- The parable of milk, oatmeal and the gray cat Murka
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Whatever you want, it was amazing! And the most amazing thing was that this was repeated every day. Yes, as soon as they put a pot of milk and a clay pan with oatmeal on the stove in the kitchen, that’s how it begins. At first they stand as if nothing is happening, and then the conversation begins:
– I am Milk...
- And I am oatmeal porridge!
At first the conversation goes quietly, in a whisper, and then Kashka and Molochko gradually begin to get excited.
– I am Milk!
- And I am oatmeal porridge!
The porridge was covered with a clay lid on top, and it grumbled in its pan like an old woman. And when she started to get angry, a bubble would float to the top, burst and say:
– But I’m still oatmeal Porridge... pum!
Milk thought this boasting was terribly offensive. Please tell me what a miracle it is - some kind of oatmeal! The milk began to get hot, foamed up and tried to get out of its pot. The cook overlooked it a little, and looked - milk poured onto the hot stove.
– Oh, this is Milk for me! – the cook complained every time. - If you overlook it a little, it will run away.
– What should I do if I have such a hot temper! Molochko justified himself. – I’m not happy when I’m angry. And then Kashka constantly brags: “I am Kashka, I am Kashka, I am Kashka...” He sits in his saucepan and grumbles; Well, I'll be angry.
Sometimes things got to the point where Kashka would run away from the saucepan, despite its lid, and would crawl onto the stove, and she would repeat everything:
- And I am Kashka! Porridge! Porridge... shhh!
It is true that this did not happen often, but it still happened, and the cook, in despair, repeated over and over again:
– This is Porridge for me!.. And the fact that it doesn’t fit in the saucepan is simply amazing!
The cook was generally worried quite often. And there were quite a few different reasons for such excitement... For example, what was one cat Murka worth! Note that it was a very beautiful cat and the cook loved him very much. Every morning began with Murka following the cook and meowing in such a pitiful voice that it seemed that a heart of stone could not stand it.
– What an insatiable womb! – the cook was surprised, driving away the cat. How many livers did you eat yesterday?
- But that was yesterday! – Murka was surprised in turn. – And today I’m hungry again... Meow!..
– I would catch mice and eat, lazy fellow.
“Yes, it’s good to say that, but I would try to catch at least one mouse myself,” Murka justified himself. - However, it seems that I’m trying hard enough... For example, last week who caught the mouse? Who gave me scratches all over my nose? That's the kind of rat I caught, and it grabbed my nose... It's just easy to say: catch mice!
Having eaten enough liver, Murka would sit somewhere near the stove, where it was warmer, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
- See how full you are! – the cook was surprised. - And he closed his eyes, lazybones... And keep giving him meat!
“After all, I’m not a monk, so I don’t eat meat,” Murka justified himself, opening only one eye. - Then, I also like to eat fish... It’s even very nice to eat fish. I still can’t say which is better: liver or fish. Out of politeness, I eat both... If I were a person, I would certainly be a fisherman or a peddler who brings us liver. I would feed all the cats in the world to the fullest and I myself would always be full...
Having eaten, Murka liked to occupy himself with various foreign objects for his own entertainment. Why, for example, not sit for two hours on the window where the cage with the starling hung? It's very nice to watch a stupid bird jump.
- I know you, old rogue! - Starling shouts from above. - There is no need to look at me...
– What if I want to meet you?
– I know how you meet... Who recently ate a real, living sparrow? Ugh, disgusting!..
– Not at all disgusting, – and even vice versa. Everyone loves me... Come to me, I'll tell you a fairy tale.
– Ah, a rogue... Nothing to say, a good storyteller! I saw you telling your stories to the fried chicken you stole from the kitchen. Good!
– As you know, I’m speaking for your pleasure. As for the fried chicken, I actually ate it; but he was no good anyway.
By the way, every morning Murka sat at the heated stove and patiently listened to how Molochko and Kashka quarreled. He couldn’t understand what was going on and just blinked.
– I am Milk.
– I am Kashka! Porridge-Porridge-cough...
– No, I don’t understand! “I really don’t understand anything,” said Murka. Why are they angry? For example, if I repeat: I am a cat, I am a cat, cat, cat... Will anyone be offended?.. No, I don’t understand... However, I must admit that I prefer milk, especially when it not angry.
One day Molochko and Kashka were quarreling especially heatedly; They quarreled to the point that half of them spilled onto the stove, and a terrible fume arose. The cook came running and just clasped her hands.
