“There is something sad in the transience of a young evening. Having completed the required day's journey and glowed with a bad heat, the tired, swollen sun set behind the neighboring house, and life in the yard, it seems, began to little by little swarm and come to life. Slowly, sedately he went out from the garden a picturesque red cat Barsanuphius in white socks. In the heat, the cat slept on the creek of an apple tree, wiped almost to a shine by its sides, under a close, dense shadow, blown by rare, sluggish breezes. Already in the middle of the yard and at the very moment when the cat was stretching until its bones crunched, its belly almost touching the ground, a tiny, shabby chicken flashed under it...”