Once, because of a cat, I found myself in a completely comical situation. Our neighbor Mari had a petite graceful white kitty.
Her small triangular face, green-yellow eyes, pink ears, and nose made everyone feel tender. Dearie! Honey! Fairy from a fairy tale! And her name was even fabulous – Princes.
Princes, a gentle and capricious young lady, categorically rejected the gallant advances of my red-haired Barsik. Maybe she didn’t like redheads, or maybe she was waiting for her prince on a silver horse. In any case, her girlish dreams remained a secret to us. Vasilisa was a big homebody. Maria Grigorievna was worried – the pussy will remain an old maid, which is very harmful to her cat’s health.
One day before spring, hurrying to my house, I saw Vasilisa sitting high in a fork in an old tree. She did not even sit, but lay awkwardly and meowed so heart-rendingly, so desperately called for help that, forgetting all my urgent matters, I rushed to save the cat. She went closer to the tree and called her. She recognized me and made an attempt to go down, but immediately came back and squeaked again, looking somewhere down past me.
Only then did I see a hefty gray-striped cat – dirty, ragged. He looked at Vasilisa with burning eyes, and this predatory look did not bode well for the pussy. I tried to drive the cat away, but he jumped up a tree with one jump and, rumbling angrily, crawled towards Vasilisa. Then I grabbed the cat across the belly and tried to pull it away from the tree. I didn’t even think how rash it was on my part. A powerful clawed paw flashed across my face. I drew back but did not have time to remove my hand. The second swing of a paw ripped through the leather glove. I broke off the rod and threatened him. The cat howled and deftly repulsed the attack. Vasilisa sounded more horrified than ever.
For several minutes I stupidly trampled below, the cat, clinging tightly with its claws, was hanging on a tree, and Vasilisa was dangling somewhere high in the branches. Then the cat, apparently, got tired of acting on two fronts, he jumped from the tree and walked away, looking back at me with displeasure. “Go, go!” – I said after him and called Vasilisa. She began hastily to descend from the tree, funny fingering her paws. I stretched out my hands to catch her, frightened, chilled, and carry her home. She jumped, but not to me, but to the other side of the trunk and … rushed to the cat. She caught up with him and loudly, purring excitedly, began to wipe himself against his dirty sides and mustachioed predatory muzzle. Moreover, he turned away with displeasure and showed with all his appearance: “Well, here’s more, what nonsense this feline tenderness!” And then Vasilisa humiliated blurted herself into the mud at his paws and in her luxurious snow-white fur coat began to roll on her back from side to side, wriggling and showing how sweet this humiliation was to her.
I looked at this scene, and the cat was looking at me. And in his green eyes, there was so much irony and even outright mockery that I involuntarily felt like I was fooled. “Oh, you bastard!” I shouted and grabbed the twig again. The cat snorted contemptuously and trotted slowly towards the trash cans. Vasilisa jumped up and ran after him.
I found it funny and annoying. After all, this couple so talentedly performed a play called “The Young Lady and the Bully”. Until now, remembering the vicissitudes of my “rescue operation”, I am surprised and laugh.