- Well, what am I going to do now? - she complained, putting Milk and Porridge away from the stove. - You can’t turn away...
Leaving Milk and Kashka aside, the cook went to the market to get provisions. Murka immediately took advantage of this. He sat down next to Molochka, blew on him and said:
– Please don’t be angry, Milk...
The milk noticeably began to calm down. Murka walked around him, blew again, straightened his mustache and said very affectionately:
– Here’s what, gentlemen... It’s generally not good to quarrel. Yes. Choose me as a magistrate, and I will immediately sort out your case...
The black Cockroach sitting in the crack even choked with laughter: “That’s how the justice of the peace... Ha-ha! Ah, the old rogue, what can he come up with!..” But Molochko and Kashka were glad that their quarrel would finally be sorted out. They themselves did not even know how to tell what was the matter and what they were arguing about.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sort it all out,” said Murka the cat. – I won’t lie to you... Well, let’s start with Molochka.
He walked around the pot with Milk several times, tasted it with his paw, blew on Milk from above and began to lap it.
- Fathers!.. Guard! - Cockroach shouted. “He’ll drink up all the milk, but they’ll think of me!”
When the cook returned from the market and ran out of milk, the pot was empty. Murka the cat slept right next to the stove in a sweet sleep, as if nothing had happened.
- Oh, you worthless one! – the cook scolded him, grabbing him by the ear. - Who drank the milk, tell me?
No matter how painful it was, Murka pretended that he didn’t understand anything and couldn’t speak. When he was thrown out the door, he shook himself, licked his rumpled fur, straightened his tail and said:
– If I were a cook, all the cats would do nothing but drink milk from morning to night. However, I’m not angry with my cook, because she doesn’t understand this...
I remember my childhood...
Whatever you want, it was amazing! And the most amazing thing was that this was repeated every day. Yes, as soon as they put a pot of milk and a clay pan with oatmeal on the stove in the kitchen, that’s how it begins. At first they stand as if nothing is happening, and then the conversation begins:
- I am Milk...
- And I am oatmeal Porridge...
At first the conversation goes quietly, in a whisper, and then Kashka and Molochko gradually begin to get excited.
- I am Milk!
- And I am oatmeal Porridge!
The porridge was covered with a clay lid on top, and it grumbled in its pan like an old woman. And when she started to get angry, a bubble would float to the top, burst and say:
- But I’m still oatmeal Porridge... pum!
Milk thought this boasting was terribly offensive. Please tell me what a miracle it is - some kind of oatmeal! The milk began to get hot, foamed up and tried to get out of its pot. As soon as the cook finished watching, she saw that the milk poured onto the hot stove.
- Oh, this is Milk for me! - the cook complained every time. - You barely finish watching, and it will run away.
- What should I do if I have such a hot temper! - Molochko justified himself. - I’m not happy when I’m angry. And then Kashka constantly brags: I am Kashka, I am Kashka, I am Kashka... He sits in his saucepan and grumbles: well, I’ll get angry.
Sometimes things got to the point where Kashka would run away from the saucepan, despite its lid, and would crawl onto the stove, and she would repeat everything:
- And I am Kashka! Porridge! Porridge... shhh!
True, this did not happen often, but it still happened, and the cook repeated in despair every time:
- This is Porridge for me!.. And that it doesn’t fit in the saucepan is simply amazing!...
The cook was generally worried quite often. And there were quite a few different reasons for such excitement... For example, what was one cat Murka worth! Note that he was a very beautiful cat, and the cook loved him very much. Every morning began with Murka following the cook and meowing in such a pitiful voice that it seemed that a heart of stone could not stand it.
- What an insatiable womb! - the cook was surprised, driving away the cat. - How many livers did you eat?
- That was yesterday! - Murka, in turn, was surprised. - And today I’m hungry again... Mau-u!..
- I would catch mice and eat, lazy man.
“Yes, it’s good to say that, but I would try to catch at least one mouse myself,” Murka justified himself. - However, it seems that I’m trying hard enough... For example, last week who caught the mouse? Who gave me scratches all over my nose? That's the kind of rat I caught, and it grabbed my nose... It's just easy to say: catch mice!
Having eaten enough liver, Murka would sit somewhere near the stove, where it was warmer, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
- See how full I am! - the cook was surprised. - And he closed his eyes, lazybones... And keep giving him meat!
