HELLO, MY MURKA, AND GOODBYE

PLOTS

Domestic animals in our country have always been buried in much the same way as they were fed. They fed mainly what they themselves were malnourished, and they buried them in the country house near the toilet. And nothing like that. For most, this is now “nothing like that.” But TV ads...

Domestic animals in our country have always been buried in much the same way as they were fed. They fed mainly what they themselves were malnourished, and they buried them in the country house near the toilet. And nothing like that. For most, this is now “nothing like that.” But advertising on TV and Hollywood movies still influenced the consciousness of the masses. And the masses understood: the cattle should be fed with dry fodder, and they should be buried in the cemeteries of domestic animals. But if "Whiskas" has taken root with us even too much, then the ritual component is still underdeveloped. So I was going to find out what prevents us from humanly burying domestic animals - and I buried the cat myself.

When I read the thriller Pet Sematary 12 years ago, I swore off going to bed next to my cat or reading King at all. Since then, I have read all of King, always went to bed with my cat (she, by the way, is 13 years old and still giving birth ...). The plot of King was simple and scary. The Americans buried their animals in the Indian cemetery, and it (the animal) returned from there and severely punished its former owners.

In Russia, unlike the United States, there are no pet cemeteries. The ones that do exist are unofficial. That is, the territory is listed, let's say, as a garden, but in fact it is a cemetery. Clients are mostly single old women or from the VIP category. Accordingly, there are two types of places.

I dug up three cemeteries in total: in Zelenograd, Maryino and Mytishchi. On the Internet and newspapers, these cemeteries are called veritual. Well, I'm calling this "vetritual".

- What do you want? a rough male voice asked.

“Yes, my cat is feeling bad (oh mom, what the hell is a cat ?! - to myself), I composed a legend on the go.

- Badly? So it needs to be sedated. The body can be burned or buried. Address? We’ll pick it up right now,” the man at the other end reacted.

In general, they agreed not to touch my cat - according to legend, still alive, but in fact non-existent (virtual) - to wait until it dies.

And so I began to look for a real dead cat. At first it was fun doing it. Finding the corpse of an animal and then burying it seemed something very simple. The first week brought no results. Flayers, satanists, kennel distributors, pet stores - no one had this damn cat. When colleagues at the meeting began to be ironic: “Well, how is your cat?”, I decided to go to the extreme and went to the veterinarians. Even I went to Zelenograd. The veterinarian Nikolay Karasev lives and works there (his last name has been changed).

Having met me with a good Russian obscenity (well, I was a little late ... for an hour), Nikolai Ivanovich seated me at the table in the guest room of his clinic. He gave me hot tea to drink (I drank beer myself). Showed off his newly bought hamster, which rushed around the cage. He asked what I came with. I told. Nikolai Ivanovich laughed terribly and switched to "you."

“All of you journalists are… corrupt bastards, I know,” Nikolai Ivanovich frankly said after the third bottle of beer. - Here I am, Pashka, I suggest: make a material about me. I will pay.

“Nikolai Ivanovich, I would only like a cat, otherwise I can pay myself,” I modestly refused.

Dr. Karasev wiggled his mustache unkindly and fell silent. Then he took a sip from his bottle and said: “Here’s what, Pasha, I won’t give you a cat.” I wanted to say to him: “Hamsters, you say?!”. But he squeezed out only “Heh!”, Like in that movie.

In the third week of searching, finding some furry creature - even a living one - became a matter of fundamental importance to me. And I went to where the cats (live) were to hell - to the hostel of my native Moscow State University. Cats, as my classmates told me, died here almost every day, jumping out of windows. Hours two in complete darkness stomped under the windows of the hostel. But the cats didn't jump out. Even I took out some sticks - I tried to dig snow, but there was nothing under the snow.

In parallel, I was organizing the funeral ceremony. I decided to order only a monument. Not imagining at all whether I would get a cat, I went to a ritual agency. At the agency (actually it was an ordinary workshop), an elderly foreman was already waiting for me. And before I could open my mouth, he expressed his condolences to me. He began to lament that he had recently buried someone. That losing loved ones is always hard, etc. After 10 minutes of our communication with Mikhail Ivanovich, I myself almost believed that I had lost someone. But as soon as the conversation turned to money, the brigadier's tone changed from a plaintive old man to a businesslike one. He took out his cell phone from his pocket and began to count something.

- Well, my dear, 1750 rubles. Last price for headstone. I can't do it any less. And who are you for 700 rubles. going to bury? Mikhail Ivanovich was indignant.

- Well, dak cat ...

- Oh, a cat? - Mikhail Ivanovich's glasses fell from his forehead onto his nose, white with chalk. - N-yes ... Let's do this then: 1200 rubles. - and I will make you a marble slab 30x40 with legs ...

As a result, agreed on 700 rubles. The brigadier immediately wrote out a receipt and asked what to write on the stove ... At that moment, I had only one female-feline name in my mind - Manya. Well, I said. Well, at least now I knew the name of the person I was going to bury ...

With a place in the cemetery, the situation was worse. Those with whom I negotiated during the first week understood that a cat cannot die for three weeks. And to get away, they said that in winter they only cremate.

In reserve, I also had a pet cemetery in Mytishchi. Quiet location next to the railway. The owner of the cemetery is a young Mytishchi veterinarian Alexei. In addition to the cemetery, he has his own clinic, pharmacy and hotel (for animals).

On the 21st day, a dead cat was found. From the waiting room of one metropolitan veterinary clinic, they carried out a dead body to me. What happiness it was! 21 day! And yet I found it! I almost had a tantrum. And then there was the funeral...

Friday, December 10 Evening. Together with a friend, a tombstone 30x40 and a package where Manya lay, I went to Mytishchi by train. We went during rush hour. And the cat was already stale. Someone nearby fidgeted nervously and muttered: “Damn it! You should have eaten so much fish!

From the station we went straight to the cemetery. Alex was already waiting. Having shown the territory of the cemetery fenced with a high fence, the young veterinarian took us to the grave (there were about 50 graves in total). The grave turned out to be undigged, and Alexey, having cursed his workers juicy, went for a shovel. He spat on his hands and began to dig. And Vadim and I at that time mourned aloud for the deceased Mana.

“Do you remember how she breastfed your dog,” Vadim flooded. - Yes ... And how she fell from the balcony of the fifth floor ... or how she got lost in the country and returned back three months later ...

But then Alexei finished digging. The grave was ready. Alexei himself did not dare to lower Manya into the pit. He shoved the bag with the cat into my hands and bowed his head sadly. When Manya was already in place, each of us threw a handful of earth into the pit. Vadim even shed a tear. It seemed to me that he overplayed, but Alexey, apparently, did not notice this. A tombstone with the name "Manya" (in large gold letters) was also stuck into the ground. It seems to be everything. Vadim and I lit a cigarette with unhappy faces. Alexei also reached for cigarettes. They smoked in silence. Finally, Alexey spoke (probably decided to support us a little).

- Recently, my grandmother was burying my cat alone (yesterday she came for nine days). So her cat was poisoned by road reagents. She licked her boots - and right away. What are you from?

“Well, from old age,” I thought.

- Oh, I see. Come on, I'll write you a receipt.

As agreed, I gave him 1000 rubles.

Having got rid of Mani and the whole story, I really wanted to get drunk. But it did not succeed. I still had to write this note. For 9 days I will again go to Mytishchi to my Mana - I will come to the cemetery, put flowers on the grave ... Most likely, I will get drunk.