I sit, I don’t touch anyone, I fix the force. Suddenly the door ringed and I looked in the eyes of a neighbor. Immediately it is worth noting that my neighbor is gently speaking a woman who has gone, a post of the Balzac age. She’s one of those neighbors who scream “Naarcoman” and can’t sleep because of the music at 19: 00. I open the door and the neighbor says:

Your cat is screaming at my door! Go to clean!

I have no cat.

Who was joking then? ! to

Take care of your own petty affairs. to Goodbye.

I close the door and go into the room. After 10 minutes, again the door rings, I open, the same neighbor:

I took your cat’s shit on your shoulder and threw it under your door. You will clean yourself!

I squeeze down, and there is a piece of squeezed black isolant, I say:

It’s not shit, it’s a piece of isolation that I have nothing to do with. I still don’t have a cat.

You are HAM!

Then she finally left. About an hour later I came out on the street. I go downstairs and see the same neighbor on the staircase. Next to the unfortunate piece of the isolant, which lies already under another door into which, that is the force of our heroine.