A friend of mine once told me. She found somehow a cat, you can see that it is home, red like that, dirty, cared for. They were looking for owners. A lot of people called, she asked everyone to describe the cat, but nobody managed. And the sad cat walks, sits on the window and looks so sad. The cat misses the master, the universal longing for the cat's mouth is straight. And then the man called, the look of the cat described accurately and was invited to visit to make sure that the cat is really him and pick up if so. He came, therefore, entered the room, and the cat is sitting in the window looking tirelessly. The man said so quietly, “Vasilius.” And the cat just in two jumps crosses the apartment and finds himself on the chest of the man. He pressed, hugged his legs and murmured. My aunt was squeezed, she said.

Yyy: My wool pitcher’t even turn around, he’d even chew it up :)