Brief summary of the Maruska cat. Summary of a lesson on speech development for reading E. Charushin’s story “Cat” in the first junior group. Approximate word search

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Cat Maruska - Charushin E.I.

A story about a cat Maruska, who lived with an owner who fed her poorly. She began going into the forest to hunt mice and birds, and so she stayed there. She lived like this all summer and autumn, but in the winter she became very hungry and cold again, but chance helped her return home.

Cat Maruska read

The village hunter Nikita Ivanovich Pistonchikov had a motley cat, Maruska. A bald cat, thin, scrawny, because Nikita Ivanovich fed her very poorly.

In the spring, the cat Maruska, out of hunger, began going into the forest to hunt.

Slowly, sneaking so that the village dogs do not see her, she leaves the village and hunts in the forest. Either he will catch a mouse, or he will catch some bird.

She went hunting one day and ended up living in the forest.

Soon the cat Maruska gained weight, became prettier, and became smooth. He walks through the forest like a robber, destroys nests, and lives for his own pleasure.

And her owner, Nikita Ivanovich Pistonchikov, completely forgot about her.

But then autumn came. The birds flew away from the forest. Only the mice were left for the cat Maruska to prey on.

Then real winter came. The mice began to live under the snow. Rarely, rarely, when they run out. They will run along the top a little and again go into their snowy passages.

Maruska had a bad time here. And cold and hungry. How to feed yourself?

She started setting up ambushes. He climbs a tree and lies on a branch: he waits for a mouse or a hare to run under the tree. And if he runs, Maruska will then throw herself on top.

This is such an unpreyable hunt. The cat became emaciated, lost weight, and became furious and despising, like a wild animal.

One day Nikita Ivanovich got ready to go hunting. He put on a hare hat with earflaps, a sheepskin sheepskin coat, took a gun, took a bag for the loot and went skiing into the forest. He walks through the forest and takes apart various animal tracks.

Here the hare jumped - he followed, here the fox passed, but the squirrel galloped from tree to tree.

He walks past a tall, thick spruce tree, and suddenly some animal falls right on his head. His claws tear the hare's hat, hiss, and grumble.

Nikita grabbed the beast with both hands and took the hat off his head. He wanted to throw the beast to the ground - he looked: yes, it was his motley cat Maruska! Skinny, skinny, all skin and bones.

“Oh, you,” Nikita Ivanovich laughed, “you unfortunate hunter!” I confused the hare's hat with a hare.

He took pity on her, brought her home and from then on began to feed her properly.

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The village hunter Nikita Ivanovich Pistonchikov had a motley cat, Maruska. A bald cat, thin, scrawny, because Nikita Ivanovich fed her very poorly.

In the spring, the cat Maruska, out of hunger, began going into the forest to hunt. Slowly, sneaking so that the village dogs do not see her, she leaves the village and hunts in the forest. Either he will catch a mouse, or he will catch some bird.

She went hunting one day and ended up living in the forest.

Soon the cat Maruska gained weight, became prettier, and became smooth. He walks through the forest like a robber, destroys nests, and lives for his own pleasure.

And her owner, Nikita Ivanovich Pistonchikov, completely forgot about her.

But then autumn came. The birds flew away from the forest. Only the mice were left for the cat Maruska to prey on.

Then real winter came. The mice began to live under the snow. Rarely, rarely will they run out. They will run along the top a little and again go into their snowy passages. Maruska had a bad time here. And cold and hungry. How to feed yourself?

She started setting up ambushes. He climbs a tree and lies on a branch: he waits for a mouse or a hare to run under the tree. And if he runs, Maruska will then throw herself on top.

This is such an unpreyable hunt. The cat became emaciated, lost weight, and became furious and despising, like a wild animal.

One day Nikita Ivanovich got ready to go hunting. He put on a hare hat with earflaps, a sheepskin sheepskin coat, took a gun, took a bag for the loot and went skiing into the forest.

He walks through the forest and takes apart various animal tracks.

Here the hare jumped and followed, here the fox passed, but the squirrel galloped from tree to tree across the snow.

He walks past a tall, thick spruce tree, and suddenly some animal falls right on his head. With his claws he tears at the hare's cap, hisses, and grumbles. Nikita grabbed the beast with both hands and took the hat off his head. He wanted to throw the beast to the ground - he looked: yes, it was his motley cat Maruska! Skinny, skinny, all skin and bones.

“Oh, you,” Nikita Ivanovich laughed, “you unfortunate hunter!” I confused the hare's hat with a hare.

He took pity on her, brought her home and from then on began to feed her properly.

Volchishko

A little wolf lived in the forest with his mother.

Mother went hunting.

A man caught the wolf, put it in a bag and brought it to the city. There's a bag in the middle of the room

The bag did not move for a long time. Then the little wolf wallowed in it and got out.

He looked in one direction and got scared - a man was sitting, looking at him.

I looked in the other direction - the black cat was snorting, puffing up, twice his size, barely standing. And next to him is a dog, grinning his teeth.

The little wolf was completely afraid, he reached back into the bag, but he couldn’t fit in; the empty bag lay on the floor like a rag.

And the cat puffed up and puffed up and hissed. He jumped on the table and knocked over the saucer.

The saucer broke.

The dog barked.

The man shouted loudly:

- Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

The little wolf hid under a chair and began to live and tremble there.

There is a chair in the middle of the room.

The cat looks down from the back of the chair.

The dog is running around the chair.

A man sits in a chair and smokes.

And the little wolf is barely alive under the chair.

At night the man fell asleep, and the dog fell asleep, and the cat squinted. Cats - they don’t sleep, they only doze.

