Diary of a Feline Flaneur

To Russia, With Love Pt 5

Rocky

As if in a dream, I spotted Ms. O.

“Ms. O! Ms. O!” I cried. “Ms. O! It’s me, Rocky!”

She walked over to me and patted me on the head. “Hello, Rocky,” she cooed. “What brings you to these parts?”

“I’m working on an English translation of Vera Figner’s Memoirs of a Revolutionist,” I said.

She smiled, her fine Iberian nose wrinkling. “What a coincidence! I’m working on a Spanish translation of that book!”

Sharikov inched forward and cleared his throat quite loudly.

“And this is my friend Poligraph Poligraphovich Sharikov. You may remember him from Bulgakov’s novella Heart of a Dog,” I said by way of introduction.
“Of course!” she laughed. “Who could forget such a delightful creature!”

Sharikov bowed, then took her hand in his canine paw and kissed it.

I squeezed in between the two.

“So, my darling Ms. O, as you know I always have been dazzled by your beauty, wit and intelligence. Here, aboard this rusty hulk of a ship making it‘s way toward an historic Russian prison, which is not the most romantic of places, I admit... ahem... I... I wish to declare my love for you,” I said, lowering my eyes.

“Rocky! Many months ago you approached me in the same way — I think maybe it was at Utrillo’s Art Gallery in Indianapolis — and I told you that you would never possess me. You’re a great guy, Rocky, but just not the one for me,” she replied.

My heart sank.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sharikov blow Ms O. a kiss. The bastard!