It happened six years ago in summer. I was playing with my friends in the yard when I suddenly saw a small kitten. Somebody had thrown it into the street. The boys wanted to drown it, but I managed to take it into my hands and brought it home. It was wet and miserable. My mother let me leave it at home for a day to get dried. The matter was we had already had a cat and three kittens. We asked all the children and the grown-ups whose kitten it was but everything was in vain: we couldn’t find the master and left her at home. Six years passed. The kitten grew. Her name is Betty. I like her very much, she liked me. We often play together. I am glad that I hadn’t given her to the boys then, six years ago.
Anastasia, 14, Belarus