“After all, I’m not a monk, so I don’t eat meat,” Murka justified himself, opening only one eye. - Then I also like to eat fish... It’s even very nice to eat fish. I still can’t say which is better: liver or fish. Out of politeness, I eat both... If I were a person, I would definitely be a fisherman or a peddler who brings us liver. I would feed all the cats in the world to the fullest and I myself would always be full...
Having eaten, Murka liked to occupy himself with various foreign objects for his own entertainment. Why, for example, not sit for two hours on the window where the cage with the starling hung? It's very nice to watch a stupid bird jump.
- I know you, old rogue! - Starling shouts from above. - There is no need to look at me...
- What if I want to meet you?
- I know how you meet... Who recently ate a real, living sparrow? Ugh, disgusting!..
- Not at all disgusting, - quite the contrary. Everyone loves me... Come to me, I'll tell you a fairy tale.
- Ah, the rogue... Nothing to say, a good storyteller! I saw you telling your stories to the fried chicken you stole from the kitchen. Good!
- As you know, I’m speaking for your pleasure. As for the fried chicken, I actually ate it; but he was no longer any good anyway.
By the way, every morning Murka sat at the heated stove and listened intently to how Molochko and Kashka quarreled. He couldn’t understand what was going on and just blinked.
- I am Milk.
- I am Kashka! Porridge-Porridge-cough...
- No, I don’t understand! “I really don’t understand anything,” said Murka. - Why are they angry? For example, if I repeat: I am a cat, I am a cat, a cat, a cat... Will anyone be offended?.. No, I don’t understand... However, I must admit that I prefer milk, especially when it not angry.
One day Molochko and Kashka were quarreling especially heatedly; They quarreled to the point that half of them spilled onto the stove, and a terrible fume arose. The cook came running and just clasped her hands.
- Well, what am I going to do now? - she complained, putting Milk and Porridge away from the stove. - You can't turn away...
Leaving Milk and Kashka aside, the cook went to the market to get provisions. Murka immediately took advantage of this. He sat down next to Molochka, blew on him and said:
- Please don't be angry, Milk...
The milk noticeably began to calm down. Murka walked around him, blew again, straightened his mustache and said very kindly:
- That's it, gentlemen... It's generally not good to quarrel. Yes. Choose me as a magistrate, and I will immediately sort out your case...
The black Cockroach sitting in the crack even choked with laughter: “That’s how the justice of the peace... Ha-ha! Ah, the old rogue, what can he come up with!..” But Molochko and Kashka were glad that their quarrel would finally be sorted out. They themselves did not even know how to tell what was the matter and what they were arguing about.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sort it all out,” said Murka the cat. - I won’t lie to you... Well, let’s start with Molochka.
He walked around the pot with Milk several times, tried it with his paw, blew on Milk from above and began to lap it.
- Fathers! Guard! - shouted the Cockroach. “He’ll drink up all the milk, but they’ll think of me.”
When the cook returned from the market and wanted milk, the pot was empty. Murka the cat slept right next to the stove in a sweet sleep, as if nothing had happened.
- Oh, you are worthless! - the cook scolded him, grabbing him by the ear. - Who drank the milk, tell me?
No matter how painful it was, Murka pretended that he didn’t understand anything and couldn’t speak. When he was thrown out the door, he shook himself, licked his rumpled fur, straightened his tail and said:
- If I were a cook, all the cats would do from morning to night was drink milk. However, I’m not angry with my cook, because she doesn’t understand this...
Whatever you want, it was amazing! And the most amazing thing was that this was repeated every day. Yes, as soon as they put a pot of milk and a clay pan with oatmeal on the stove in the kitchen, that’s how it will begin. At first they stand as if nothing is happening, and then the conversation begins:
- I am Milk...
- And I am oatmeal Porridge...
At first the conversation goes quietly, in a whisper, and then Kashka and Molochko gradually begin to get excited.
- I am Milk!
- And I am oatmeal Porridge!
The porridge was covered with a clay lid on top, and it grumbled in its pan like an old woman. And when she started to get angry, a bubble would float to the top, burst and say:
- But I’m still oatmeal Porridge... pum!
Milk thought this boasting was terribly offensive. Please tell me what a miracle it is - some kind of oatmeal! The milk began to get hot, foamed up and tried to get out of its pot. Just before the cook finished watching, she saw that the milk poured onto the hot stove.
