As a child, I spent every summer visiting my grandparents in the village. They had a large farm, and my favorite pastime was caring for the animals. My grandfather and I herded the sheep, fed the rabbits, and I played with the baby goats. It was a veritable zoo, not a village. They also had cats and dogs. I still remember their old dog, Bim, whom my grandparents loved dearly and later grieved greatly when he ate some poison and died.
As he aged, my grandfather's health deteriorated, and he began to slowly dismantle the household. They were left with two dogs, a dozen chickens, and a cat they had recently adopted. It had appeared in the house quite spontaneously. The neighbors had decided to move from the village to the city and were unable to take their pets with them.
Owners were immediately found for the two German Shepherds, but no one wanted to take in the mixed-breed ginger cat. My compassionate grandmother couldn't bear to leave the poor animal on the street, so she and my grandfather took the mustachioed creature under their roof. They didn't hesitate long to choose a name for him; they named him Ryzhik. My grandparents were very fond of animals, and so Ryzhik "went to heaven." He was fed to the point of slaughter, and he could either lie around or play all day long.
Mostly, of course, he rested, because he'd grown a huge belly, and any extra movement was difficult. He embodied all the stereotypes about cats: ginger, lazy, fat, and clumsy. Even though his grandmother fed him mostly, Ryzhik's best friend was his grandfather. They could lounge on the couch for hours watching TV. Well, at least the grandfather watched, and the cat slept or rubbed against his friend's beard. The only distractions for the pair were a delicious meal or a pee.
My grandmother is simply super-thrifty: when Grandpa fell ill, all the household chores fell on her shoulders. She was the laundress, the cook, the cleaner, and the farmer. For a long time, she tolerated and accepted this state of affairs. Finally, she got tired of having no one to help in the house and decided to air her grievances to the two biggest slackers.
Unsuspecting, Grandpa and the cat were, as usual, comfortably lounging on the couch, watching TV. Grandma ran in and started scolding them left and right. I can't even imagine the amount of reproaches they heard from Grandma; she was in full swing. Her main complaint was the lack of any help around the house. After this tirade, she turned to the cat directly and began loudly asking him who the hunter was in this house, and how long the mice would feel rightfully at home.
Ryzhik stared at his grandmother, seemingly hanging on her every word. But his pride was hurt when his grandmother finally lost her temper and, overcome with emotion, smacked the cat with a towel. Ryzhik flattened his ears, ran out of the room, and wasn't seen for the rest of the day.
By evening, Grandma had calmed down, forgotten all her grievances, and was busy in the kitchen as usual. Then our little Redhead ran into the kitchen and placed a dead mouse right at his mistress's feet. Grandma sat down in surprise. But her amazement didn't last long, and as a reward for his hard work, she poured the industrious cat a cup of heavy cream. Now who's going to say animals don't understand anything?
Incidentally, Grandpa also learned his lesson and, after his reprimand, took an active part in the household chores. His responsibilities now included cleaning the yard, fixing broken things, and anything else that required a man's help.
