Our Scottish tabby is a very interesting cat with a unique character. We spayed her because breeding kittens was not in our plans.
After sterilization, the cat should have calmed down and even lived a longer life.
We gave our cat complete freedom of movement. She calmly visited the neighbors and they, by the way, were not against it. We ourselves live on the second floor.
One fine day, the wife started cleaning. Everything would be fine, but under the sofa she found underwear, and as it turned out, not from her wardrobe.
It’s not hard to guess how the action unfolded. I was hit by a whole range of emotions, including anger, bewilderment, irritation, misunderstanding, etc.
The whole insidious story of my betrayal was built in my wife’s head. I was beaten, called the most obscene words and on the verge of divorce. The outburst of unbridled anger moved to the dishes. Splinters and obscene language flew at me.
For my part, I justified myself as best I could. I honestly admitted that I had no idea where these things could have come from. But they didn’t want to or couldn’t listen to me anymore.
The action began to gain momentum and now the suitcases were packed and my wife was getting ready to go to her mother. She “blessed” my relationship with the one whose panties were under the sofa.
Everything would have turned into a tragedy if not for the doorbell. I had a thought that the neighbors had come to find out what kind of disaster had happened and why there was such a noise. But unexpectedly for myself, a neighbor of about 35 years old stood on the threshold with a frightened face.
It turned out that her panties had disappeared from the balcony and someone noticed that our cat was dragging the loot home.
My wife, either out of joy or guilt, invited the neighbor to come in right away and have some tea together. And I, as a man, went to the store for sweets. I didn’t dare put in my last word, because there were already two women there.
