Painting about heat.

In the evening, 9 o’clock. The people, sicked by the unbearable heat, are just beginning to run out on the street. Walking past the entrance of the multi-storey, I see two elderly neighbors. They tremble, from time to time he cries the cat, “Muska, Muska! Go and eat, Kiss Kiss!” and complains to the neighbor: "Well where her hell has been taken, the whole day is not visible, it is time to feed, and she does not go home!"

Looking around the corner of the house, I see, so to speak, the reverse part of the puzzle. In the only slightly cooler place, in the shade of a tree near the irrigator, spraying water on the lawn - a cat lies, stretching almost a centimeter layer. At the next call, “Muska, Muska, eat go!” There is a meaningful expression in her eyes. The head is slightly raised, and there is even a hint of trying to get up on the legs.
But this effort ends. For a couple of seconds, a thought process of the type "Is it that?Then the god Anunakh triumphs, and the cat's head falls back to the ground. Not the bread of a living cat.