In good spirits, gorged itself sour cream, cat Barsik went for a walk along the eaves of the ninth floor balcony. Moving steadily, Barsik at the end of the path rested his head in whitewashing the walls. Then he decided to turn around, but not restrained on a narrow plank and began slowly but inexorably falling down. An outside observer could see that the free fall does not enter into the plans of a cat, for he instinctively swinging his legs a couple of times (he did not help) rolled his eyes and heart-rending scream, rapidly picking up speed. A few floors below on the balcony smoking Uncle Fyodor, fated to crossing his long curly hair is not the flight path of a cat basking in the sun and occasionally spitting down on painters, who were on duty in limbo in a cradle at the third floor and allegorically matter Uncle Fyodor. Attracted by the unusual sound, Uncle Fyodor looked up. Above, the sun eclipsed him, approaching something dark.
A moment later he realized that it was something that was not only dark, but soft. Barsik put his head his savior all the available-feet and, still yelling on the joy released claws. Uncle Fyodor did not share the joy of a cat. Watching movies about aliens, he descended from the top ranked object to the category of unidentified flying and the fear yelled even louder than Barsik. His desperate cries caught the attention they hang out on a bench in the courtyard of old ladies.