If you drop Vladimir by mistake, you know he always falls on his feet.
And if Vladimir tumbles off the roof of the hut, he always falls on
his feet. Cats always fall on their feet, on their four paws, and
never hurt themselves. And as in tumbling, so it is in life. No cat is
ever unfortunate for very long. The worse things look for a cat, the
better they are going to be.

Well, once upon a time, not so very long ago, an old peasant had a cat
and did not like him. He was a tom-cat, always fighting; and he had
lost one ear, and was not very pretty to look at. The peasant thought
he would get rid of his old cat, and buy a new one from a neighbour.
He did not care what became of the old tom-cat with one ear, so long
as he never saw him again. It was no use thinking of killing him, for
it is a life's work to kill a cat, and it's likely enough that the cat
would come alive at the end.

So the old peasant he took a sack, and he bundled the tom-cat into the
sack, and he sewed up the sack and slung it over his back, and walked
off into the forest. Off he went, trudging along in the summer
sunshine, deep into the forest. And when he had gone very many versts
into the forest, he took the sack with the cat in it and threw it away
among the trees.

"You stay there," says he, "and if you do get out in this desolate
place, much good may it do you, old quarrelsome bundle of bones and
fur!"

And with that he turned round and trudged home again, and bought a