lena, in her words, had already given a dose for the calf, the sufferer went to the kingdom of Morpheus.
I started to get upset as soon as she began to tie the cat’s legs to the table. I hate medicinal smells. Pulling the cat up, she forced me to hold his head, and just swinging deep into her buttocks, the pincet pulled out a healthy toothed garment.
This is little. You need to remove it and make sure to sew the trachea. I’ll cut, and you’ll hold your neck. You can not look.
It’s easy to say hold the neck – At that time, the Cat became like a bloated rubber gloves, and the notion of the neck was as relative as the notion of the waist in Lena. Pfeiiyit - gently broke out of the cat at the moment when she made the first incision. I felt a thin stream of air blowing down into my face, smelling fresh fish for some reason. In the same moment I added to it the thick smell of yesterday’s borst and morning cottlets, splashing them around the operating table.
and all? As nothing else has been asked by Lena - and now we swallow.
And we started pushing the air to the cut on the throat in four hands, as if we were blowing up the mattress on the beach. After the Cat became like a swollen ball (or Gondon - whoever likes it), the most interesting thing began - OPERATION!
In my sensations, when the pre-graduate practice cut cats - Lena had a period, well or there abortion. This topic she missed. In general, the search for the trachea turned into the search for a clitoris with the crew of the submarine. If it were not for my wisdom, I would have been searching for it. Soap – I say – help! Where there are bubbles, there is a hole.
I bluffed again. But already in a bowl with instruments, culturally. And then suddenly I remembered reading Bulgakov about the tracheotomy. I speak deeper.
found...
The cat at this point I don't know why he started to come back and roll on the operating table, bit Lena, managed to release the back legs and took all the tools on the floor. Then I rubbed all my hands and tried to get up. An unwavering Russian woman, pushing me away, pressed the angry man to the table with her chest and put him in another chest. Or holy water, I don’t remember, because I got sick.
That same night, the Cat received from his wife chased Church – in honor of the memorable cat from King’s pet cemetery. At three o’clock at night, carrying her broken head and legs to the toilet, the spouse was encountered crawling, crawling, on her unclogged legs by a spherical creature, issuing crawling sounds.
The hunt started and the cat broke into the bowl. After eating, he went up to our bed and began to lick my hands. For the first time in recent history. I suspect it was an expression of gratitude. His unblinking eyes were wide opened and on them were seen sticky hairs and pieces of garbage. “Every man sows what he knows and gathers fruit.”
The cat then gradually stopped swallowing, but did not learn to swallow. And the unfortunate fish tail he found the next day and killed, for him it was a matter of principle. For the way of a warrior is the way of death.