- Oh, this is Milk for me! – the cook complained every time. - Just before you finish looking, it will run away.
- What should I do if I have such a hot temper! - Molochko justified himself. – I’m not happy when I’m angry. And then Kashka constantly brags: I am Kashka, I am Kashka, I am Kashka... He sits in his saucepan and grumbles; Well, I'll be angry.
Sometimes things got to the point where Kashka would run away from the saucepan, despite its lid, and would crawl onto the stove, while she kept repeating:
- And I am Kashka! Porridge! Porridge... shhh! It is true that this did not happen often, but it did happen, and the cook, in despair, repeated over and over again:
- This is Porridge for me!.. And that it doesn’t sit in the saucepan is simply amazing!..
II
The cook was generally worried quite often. And there were quite a few different reasons for such excitement... For example, what was one cat Murka worth! Note that he was a very beautiful cat, and the cook loved him very much. Every morning began with Murka following the cook and meowing in such a pitiful voice that it seemed that a heart of stone could not stand it.
- What an insatiable womb! – the cook was surprised, driving away the cat. - How many livers did you eat yesterday?
- That was yesterday! – Murka, in turn, was surprised. – And today I’m hungry again... Meow!..
- I would catch mice and eat, lazy man.
“Yes, it’s good to say that, but I would try to catch at least one mouse myself,” Murka justified himself. - However, it seems that I’m trying hard enough... For example, last week who caught the mouse? Who gave me scratches all over my nose? That's the kind of rat I caught, and it grabbed my nose... It's just easy to say: catch mice!
Having eaten enough liver, Murka would sit somewhere near the stove, where it was warmer, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
- See how full I am! – the cook was surprised. - And he closed his eyes, lazybones... And keep giving him meat!
“After all, I’m not a monk, so I don’t eat meat,” Murka justified himself, opening only one eye. – Then I also like to eat fish... It’s even very nice to eat fish. I still can’t say which is better: liver or fish. Out of politeness, I eat both... If I were a person, I would certainly be a fisherman or a peddler who brings us liver. I would feed all the cats in the world to the fullest and I would always be full...
Having eaten, Murka liked to occupy himself with various foreign objects for his own entertainment. Why, for example, not sit for two hours on the window where the cage with the starling hung? It's very nice to watch a stupid bird jump.
- I know you, old rogue! - Starling shouts from above. - There is no need to look at me...
– What if I want to meet you?
- I know how you meet... Who recently ate a real, living sparrow? Ugh, disgusting!..
– Not at all disgusting, quite the contrary. Everyone loves me... Come to me, I’ll tell you a fairy tale.
- Oh, the rogue... Nothing to say, a good storyteller! I saw you telling your stories to the fried chicken you stole from the kitchen. Good!
– As you know, I’m speaking for your pleasure. As for the fried chicken, I actually ate it; but he was no good anyway.
III
By the way, every morning Murka sat at the heated stove and patiently listened to how Molochko and Kashka quarreled. He couldn’t understand what was going on and just blinked.
- I am Milk.
- I am Kashka! Porridge-Porridge-cough...
- No, I don’t understand! “I really don’t understand anything,” said Murka. – Why are they angry? For example, if I repeat: I am a cat, I am a cat, cat, cat... Will anyone be offended?.. No, I don’t understand... However, I must admit that I prefer milk, especially when it doesn’t get angry.
One day Molochko and Kashka were quarreling especially heatedly; They quarreled to the point that half of them spilled onto the stove, and a terrible fume arose. The cook came running and just clasped her hands.
- Well, what am I going to do now? - she complained, putting Milk and Porridge away from the stove. - You can’t turn away...
Leaving Milk and Kashka aside, the cook went to the market to get provisions. Murka immediately took advantage of this. He sat down next to Molochka, blew on him and said:
- Please don't be angry. Milk...
The milk noticeably began to calm down. Murka walked around him, blew again, straightened his mustache and said very affectionately:
- That's it, gentlemen... It's generally not good to quarrel. Yes. Choose me as a justice of the peace, and I will immediately sort out your case...
The black Cockroach sitting in the crack even choked with laughter: “So the justice of the peace... Ha-ha! Ah, the old rogue, what can he come up with!..” But Molochko and Kashka were glad that their quarrel would finally be sorted out. They themselves did not even know how to tell what was the matter and what they were arguing about.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sort it all out,” said Murka the cat. – I won’t lie to myself... Well, let’s start with Molochka.
