How I feed my family
Here you speak: perestroika...catastroika...
I saw this perestroika! Certainly you know - my homeland is rubbish heap. We there had a very big company. Was cold? - yes. Hungry? - Yes. But as cheerfully! I have chosen other life (at you accepted to speak: has chosen freedom. And what freedom? - Other feeding-through you choose!). And now, looking from a window of the fifth floor, I see as vagrants catch one or other of my former friends. How do you think, what for?.. Here is your "perestroika"!
Sometimes somebody from stayed rubbish heap people, by seeing me in a window speaks meaow: " how you was lucky! You are alive in a family! " In family in family and where is this freedom. All the year I am sitting locked up. And the last year in general on a summer residence I have carried out only three weeks! As is spoken, for all it is necessary to pay. Personally I have given back freedom for complete mutual fidelity. I am devoted to Him, and He is devoted to me. And even when He takes me by the collar and thrusts in a bag, I am quiet. I know, there can not happen anything bad with me. And if He pokes me a piace of something there is no need to snuff it.
So it so. But here once He comes home pleased and drags to any brilliant bank. I should tell to banks I am not indifferent. As I see a bank in His hands - at once I ask to open. For certain it contain any tinned red fish - hunchback there or salmon. The most delicacy for me. And this time I, certainly, ask to immediately open this bank . He opens and throws out in my lap-dish any kind of pieces. Go - he speaks - treat yourself with wiskas he speaks. Coming nearer I have smelt and as though was knout! Here is - deceit, you see it is not like meal absolutely! I remember we shall find something on rubbish heap. It certainly smells , but stinks by meal. No such treachery I did not wait - gobble up these yours wiskases, pamperses!
This time I think so, it is necessary to solve this problem radically. And I began I to refuse meal. Neither perch nor hake nor cutlet - I do not touch anything. That panic has risen! Put that another and I do not mention any. Certainly He runs on the market and brings a goog piece of roast. Glory to Lord, I think, my strategy has reached. He piles my lap-dish complete but I am not so simple, I have eaten some five pieces, and the rest lays. At the midday, I look, they take away these mine not eaten pieces and make of them to herself whether goulash, whether stake. So it arised to go since then. He runs once per week on the market, and from this, that I did not eaten, they prepare something to themselves.
That is how I feed my family!
