“It’s pouring like from a bucket, the cold is chilling me to the bone, and it’s dripping on my head… And this is what you call summer?” Zheka grumbled, stepping on the wet pavement tiles on her way to work.
Zhenya felt that her life was very much like this gloomy morning — gray, damp, without warm sun or bright colors. Neither good nor bad — just nothing.
Forty-five. But she didn’t even feel like thirty. Or rather, she did feel something, but not youth — more like a dried apricot or a shriveled raisin.
She lived by inertia: work — home — dinner — coffee. The same cycle, soulless, like a black-and-white film running in slow motion.
And yet, things had gone quite well before. She had a husband. Only he ran off to someone brighter and livelier. And in the end, he insulted her with words like a splash to the face:
“You’re dull, Zhenya. Boring like a gray moth. With you, you can only go to funerals — you look the part and have the mood for it. Everything’s sour and gloomy.”
Before, she hadn’t realized how rarely she smiled. There just hadn’t been reasons. But then, when her husband pointed it out — she really noticed. Her clothes were always dull — dark. Not fashion, but practicality.
Yes, he was right. But it was still painful…
“So why did you marry such a ‘moth’ then? You should have looked for a cheerful clown right away,” she indignantly told herself.
“I thought you were just serious. But it turned out you’re boring. No interests, no feelings. Everything to you is ‘fine’ or ‘whatever you say.’ Goodbye then.”
Of course, Zhenya suffered. But inside. She was used to keeping everything inside. Ever since childhood. Her mother never allowed tears — only sternness and endurance:
“Cry over a man? Pfft! That’s weakness. We women mustn’t give up.”
Though her mother herself lived without particular troubles, she just liked to lecture. She raised Zhenya the same way — tough on the outside but burnt out inside.
And then her mother was gone. Heart attack. Zhenya thought it was because she kept everything inside. Her heart couldn’t take it.
With her mother’s death, the last colors disappeared from Zhenya’s life. Lonely, gray, like the world outside the window — she lived simply because she had to.
And then, on this gray, rainy morning, something strange happened.
Soaked to the skin, scruffy cat blocked her way. She sat right on the only dry patch between puddles and meowed:
“Meow!”
“Go away,” Zhenya muttered, not knowing cat language.
But the cat didn’t leave. Looked into her eyes, then came closer again, wrapped its tail around her leg, and meowed as if begging:
“Please…”
“Just as gray, lost, and unwanted as I am…” Zhenya suddenly thought. “Maybe I should help her? Since no one helps me, at least I can help someone?”
The cat really was calling — taking a few steps, turning back, approaching again, rubbing against her. And Zhenya, surprised at herself, followed her.
The animal led her to lilac bushes — wet, with droplets on the flowers. Under the branches, kittens were stirring. Three of them. And — most surprisingly — a puppy!
“Where did you get a dog from?” Zhenya was surprised. “The kittens are clear, but who’s this?”
The cat didn’t explain. Just approached, licked each baby, then dragged the puppy to Zhenya’s feet.
“You want me to take him?” she guessed. “Wow… You’re really a mother heroine.”
Zhenya picked up the little one. Small, trembling.
“I’ll take him. But what about the others?” she thought. And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, she felt… warmth. Compassion. Responsibility.
“All right then, come on, all of you,” she whispered, carefully gathering the animals into her jacket. The cat simply followed nearby. She knew — this woman could be trusted.
“Come on, mama. You’ll have a new address.”
Of course, Zhenya was late for work. For the first time in many years.
“Yevgenia Petrovna, you… you never come late,” the boss noted with surprise.
“Well, it happened once,” Zhenya thought. Then suddenly said aloud, “Do you need a kitten? Or a puppy?”
The manager almost dropped her documents.
“I already have… but I’ll offer them to the girls,” she muttered, still puzzled.
“Thanks,” Zhenya nodded quietly and disappeared behind her monitor. But not for long.
“Yevgenia Petrovna, may I have a word?” the saleswoman Zina peeked into the office.
“Yes?” Zhenya was cautious.
“They told me you have kittens… Did you really pick them up? From the street?”
“Three kittens. And one puppy. Under a lilac bush. This morning.”
Zhenya spoke calmly, without emotion. But in Zina’s eyes — surprise and genuine delight.
