The cottage history. Lulz is little, meaning is much.

My grandmother once had a cat. Flegma is still silent, but not lazy, with a philosophical view of the world. And someone brought from the street a little cat, another milk sauce. Phimka looked at the beast, smelled and lay down next to him. The cat quickly explored and sucked to the rudiments of the milk glands. The cat liked it, and the kitten after two weeks of persistence and effort stimulated Fimke's lactation (I checked it personally).

The cat grew up and turned into a cat called the Frozen. Fimka methodically taught her to catch mice, and they lived soul to soul. Sometimes they were in love, but not like all cats - the female took the fur and went. No, they did it on grandmother’s bed, singing and going out, quietly, carefully and in mutual agreement. After the first swallow, the cat was sterilized, one of the kittens was left for me.

One day, the grandmother left for a while, and the cats went to look for her. Together as usual. Only Froska returned, the cat died unknown where. The cat lived in silence, lying in a corner and not touching food.

They almost never swallowed. I was a younger student at the time, but I remembered their eyes well – smart and meaningful. Fimka and Frossk were like people who were misunderstood to be born cats.

This is the story.
AVI