cats never break or hit anything.

I had only one thing to be sure of.

Can she catch mice? I asked. I'd rather ask a speed lover if his car can go faster than fifty miles an hour on a horizontal plane.

— Mice! cried old Adams with sizzling contempt. - Yes, the other day she dragged a four-foot snake already bit off, and she herself plays with him like with a rope.

A few weeks later, Adams and I were both wiser and sadder. The next time Mimi went on the hunt, she ripped the cushion out of the seat of the chair, almost drove the whole village crazy with her screams, and in the end jumped out of the bedroom window and rushed along the road to the farm, where fate, which is worse for a maiden than death, escaped only because her dark oriental muzzle and sparkling blue eyes scared the hell out of that glorious scarred cat there, and he was still huddled behind a barrel of rainwater when Mrs. Adams, groaning and wringing her hands, puffed up the slope after her. The following Sunday old man Adams visited Mimi and me: she trotted gracefully behind him, again the embodiment of quiet modesty. He said that his wife, when she last went to city, borrowed a book about cats from the library, and it turned out that Siamese women should not be mated until they are one year old. If they, he said, could endure another six months, so that almost every two weeks the damn cat was tearing himself up, demanding a cat, and the neighbors were knocking on the door and complaining about the noise, then he would be crazy, not otherwise. We understood him well. We've had our own troubles. In the time since we last met, we acquired Saji, and the first thing she came into her new domain was, she flew up the curtains just like Adams said, blasted her ballistic missile at the birdcage, and scared Shorty so much he lost last tail feathers.

It did not make the slightest impression on mice. Just the night before, they gnawed a hole in the vacuum cleaner's dust container, and when I turned it on, two pounds of rubbish poured onto our new cream-colored Indian carpet. And I was still puzzling over how to clean it.

Chapter Two
CAESAR'S DOOR
Saji fell in love with us at first sight. Which put us in an extremely awkward position, since we firmly decided that our Siamese would be a sealpoint, like Mimi, and when the owner said that all sealpoint kittens were already sold out, and offered to look at two bluepoints - the only ones left, it went without sayingthat we agreed only out of curiosity.

Unfortunately, no one explained this to Saji. Her brother—he had almost been bought by some lady who had taken away one sealpoint kitten, and intended to return for him if her husband agreed—so her brother only looked at us and, having retired to a corner, began to gnaw on the cord of the radio. However, Saji had no doubt that we had come for her. She was sitting on the mat like a little boarding school student waiting next to her packed suitcase to be picked up and taken home for the holidays, her eyes tightly closed with pleasant anticipation and her front paws moving rapidly. When I knelt down next to her, she opened her eyes for a second, blue as forget-me-nots and even squinting with joyful excitement, greeted us with a scream that was downright deafening for her diminutiveness, and again closed her eyes in anticipation of complete happiness.

The owner asked if we were thinking about breeding Siamese cats ourselves, and when we answered that, perhaps, yes, she said - so simply, for information - that Saji bluepoint only on the mother. Her father was a strongpoint of the purest blood, and if she were bred to a sealpoint when she grew up, her kittens would also be strongpoints. But of course, she added, bluepoints are in increasing demand. Many people think that their temperament is more pleasant than that of sealpoints, and, of course, they are very beautiful. Oh yes, by the way! Before we leave, we should definitely take a look at Anna!

She opened the door and called Anna at the top of her voice. From somewhere in the depths of the house came an answering cry, and after the time required to go down the stairs with stately dignity, Anna appeared.

The Siamese, as if just blued, makes a stunning impression, and it seemed to me as if I were seeing a movie star who jumped out for an earl or duke and does honor to her new position. The legs were long and thin, like those of a gazelle, the eyes, much lighter than those of the Sealpoint breed, shimmered like two almond-shaped gems. And she walked as if the world belonged to her. If her owner hoped that we should see Anna and we would take Saji, then she was not mistaken in her calculations. But it was not about beauty, but about the arrogance with which this cat, after looking around us, walked past into the corner to kiss his son, who was to live in a house where they could afford to acquire two Siamese aristocrats.

Well, after this, how would we allow Saji to be the Cinderella of this family? When we left, we went with her, along with a supply of yeast tablets, a bag of minced rabbit, and a pedigree that was noticeably larger than hers and said that her father's name was Caesar. By the way, that's why we just called her Saji. We wanted to call her Scheherazade, but since Anna, like her namesake, still did not marry the King of Siam, we decided not to add unnecessary complications to the story.

Saji herself was so happy that that evening, for the first and only time in her life, she drove home in a car completely resigned. She ate dinner to the last crumb. Even on Shorty, she jumped only to show us how she intends to protect us in the future from all creatures great and small. She loved us so much that she couldn't bear to be separated from us when we finally went to bed, locking her in the spare room for Shorty's sake with a brand new personal cat basket and heating pad. She moaned squealed, howled and lamented that she was completely, completely alone and wanted to go to her mother. She got out of the basket and began to yell under the door so that we could hear better, dragged a corner of the rug from the platform and began to tear it with a fury that would not shame even Lady Macbeth. When it finally became obvious that no one would come to the rescue, she let out the last tragic: "Meow-woo, meow-woo-woo!" - it froze sadly in the darkness, and silence fell.

We were immediately seized with anxiety. What if she lies under the door all night and catches a cold? Old Adams said that Siamese cats die from colds. What if she's already dead? The silence after half an hour of cacophony seemed eerie and unnatural. We believed that cats had no place in the bedroom, and were not going to change our principles. And yet... what if...

Charles broke down first. For ten minutes he desperately strained his hearing, but there was no sound from the next room. Well, he got out from under the blanket, muttering that after all, we invested decent money in this cat. When we opened the door, Saji was curled up in a basket and seemed to be asleep, but I could have sworn she was smirking softly. Charles, the man, naturally didn't notice. And he saw only what he was supposed to see - so small, so touching and unhappy. Then he said (as was expected of him) that on the first night we should take her to our place.

Carefully, with infinite tenderness, he took it out of the basket and placed it on the crook of my elbow, where, with a happy sigh, she immediately fell into a dream. Charles, appeasing his conscience, flopped down on the half of the bed that belonged to him, pulled the covers over his head, and fell asleep too. Only I was awake. And I was awake because until the morning she dreamed of Anna and she smacked loudly, with hungry lust, right in my ear.

When we got up in the morning, it was raining outside the window, and a new crisis arose in the house. Saji didn't use her box! Her former owner kindly advised us, since Saji was not used to gardening yet, to continue to use this convenience, and we helpfully provided her with the largest enameled cake pan, filled with sand from Shorty's supplies - old Adams said that from the damp earth in box Siamese cats catch a cold. We showed her the box the night before, but she pretended not to notice it, which was understandable: after all, Siamese cats have a refined nature, and she barely got to know us. But now it's morning, Saji has been with us for twelve hours, and there's not a single footprint in the sand yet, like somewhere in the middle of the Sahara.

As we ate breakfast, Charles and I ran out into the hallway and poked our fingers convincingly into the sand. Saji rushed over to us and poked the sand with her blue paw merrily. But it didn't fit