Our cat is a beauty. White, yellow-eyed—a real daisy. That's the flower name we gave her—Romashka. Our girl grew up, and it was time to think about a groom. We all adore kittens. But without a male cat, alas, we can't have the desired offspring.
My husband joked that he wasn't as picky about his own daughter's groom as he was about our kitty's potential suitors. She's a bit of a wild girl, and it's hard to know how the matchmaking would go: not everyone would get along with such a wild woman. We spent a long time choosing, and finally settled on a handsome British gentleman named Luka. He was so laid-back, with a look of universal sadness on his face. We admired him over Skype. He seemed healthy, and his papers were in order. And the owners were raving about him, saying how beautiful Luka's kittens were, there was a real line waiting for them. They said he sang such serenades to his chosen ones, such romances! He courted his girls so well, it was like Casanova and Romeo rolled into one! Or rather, his face.
We're not big on romances. But maybe Romashka would be crazy about the musical Lukasha? We should give the Brit a chance. That's what we decided and invited the groom into the house.
At the appointed hour, the potential lovers were introduced and locked in a room. Comfort and intimacy, so to speak.
Romashka immediately revealed her unyielding nature. How she growled, spat, and cursed the phlegmatic Luka as if he were her worst enemy. With such an attitude, Romashka had every chance of remaining an old maid. All hope lay in Luka and his wealth of experience as a seducer. The husband-to-be, after admiring the angry bride, began to whine piteously and with a nasty intonation. Then he changed his tone, but that didn't lessen the nastiness in his voice. Apparently, this was the famous romance with which the womanizer conquered other cats. Others, but not this one. Romashka became even more indignant. She snorted, hissed, her eyes blazing!
Luka stared and stared at the angry fury, then leisurely walked to the corner where our cat's litter box stood. We craned our necks—what was he up to? The guest casually climbed into our cat's litter box, sniffed everything, then leisurely did his business and carefully buried it. We were dumbfounded. What was that? A disdainful gesture toward the bride? A new way of courting? Some newfangled British trick?
Luka had hoped for a kind attitude, but after Romashka's encroachment on her litter box, she went berserk. She was much smaller than Luka, otherwise she would have attacked him. Instead, she howled like a banshee. The neighbors later asked who had tormented the cat.
So, neither love nor even friendship developed between our pets. It was an unsuccessful date. I hope everyone involved has better luck next time.
