A six-year-old girl named Erica lived in a German city, and she had a Roll. That was the name of the kitten. He was fluffy and gray, and knew how to rumble. Maybe that's why Roll?
Roll and the girl lived very well together. The girl gave the kitten sausage and fish, and the kitten licked the girl's hands and purred sweetly. And of course, the kitten loved balls. And not only – also grandmother's balls, dad's pencils and pens, mom's curlers. Everything that rolled, jumped and jumped – after all, he was a kitten.
One day Roll could not play. What happened? Claws interfered. They grew up a lot and did not allow walking and jumping. Roll was taken away from mom early and he didn’t know how to sharpen his claws, but he tried it anyway. Grandmother, seeing that the kitten was spoiling the carpet, gave him a newspaper rolled into a tube. Roll got upset and went out into the street.
There was a large anthill on the street, and ants lived there. They saw Roll, were delighted with him, climbed into his fur and began to roll off him, like a slide. But Roll was still sad.
– What's the matter? the ants asked. Roll told them it was the claws.
– ABOUT! Give them to us! said the ants.
– What for? – Roll was surprised.
– We will make sabers out of them!
– Yes, please take it! – agreed Roll.
The ants beautifully sawed off Roll's claws so that he could jump and play again, and they made beautiful, silver, curved, Turkish-like sabers for themselves. They walked around the courtyard like black little soldiers, and greeted Roll and the others in the house, gaily swinging their shiny sabers.
And Roll, having calmed down, was able to return to the house, lie down on a warm radiator, curl up into a ball, lick his paws and sleep peacefully.
And he had a good dream, how ants in black uniforms walked in an even formation with crooked sabers raised up and their small legs in shiny boots were beating fractionally along the pavement: knock-knock, top-top, knock-knock.
The kitten was very small. So small that he didn't jump on cabinets, tables, or even chairs. He ran on the floor, on the parquet, ran, rolled, slid, tumbled. Well, in general, it was not for nothing that they gave him the name – Roll.
Grandmother is a neat hostess, but still not always and not everywhere she will get a mop and a broom. Where the broom did not reach, I took out the kitten. He himself is gray, suddenly appeared from under the chest of drawers even more gray, if I may say so, gray from dust and even clumps of dust hung from his mustache.
