Dog"— "Dog, damn it

"!"

I pushed off the wall with my feet, pulling the wheeled chair out from behind the computer desk, and bolted toward the kitchen, knocking over a porcelain mug of half-drunk tea in the process. The mug wobbled dangerously and fell onto the parquet floor with a pitiful clang. I didn't have time to stop and slammed my heel into a shard of the broken cup.

"Dog!!!" I howled under my breath and hopped into the kitchen on one leg.

The cat, without the slightest sign of remorse, ran across the floor in front of the stove, chasing a small metal lid that had been knocked off a pot. The lid rolled and slammed against the metal table legs, making a clatter that was not entirely appropriate for the nighttime in a rented apartment. Seeing my appearance, the cat froze and sniffed the air. I clutched my bleeding heel with my hand, balancing on one leg. From this acrobatic position, I lifted the lid and placed it on the pot.

"Hungry again? Wait a bit."

I sat down on a stool, opened the first aid kit drawer, and began to treat the wound.

The little web jumped onto the table. She watched carefully at first, then pried up the bloody cotton wool with her paw.

"Wait, wait. Let me make myself look human."

Shuffling footsteps were heard in the hallway. The cat instantly jumped onto the refrigerator and settled with her back to the entrance, as if to say, "I have absolutely nothing to do with this."

"Your damn cat is hungry again? Just feed her properly, enough!" Marina, my neighbor, growled, awakened by the noise.

I struck a lighter and lit a cigarette. Ponya flicked her tail discontentedly. She doesn't like smoke. But what can you do?

"It's fine, you say? Okay. I'll feed her properly."

"Why are you staring at me like that??" Marina shrieked. "We have equal rights to peace and quiet here at night!?"

"Go where you were going."

Marina cursed, flicked the light switch, and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Five minutes later, the door to her room slammed, and her roommate returned to bed. Ponya turned her face towards me. I bandaged her cut heel. In fact, the cut turned out to be surprisingly minor, but I try to hide the blood under plasters and bandages, as deeply as possible.

"Well, donut? Come here."

I scratched the cat behind the ear, and the cat trustingly buried her hard muzzle in my armpit. "One o'clock in the morning..." I noted automatically, glancing at the wall clock.

We sat in silence for about five minutes, only Ponka twitched her ears discontentedly whenever small flakes of ash landed on the top of her head.

Then I carefully lowered the cat from my lap, and she immediately rubbed her warm side against my legs.

Damn housing issue. You never know what kind of idiot the girl in the next room will turn out to be. At first, they're all cute. Marina's not so bad, she's just a light sleeper—she wakes up and grumbles at any Ponka running around. But Inga was a real party girl, going to clubs every night, and in the morning she couldn't even walk into the kitchen in her underwear—her latest one-time boyfriend was there, recovering from a hangover. Sasha refused to clean the common areas, Tamara was excessively loud, and I can't stand it when too many people are in the same space as me. Veronica was always occupying the bathroom at the most inconvenient times, Ira was stealing my groceries, Anastasia Sergeevna thought she was the boss and forbade smoking in the kitchen, and Natasha even got the idea to get a dog—a huge, nervous Rottweiler…

The poor little thing wouldn't leave our room for weeks. It's a good thing the neighbors downstairs were moved by the animal's constant howling: "Poor thing, no one's paying attention to her!"—and after Natasha's disappearance, they happily took the dog back to their country house. "Irresponsible girl, abandoning the dog." Ah! You can put up with anything from neighbors in seven months...

Grabbing a heavy feather pillow from the sofa in the living room, I went into Marina's room and, without letting her wake up, covered her face with the pillow and leaned on her with all my weight. I waited until she stopped struggling and twitching. The key here is not to overdo it; she should only lose consciousness.

Ponochka loves it when normal food still has a heartbeat.

I drew the curtains tightly, turned on the light, and let the cat into the room. I made a small cut on Marina's arm, and blood began to ooze. Ponochka jumped on her neighbor and began pawing at her chest with her hooked paws, mindlessly nudging her muzzle into the wound.

"Oh, come on, girl! Eat!" I cooed affectionately and left, closing the door.