“I thought… you were nothing like that…”
Zhenya felt awkward. And suddenly — pleased.
“Want to see them? I’ll write down the address.”
“Of course, I will! I want to see the kittens and the puppy. If you don’t mind, I’ll bring Lena from the dairy and Verochka from the grocery. I don’t need such a menagerie alone, but the girls were interested — just too shy to come by themselves. They sent me,” Zina said excitedly.
“Too shy?” Zheka frowned in surprise.
She couldn’t imagine that she caused not just distrust but fear among her colleagues. She didn’t shout or swear. She behaved reservedly, distantly — and yet, that alone was apparently enough to make people avoid her.
“Uh-huh,” Zina confirmed. “They said our Zheka… oh, sorry — Yevgenia Petrovna, can’t be trusted to hand out kittens. The director got it all wrong. She said our Zheka would sooner throw scorpions in the closet than take a cat home.”
“What a reputation I have!” Zheka thought, stunned.
“What else are they saying?” she asked Zina sternly.
“Nothing much…” Zina hesitated.
“No way, Zinochka, since you started, finish it.”
“Well…” Zina faltered. “They say you’re closed-off. You live alone, no husband, no children, no hobbies except accounting. That’s why you look so gloomy and indifferent to everything.”
Zheka sighed. Well, it was true. But it was unpleasant how simply and mercilessly they had dissected her essence.
“All right, Zinaida, don’t worry. Here, take this — it’s my address. Come closer to eight,” Zheka handed her a sticky note with her address.
Zina grabbed the paper quickly and almost ran out of the office. Zheka stayed seated, staring into space:
“It’s my own fault. I built a wall between myself and others, so I got loneliness in return. I interact with people like dusty statistics — dry, without warmth. And life has already passed me by. All routine — work-home, home-work. It’s like I don’t live, just function.
Once someone hurt me — and since then I don’t open doors to anyone. Mom taught me that too — keep feelings locked up. But mom’s been gone a long time. And I’m still alone. What’s the use? Time passes. And life — goes by.”
The three kittens were quickly taken by colleagues — two boys and one girl. But Zheka kept their gray cat mother. And the black puppy as well. Where he had come from among the kittens remained a mystery. Until a certain moment.
One day, Zheka was walking with Ugolok (the puppy). Murka, the cat, watched them from the window, as usual. By the entrance, her neighbor Yegorovna approached:
“Zhenya, are you walking your handsome guy? You’ve raised a fine dog — all shiny, serious-looking, tail held high. Good on you for taking him in. You have a kind heart, even if you hid it for a long time.”
Zheka smiled, and Yegorovna continued:
“You know, there was a case here… My neighbor Slavka. One day he was going down the stairs with a trash bag. I greeted him — he grunted something. I went on. But I heard something squeaking in the bag. I asked — what’s in there? He looked at me angrily and went down the steps.
At first, I was scared, thought I imagined it. Then I couldn’t stand it and ran to the trash bin. There was a torn bag lying there. The skinny cat was carrying something black in her teeth. I don’t see well without glasses, but it was definitely alive.
Later, I heard his boy crying: ‘Dad, why did you throw him away? He’s kind!’ And Slavka grumbled, ‘No time to deal with this flea-ridden thing!’ So I think that might be that very puppy.”
“I think you’re right,” Zheka said softly, stroking Ugolok’s head. “Murka saved him.”
“Well then,” Yegorovna smiled. “It wasn’t all in vain. Now he lives with you — and it seems he’s happy.”
“We’re going, Margarita Yegorovna. Murka’s been waiting — pacing back and forth on the windowsill.”
“Go on, dears. Have a good evening.”
At home, Zheka approached the cat and pressed her cheek against hers:
“Murka, my savior. You didn’t just rescue him from trouble — you saved me too. Thank you, tailed heroine. Let’s go — I’ll warm you a cutlet.”
While Murka and Ugolok ate dinner, Zheka sat at the table and thought:
“Life has changed. Warmer. People around have opened up. And I myself have awakened. Everything turned out simpler than I thought. I just needed to let someone into my life — even if it’s a furry one.”
She smiled and added to herself:
“Probably, I was just waiting for them.”
Life went on. But now it was real.
