I was so upset that evening that my favorite team, Petrolul Ploiesti, fell back in the B division, that I threw my tshirt out of the window. To be completely honest, I still kept the ball in bed with me, just in case I felt like a kick, when, suddenly, a mouse appeared on my chest with the clear intention of breastfeeding itself on my footballer breast.
-What are you doing, you madman? I said
-I am not a madman, I am a madwoman, and you are my mother it said and burst into tears.
I jumped out of bed, woke up my neighbours shouting and screaming and said:
-Where is your cat, the one we all call Stupid, I urgently need him to eat a mouse.
-On the heater they said. Get him and let us sleep.
I took Stupid under my arm, while still snorring, took him in my flat and threw him on the stone-hard bed to wake him up:
-Eat immediately this female mouse which thinks I am its mother depite the fact I am a footballer.
The yellow cat, the one called Stupid, opened one eye, looked at the mouse (that was on my pillow, drenching it in tears and shouting from the bottom of his lungs:
-Mother, mother, where are you mother? – )
so the yellow cat, also called Stupid, opened one eye and seeing it all said:
-I do not eat crying mice out of principle. Their tears hurt my stomach.
After this, he proudly left the room tail up and went directly for his heater bed.
My neighbour once told me he was a baptist cat, but I forgot that fact. In my anger I wanted to kick the ball into the wall, but missed and hit the wall so badly that I screamed:
-Where are you??? (referring to the ball)
-I am no longer. I went flat waiting to be kicked.
The mouse was crying and calling me a careless mother, while I was holding my foot and shouting like a circled lion, limping in the room like Lord Byron.
