I am on the roof of the old building

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I am a female cat. I live with my mistress and her husband  in block of flats in the small town. But in summer we spend more time in country than in  town. Country is the place where I have a lot of fun. Look at the picture. I am on the roof of the old building. This house in summer is surrounding by beautiful garden. In winter that countryside is rather dull. But I  don’t complain. During cold days we come there twice a week. I am truly enjoying that stern landscape.

And what about my mistress? She is reading the description of the rural scenery in Chekhov’s short story “The Black Monk”: “The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black – such a wealth of flowers (…).” Is it a dream for my mistress? Yes, and I believe that she will change her property into a magical place. It needs time  and hard work. But now she is pleased and happy. This property is in her hands, in reality.

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