“...Cats shouldn’t have appeared in our yard. Never. Not for any reason. Not for a sweet mouse, not for a cat’s caress. The mustachioed tramp who turned into our yard was taking a great risk. At best, he had a rope with tin cans on his tail. Usually the guest was greeted by a furious chase with slingshots, sticks and hooting. The cat rushed about like mad in the shrinking ring until, with a desperate throw, it flew up into a tree. Having saved his skin, the cat looked at our crowd with a look full of contempt, and began to brazenly wash his face, pretending that the pebbles knocking on the branch were deeply indifferent to him personally...”