He walked around the pot with Milk several times, tasted it with his paw, blew on Milk from above and began to lap it up.
- Fathers! Guard! - Cockroach shouted. “He’ll cry out all the milk, but they’ll think about me.”
When the cook returned from the market and ran out of milk, the pot was empty. Murka the cat slept right next to the stove in a sweet sleep, as if nothing had happened.
- Oh, you wretch! – the cook scolded him, grabbing him by the ear. - Who drank the milk, tell me?
No matter how painful it was, Murka pretended that he didn’t understand anything and couldn’t speak. When he was thrown out the door, he shook himself, licked his rumpled fur, straightened his tail and said:
“If I were a cook, all the cats would do from morning to night was drink milk.” However, I’m not angry with my cook, because she doesn’t understand this... So
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Dmitry Narkisovich Mamin-Sibiryak
“The parable of milk, oatmeal and the gray cat Murka”
Whatever you want, it was amazing! And the most amazing thing was that this was repeated every day. Yes, as soon as they put a pot of milk and a clay pan with oatmeal on the stove in the kitchen, that’s how it will begin. At first they stand as if nothing is happening, and then the conversation begins:
- I am Milk...
- And I am oatmeal Porridge...
At first the conversation goes quietly, in a whisper, and then Kashka and Molochko gradually begin to get excited.
- I am Milk!
- And I am oatmeal Porridge!
The porridge was covered with a clay lid on top, and it grumbled in its pan like an old woman. And when she started to get angry, a bubble would float to the top, burst and say:
- But I’m still oatmeal Porridge... pum!
Milk thought this boasting was terribly offensive. Please tell me what a miracle it is - some kind of oatmeal! The milk began to get hot, foamed up and tried to get out of its pot. Just before the cook finished watching, she saw that the milk poured onto the hot stove.
- Oh, this is Milk for me! – the cook complained every time. - Just before you finish looking, it will run away.
- What should I do if I have such a hot temper! - Molochko justified himself. – I’m not happy when I’m angry. And then Kashka constantly brags: I am Kashka, I am Kashka, I am Kashka... He sits in his saucepan and grumbles; Well, I'll be angry.
Sometimes things got to the point where Kashka would run away from the saucepan, despite its lid, and would crawl onto the stove, while she kept repeating:
- And I am Kashka! Porridge! Porridge... shhh! It is true that this did not happen often, but it did happen, and the cook, in despair, repeated over and over again:
- This is Porridge for me!.. And that it doesn’t sit in the saucepan is simply amazing!..
The cook was generally worried quite often. And there were quite a few different reasons for such excitement... For example, what was one cat Murka worth! Note that he was a very beautiful cat, and the cook loved him very much. Every morning began with Murka following the cook and meowing in such a pitiful voice that it seemed that a heart of stone could not stand it.
- What an insatiable womb! – the cook was surprised, driving away the cat. - How many livers did you eat yesterday?
- That was yesterday! – Murka, in turn, was surprised. – And today I’m hungry again... Meow!..
- I would catch mice and eat, lazy man.
“Yes, it’s good to say that, but I would try to catch at least one mouse myself,” Murka justified himself. - However, it seems that I’m trying hard enough... For example, last week who caught the mouse? Who gave me scratches all over my nose? That's the kind of rat I caught, and it grabbed my nose... It's just easy to say: catch mice!
Having eaten enough liver, Murka would sit somewhere near the stove, where it was warmer, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
- See how full I am! – the cook was surprised. - And he closed his eyes, lazybones... And keep giving him meat!
“After all, I’m not a monk, so I don’t eat meat,” Murka justified himself, opening only one eye. – Then I also like to eat fish... It’s even very pleasant to eat fish. I still can’t say which is better: liver or fish. Out of politeness, I eat both... If I were a person, I would certainly be a fisherman or a peddler who brings us liver. I would feed all the cats in the world to the fullest and I myself would always be full...
Having eaten, Murka liked to occupy himself with various foreign objects for his own entertainment. Why, for example, not sit for two hours on the window where the cage with the starling hung? It's very nice to watch a stupid bird jump.
- I know you, old rogue! - Starling shouts from above. - There is no need to look at me...
– What if I want to meet you?
- I know how you meet... Who recently ate a real, living sparrow? Ugh, disgusting!..
