The Criminal Cat



This cat was absolutely black, smooth like a panther, beautiful and apparently of good blood. But she was not lucky in life (likely, someone drove her out of the house) and she was making food herself. In the summer in the nearest landscapes, and in the winter in the surrounding laundry in the village. People were not afraid, but they did not seek, and they did not give in their hands. She fought fiercely in the surrounding cats, who were highly respected by her. A sort of tail "Lady Mafia" in black, with a revolver behind the belt, which does not fight, but in case of shooting, without blinking the eye.



In the winter, it is difficult to live in the village, all the holidaymakers are displaced, only a small number of locals remain. Among them was my father, to whom Chernuka occasionally appealed for material help. She did not ask, but calmly came, sat on the fence in front of the window and quietly looked with a heavy, unmoving look. One hour sitting, two hours sitting. Dad silently carried out the sauce. The cat came down from the fence and ate the sausage immediately, on the trail, and did not take it away, which was a demonstration of trust and gratitude.



So went the winter. I came to my dad, cleaned the paths, and the cat was sitting on the roof, black and unmoving, and watched my actions. On attempting to touch her hand, she just walked away and from there again shone with huge green eyes. Horrific spectacle - in the shadow of the swallow at night, a black cat is not visible, only two round eyes are demonically illuminated.



The following summer, the cat broke out. She sat on the doorstep for an hour, and then crashed into the doorstep and sat on it, not entering the house. The kids arrived, and the cat was noticeably healed by their efforts. She became soft, elastic and loose, and spent half the day on our site. And then he began to crash, to crash, into the house, and in the hands was still not given. They were expelled with the help of a venice. She thought it was her home, and we were just the occupants who were obliged to feed her.



She loved her dad, but she didn’t let her go. My mother was in a quiet war. The morning. We only changed clothes in the evening. On the bed got a black washing cat and furiously itches, and out of it like sparks from Bengal fire, black spots fleas fly out, and "spring" on a white plate. A magical wreath is coming, otherwise no.



The war ended in autumn with the victory of the cat and the children, without which they categorically refused to return. When I imagined that this monster would live in an apartment under the same roof with us, I became uncomfortable and I said, “either I or the cat.” I chose a cat.



And here is this elderly (she was, in my opinion, ten years old) bandit at our house. The feeling of her presence is as if you live with a guy who has recently "pulled away" from the zone. Do not believe, do not fear, do not ask. To starve itself does not give, does not bite, but cleverly escapes in a millimeter from the hand. He does not bite or scratch, but sometimes looks so that it becomes scary. She does not ask for food, no matter how hungry she is, but she sits on the sidewalk and waits silently. And he looks. The green lights.



(Don’t believe) All cats, when eating or rolling around a bowl, pull out their tail, thus showing that it’s their territory. She ate, pressing her tail and sitting on it. It is never (never!) He did not allow the tail to lie carelessly, always carefully picking it under him.



(Do not ask) Realizing that in silence food will have to wait for a long time, she began to steal socks and change them for food. You wake up in the morning and have no socks. You go to the dish, you call the Blackwoman - and she goes with a socks in her teeth, and with a socks not bitten, not saliva and not pierced. What she takes, so she gives.



(Don’t be afraid) Knowing what the street is, she didn’t just go out the door of the apartment, but even to the balcony. The attempt of the children to take her out for a walk ended in the fact that the cat stuck in the doorstep and did not let it go until the door was closed. And once we opened the door at the same time with the neighbors who were taking their dog-taxi out for a walk. Hearing harmful sounds from the room near the home door, the cat jumped out, sat on the threshold and said something to the dog in his tongue. She didn’t get stuck, didn’t get out of the threshold, didn’t squeeze, and didn’t squeeze, but just blinked for a short time, and the dog was enough. Taxa rushed home with a whistle, scratching her nails and bumping on the laminate, and stuck under the refrigerator. I didn’t know that the taxes were flat and could climb into narrow gaps from which it was impossible to get out. It turned out that they could, and the owners then long mocked our bandit and their tax.



And then the cat mastered, began to allow itself to glide (but it didn't go on the fingers), and engaged in raising children. She strictly controlled the scattered things, watched them fall asleep and woke them up to school. From a retireed criminal, the cat turned into a kind of Freken Bock, who runs the household, breathing and insulting. Even to the country began to drive in a transfer and led the farm there, not a step without leaving the house (it is in the country!)



After a few years, she was quite old, her eyelids fell out and she had hair on her head and back. She died in the country, in the summer, from old age, and we all cried because we were very attached to the black bandit.