It was 1981. There was a phone call in our apartment. My father Mikhail Davidovich opened the door and saw a man of "Caucasian nationality" in front of him. Dad was not surprised. He himself was an Armenian, and it could have been someone with a mail from Yerevan. Do you have mice? Asked a visitor with a strong accent. “I am Misha,” the father replied. Do you have mice? I am Misha! They could not understand each other for a long time until it became clear that the Caucasian was a sanepidem worker. station, which destroyed mice and covers in apartments. So he was not looking for a dad, but a mouse.