A moment in the universe. Story. Виктория Олеговна Рогозина

      I do not like the eighth of March. Strange holiday. These are the same weekends (usually for three whole days) when you ride the subway, you see crowds of women with bouquets of flowers and absolutely extinct eyes – the only day on which they remember caring for the weaker sex.

      True, I don’t like it more than countless requisitions at work: for birthdays and other holidays, corporate parties, Sabbaths. The story happened when I was still throwing off, trying not to fight off the team and be «like everyone else.» It happened on the eve of the eighth of March. More and more chocolates and postcards were being sold in the stores, and flower shops delighted the windows with bouquets for every taste and budget. After work, I always hurried home to my cat, who felt my approach and began to meow as soon as the elevator doors at the entrance opened. I entered the apartment, and the cat immediately began to walk in circles, waiting for me to take off my shoes and wash my hands to stroke, cuddle my pet. We had a nice time. When I was sitting at the computer, my Herald (yes, a bit of a strange name for a cat, but we liked it) would sit on my lap and expose his face, rubbing one cheek then the other. I remember the time, the cat was three months old, he liked to sleep on my chest, but soon he «waved» his height very strongly and realizing that he would accidentally strangle me at night, he began to settle down near the stomach, stretching to his full height, which made his head very close to my face and tickled my nose with his whiskers. The lop-eared Scot had another nickname – Pierre Bezukhov. That was the name of his mother, who was accustomed to the normal size of the ears of a cat, which in my Herald seemed very small and flattened. The Scots also sleep funny at night, making a hoarse whistling sound. Life with a cat is always fun.