– Not at all disgusting, quite the contrary. Everyone loves me... Come to me, I'll tell you a fairy tale.
- Oh, the rogue... Nothing to say, a good storyteller! I saw you telling your stories to the fried chicken you stole from the kitchen. Good!
– As you know, I’m speaking for your pleasure. As for the fried chicken, I actually ate it; but he was no good anyway.
By the way, every morning Murka sat at the heated stove and patiently listened to how Molochko and Kashka quarreled. He couldn’t understand what was going on and just blinked.
- I am Milk.
- I am Kashka! Porridge-Porridge-cough...
- No, I don’t understand! “I really don’t understand anything,” said Murka. – Why are they angry? For example, if I repeat: I am a cat, I am a cat, cat, cat... Will anyone be offended?.. No, I don’t understand... However, I must admit that I prefer milk, especially when it not angry.
One day Molochko and Kashka were quarreling especially heatedly; They quarreled to the point that half of them spilled onto the stove, and a terrible fume arose. The cook came running and just clasped her hands.
- Well, what am I going to do now? - she complained, putting Milk and Porridge away from the stove. - You can’t turn away...
Leaving Milk and Kashka aside, the cook went to the market to get provisions. Murka immediately took advantage of this. He sat down next to Molochka, blew on him and said:
- Please don't be angry. Milk...
The milk noticeably began to calm down. Murka walked around him, blew again, straightened his mustache and said very affectionately:
- That's it, gentlemen... It's generally not good to quarrel. Yes. Choose me as a justice of the peace, and I will hear your case right away...
The black Cockroach sitting in the crack even choked with laughter: “That’s how the justice of the peace... Ha-ha! Ah, the old rogue, that’s all he can come up with!..” But Molochko and Kashka were glad that their quarrel would finally be sorted out. They themselves did not even know how to tell what was the matter and what they were arguing about.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sort it all out,” said Murka the cat. – I won’t lie to myself... Well, let’s start with Molochka.
He walked around the pot with Milk several times, tasted it with his paw, blew on Milk from above and began to lap it up.
- Fathers! Guard! - Cockroach shouted. “He’ll cry out all the milk, but they’ll think about me.”
When the cook returned from the market and ran out of milk, the pot was empty. Murka the cat slept right next to the stove in a sweet sleep, as if nothing had happened.
- Oh, you wretch! – the cook scolded him, grabbing him by the ear. - Who drank the milk, tell me?
No matter how painful it was, Murka pretended that he didn’t understand anything and couldn’t speak. When he was thrown out the door, he shook himself, licked his rumpled fur, straightened his tail and said:
“If I were a cook, all the cats would do from morning to night was drink milk.” However, I’m not angry with my cook, because she doesn’t understand this...
Whatever you want, it was amazing! And the most amazing thing was that this was repeated every day. Yes, as soon as they put a pot of milk and a clay pan with oatmeal on the stove in the kitchen, that’s how it begins. At first they stand as if nothing is happening, and then the conversation begins:
I am Milk...
And I am oatmeal porridge!
At first the conversation goes quietly, in a whisper, and then Kashka and Molochko gradually begin to get excited.
I am Milk!
And I am oatmeal porridge!
The porridge was covered with a clay lid on top, and it grumbled in its pan like an old woman. And when she started to get angry, a bubble would float to the top, burst and say:
But I’m still oatmeal Porridge... pum!
Milk thought this boasting was terribly offensive. Please tell me what a miracle it is - some kind of oatmeal! The milk began to get hot, foamed up and tried to get out of its pot. The cook overlooked it a little, and looked - Milk poured onto the hot stove.
Oh, this is Milk for me! - the cook complained every time. - If you overlook it a little, it will run away.
What should I do if I have such a hot temper! - Molochko justified himself. - I’m not happy when I’m angry. And then Kashka constantly brags: “I am Kashka, I am Kashka, I am Kashka...” He sits in his saucepan and grumbles; Well, I'll be angry.
Sometimes things got to the point where Kashka would run away from the saucepan, despite its lid, and would crawl onto the stove, and she would repeat everything:
And I am Kashka! Porridge! Porridge... shhh!
It is true that this did not happen often, but it still happened, and the cook, in despair, repeated over and over again:
This is Porridge for me!.. And it’s simply amazing that it doesn’t fit in the saucepan!
