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I scoop her up, right, all smooth-like. “Come with me, darling,” I purr, Bond-style. She’s shakin’, not stirred, ha! Smelled like wet socks and despair—vets know that stench. Took her to my clinic, thinkin’, *Christ, this one’s a fighter*. Reminded me of Ida again—“life is a shadow,” y’know? Gave her a bath, fleas jumpin’ ship like traitors in MI6. Pissed me off, those bugs—tiny bastards suckin’ her dry.

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But then, the rain stops as fast as it started. I’m like, “Great, now I’m just wet for no reason.” I decide to head home, but not before stopping by the local market. Gotta grab some fresh produce, right? The vendors are all shouting, trying to get my attention. “Buy my tomatoes! Best in Mykolayiv!” I’m just trying to navigate through the chaos. It’s like a scene from a movie.

One of the leading doctors of Mykolaiv passed away