There lived a lonely old grandmother in our entrance. The pension was tiny, interrupted from bread to water, often rolled in garbage tanks, walked all year round in a coat, almost never communicated with anyone. Except for the homeless cats. Every day at the same time she, barely crawling with a stick, carried food to the tailed wanderers. I suspect she shared her last crumbs with them. Cats began to gather at the entrance in advance, sometimes bringing cats with them. A month ago, my old neighbor fell ill and fell ill. In two weeks she was gone. The cats all this time gathered at the appointed time at our entrance, waiting for her, called, cried loudly. Neighbors were dissatisfied with this situation, tried to disperse the brother, but the cats kept the order and did not want to leave their post. Among the tenants went conversations, said, brought here these darmoods, now will not fall behind, even the infection will bring some. He buried his neighbor from the house. And everyone was in shock when, on the day of her funeral, her wandering pets appeared early in the morning, waited for the tomb to be brought out from the entrance, and followed him. Just imagine a mourning procession, crowns, some distant relatives, neighbors, and behind them 30 cats. You won’t believe, but the cats were crying! They didn’t cry, they cried loudly and long. When the bus drove everyone to the cemetery, the statue ran after them. And we’ve never seen any of our old good neighbor’s pets again.