II
Kukharka was generally worried quite often. And there were quite a few different reasons for such excitement... For example, what was one cat Murka worth! Note that it was a very beautiful cat and the cook loved him very much. Every morning began with Murka following the cook and meowing in such a pitiful voice that it seemed that a heart of stone could not stand it.
What an insatiable womb! - the cook was surprised, driving away the cat. - How many livers did you eat yesterday?
Well, that was yesterday! - Murka was surprised in turn. - And today I’m hungry again... Meow!..
I would catch mice and eat, lazy man.
Yes, it’s good to say that, but I would try to catch at least one mouse myself,” Murka justified himself. - However, it seems that I’m trying hard enough... For example, last week who caught the mouse? Who gave me scratches all over my nose? That's the kind of rat I caught, and it grabbed my nose... It's just easy to say: catch mice!
Having eaten enough liver, Murka would sit somewhere near the stove, where it was warmer, close his eyes and doze sweetly.
See how full I am! - the cook was surprised. - And he closed his eyes, lazybones... And keep giving him meat!
After all, I’m not a monk, so I don’t eat meat,” Murka justified himself, opening only one eye. - Then, I also like to eat fish... It’s even very nice to eat fish. I still can’t say which is better: liver or fish. Out of politeness, I eat both... If I were a person, I would certainly be a fisherman or a peddler who brings us liver. I would feed all the cats in the world to the fullest and I myself would always be full...
Having eaten, Murka liked to occupy himself with various foreign objects for his own entertainment. Why, for example, not sit for two hours on the window where the cage with the starling hung? It's very nice to watch a stupid bird jump.
I know you, old rogue! - Starling shouts from above. - There is no need to look at me...
What if I want to meet you?
I know how you meet... Who recently ate a real, live sparrow? Ugh, disgusting!..
Not at all disgusting - and even vice versa. Everyone loves me... Come to me, I'll tell you a fairy tale.
Ah, the rogue... Nothing to say, a good storyteller! I saw you telling your stories to the fried chicken you stole from the kitchen. Good!
As you know, I’m speaking for your pleasure. As for the fried chicken, I actually ate it; but he was no good anyway.
III
By the way, every morning Murka sat at the heated stove and patiently listened to how Molochko and Kashka quarreled. He couldn’t understand what was going on and just blinked.
I am Milk.
I am Kashka! Porridge-Porridge-cough...
No, I don't understand! “I really don’t understand anything,” said Murka. - Why are they angry? For example, if I repeat: I am a cat, I am a cat, cat, cat... Will anyone be offended?.. No, I don’t understand... However, I must admit that I prefer milk, especially when it not angry.
One day Molochko and Kashka were quarreling especially heatedly; They quarreled to the point that half of them spilled onto the stove, and a terrible fume arose. The cook came running and just clasped her hands.
Well what am I going to do now? - she complained, putting Milk and Porridge away from the stove. - You can't turn away...
Leaving Milk and Kashka aside, the cook went to the market to get provisions. Murka immediately took advantage of this. He sat down next to Molochka, blew on him and said:
Please don't be angry, Milk...
The milk noticeably began to calm down. Murka walked around him, blew again, straightened his mustache and said very affectionately:
Here's the thing, gentlemen... It's generally not good to quarrel. Yes. Choose me as a magistrate, and I will immediately sort out your case...
The black Cockroach sitting in the crack even choked with laughter: “That’s how the justice of the peace... Ha-ha! Ah, the old rogue, what can he come up with!..” But Molochko and Kashka were glad that their quarrel would finally be sorted out. They themselves did not even know how to tell what was the matter and what they were arguing about.
“Okay, okay, I’ll sort it all out,” said Murka the cat. - I won’t lie to you... Well, let’s start with Molochka.
He walked around the pot with Milk several times, tasted it with his paw, blew on Milk from above and began to lap it.
Fathers!.. Guard! - shouted the Cockroach. - He’ll cry out all the milk, but they’ll think of me!
When the cook returned from the market and ran out of milk, the pot was empty. Murka the cat slept right next to the stove in a sweet sleep, as if nothing had happened.
Oh, you wretch! - the cook scolded him, grabbing him by the ear. - Who drank the milk, tell me?
No matter how painful it was, Murka pretended that he didn’t understand anything and couldn’t speak. When he was thrown out the door, he shook himself, licked his rumpled fur, straightened his tail and said:
If I were a cook, all the cats would do from morning to night was drink milk. However, I’m not angry with my cook, because she doesn’t understand this...
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