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A fairy tale about mouse

And here is a story from the life of an old custom. He wakes up, in short, the old custom -made in his hut and thinks two thoughts. First thought: Oh, Nishtyak. Well, this is a purely abstract thought, it is he who always thinks so for the season as he will wake up: Oh, Nishtyak. Because Nishtyak is in kind. The body is like a feather, the roof is like a plush, inside the stomach is emptiness. But the second thought, he thinks: it would be nice to get up and one of the nishtyaks of yesterday would be nice to sharpen. Because there Nishtyakov remained normally, such as a bank of carcasses, a bunch of bread, potatoes are half-placed, in short, a fig is left for himself. And so he gets up and goes to sharpen them.

And Nishtyakov, in short, is not. An empty cauldron is standing, and that’s it. There is not even bread left. There is nothing in short, in short. And now the Writama thinks loudly: who was my nishtyaki all overwhelmed? And from under the cabinet a darkened, dumb voice speaks: I am a nicheki flashed !!! Tramaman was even surprised: that is, how is it “I got into your nishtyaki”? It cannot be this, just that I am not my nishtyaki. And just do you, you know, do not plant, because there is no bazaar for your nishtyaki. Where, in general, is your nishtyaki on my hut? You are chasing, in short, oh, you are chasing ... And the voice says to him: moron! I repeat again: I chopped your nishtyaki! And the remaman says to him: and who are you just such that you call Flat on me a moron. Well, if you are so cool, get out under the closet, I'll show you right now who is the master in the house. And the voice answers him: yes, I'm cool! Hold on, goat, for a chair, I'll get out to you now!

Well, the customaman, in short, took up the chair. It stands, looks, but no one will come out under the cabinet. Well, in short, he drifted for about half an hour and went for bread. He returned, sat down. Suddenly he hears from under the closet: dude, it’s good to drive! Give me bread!

The migram is looking there, and from there a green mouse with red eyes climbs a characteristic gait. And he says: Well, give me a bread! And the dile to her: horseradish! It was not fig that it was a moron to call me. Well, climb back under the closet, do not bother me to hail. Then the mouse will climb under the closet and from there the baking: (I pass the mats) a piece of bread for the poor mouse, and then squeezed it! Well, wait: I'll get out at night, I’m groaning everything again.

And dumped. And the Plastaman evicted for treason. He either sleeps or hangs at night. The situation does not control, in short. And the mouse, she, first of all, does not sleep at night, in the dark she sees everything, it is now necessary to bother with her a hawchik so that she does not imprison him. It was so strained, in short as in the war, now you won’t smoke normally, all the time you have to think for mouse so that it does not get anything. He scored a scythe, smoked - but he is not rushing! Such a mouse - came and the whole buzz was broken forever.

Then the customaman thinks: this is probably now we need to find a Poster cat and sign it so that she sorted out with the mice. And to find a remaman cat is not a problem. Because she drank like in the evening