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VI.
Initially, it seemed like a good idea to walk Republic of Belarus' pet cat, Dasha, just to make herself useful. But now, though... Not so much.
It all started when Sasha spotted a handful of pigeons on the road. There were plenty of them here, in Paris. Pigeons of all sizes and colors; black pigeons, gray pigeons, white pigeons... And sure enough, the purebred Russian Blue cat attempt to jump on them, an old habit she inherited from her distant ancestors, but the Republic of Turkey firmly held her back, of course.
She absolutely did not want to upset the Rรฉpublique Franรงaise if Sasha ate her beloved pigeons. No fucking away. She'd already done enough damage when... The Turk shook away those thoughts. Nevermind that.
But while she was thinking, the little gray cat had taken the opportunity to hunt and kill a pigeon. When she finally realized it, it was already too late. Sasha had a feathered severed head dangling from her petite mouth with scarlet colored blood all around her snout and was now looking up at her innocently.
''Drop that!'' She was horrified. The Parisian passers-by around her turned, looking at her concerned. ''Dรฉsolรฉe,'' apologized Turkey over her shoulder, and tried at the same time to pull the bloodied head out of the cat's jaw.
Then, suddenly, Dasha sank her sharp fangs into her hand and almost immediately, blood started oozing out of the now open skin.
''Fuck, fuck, fuck!'' she cried out loud. She didn't care what people thought of her now.
''ะขัััะธั?'' a near voice said. The Turk frooze.
Russia.