The little wolf came out to look around.

He walked and walked, sat down and howled.

The dog barked.

The cat jumped on the table.

The man on the bed sat up. He waved his arms and shouted.

The little wolf crawled under the chair again. I began to live there quietly.

In the morning the man left. He poured milk into a bowl. The cat and dog began to lap up milk.

The little wolf crawled out from under the chair, crawled to the door, and the door was open!

He goes from the door to the stairs, from the stairs to the street, from the street across the bridge, from the bridge into the field.

And beyond the field there is a forest. So the little wolf ran away.

Travelers

My friend had two little foxes living in his room. These were nimble and restless animals. During the day they slept under the bed, and at night they woke up and went crazy - they ran around the whole room until the morning.

The little foxes get so playful, they get so naughty that they run all over my friend as if on the floor and jump on his sleepy face right on his face.

And one night the little fox, playfully, even grabbed him by the nose.

Since then, the friend slept with his head under the pillow. Even to this day he still has this habit. And the foxes are long gone, and he lives in another apartment, and there is no one to jump on his face, and he sleeps as before, tightly covered with a pillow.

These little foxes were real tricksters.

Once! - and the little fox will climb up the curtain right to the very top.

Two! — it’s already on a high cabinet.

And here they are on the chest of drawers, and here they are both dragging each other by the collar.

The little foxes found themselves a toy. This toy is a porcelain saucer.

The little foxes tap the edge with their paws, the saucer rattles, rings, and bounces. And the little foxes chase him all over the floor - back and forth, back and forth. The ringing sounds like something in a china shop.

One day my friend was very scared. He woke up in the morning and suddenly saw: his high hunting boot was jumping around the room, and so it was jumping - on its own. Turns over, rolls over.

What kind of miracle is this? Then he took a closer look and noticed: the tip of a fluffy tail was sticking out of the boot. Then the friend guessed that the little fox had crawled into his boot like a hole and got stuck there. He quickly grabbed the little fox by the tail and pulled it out of his boot.

These little foxes lived and lived with my friend and suddenly they got lost!

One day a friend came home from work and whistled:

- Fuck, fuck! Hey brothers, come on! I bought you some veal liver!

But no one swoops in, and no one comes to him. No baby foxes.

Where did they go?!

A friend started looking for them...

I looked at the closet - they weren’t on the closet.

I reached behind the chest of drawers - and there was no one there, and there was no one under the chairs, and under the bed.

I also looked at the boots. The boots are empty.

My friend was surprised and didn’t know what to think.

In fact, where could his little foxes run from a locked room?

But then he looked at his stove with the door open and immediately guessed. He quickly ran out onto the stairs and called the next apartment. They opened the door for him and asked:

- Who do you want?

- Yes, I need to take my animals from you. They probably ran away to you.

- Animals! What animals? We don't have any animals!

The neighbors were scared.

And a friend entered their room and approached the stove. It was built into the same wall, only on the other side. He opened the stove vent and whistled and shouted:

- Fuck! Fit! Fuck! Hey animals, come out! I bought you some veal liver.

And then something scratched in the wall, someone scratched in the chimney.

The neighbors were completely scared, and the old lady next door even crossed herself and said:

- Oh my God, aren’t there snakes crawling around here?

And out of the open choke, two animal faces poked out at once, all black, covered in soot, and their eyes sparkled like two beads.

My friend grabbed them by the collar and took them home.

After all, these are the tricksters: they climbed into the stove and began to climb up the chimneys, as if in a forest hole. Well, travelers.

Friends

One day a forester was clearing a clearing in the forest and spotted a fox hole.

He dug up a hole and found one little fox there. Apparently, the mother fox managed to drag the others to another place.

And this forester already had a puppy at home. Hound breed. Also still very small. The puppy was one month old.

So the little fox and the puppy began to grow up together. And they sleep side by side and play together.

They played very interestingly! The little fox climbed and jumped like a real cat. He will jump onto the bench, and from the bench onto the table, with his tail raised like a pipe and looking down.

And the puppy climbs onto the bench - bang! - and will fall. He barks and runs around the table for an hour. And then the little fox will jump down, and both will go to bed. They sleep, sleep, rest and start chasing each other again.

The puppy's name was Ogarok, because he was all red, like fire. And the forester called the little fox Vaska, like a cat: he barked in a thin voice, as if he was meowing.

The puppy and the fox lived together all summer, and by autumn they both grew up. The puppy became a real hound, and the little fox dressed in a thick fur coat. The forester put the little fox on a chain so that he would not run away into the forest. “I’ll keep him on a chain until mid-winter,” he thinks, “and then I’ll sell him to the city for his skin.”

He felt sorry for shooting the fox himself, she was very affectionate. And with the hound Ogark the forester went hunting and shot hares.

One day the forester came out in the morning to feed the fox. He looks and the fox's box has only a chain and a torn collar. The fox ran away.

“Well,” thought the forester, “now I don’t mind shooting you. Apparently, you will never be a tame animal. You're a savage, you're a savage. I’ll find you in the forest and shoot you like a wild animal.”

He called his Ogarok and took the gun off the shelf.

“Look,” he says, “for a cinder.” Look for your friend.” And he showed fox tracks in the snow.

Ogarok barked and ran along the trail. He chases, barks, and follows the trail. And he went far into the forest, you could barely hear him.

So he completely fell silent. And here he comes here again - the barking is getting closer and closer.

The forester hid behind a tree at the edge of the forest and cocked his gun. And then he sees two people running out of the forest at once. Fox and dog. The dog barks and squeals. And they run side by side through the white snow. Like real friends - shoulder to shoulder.

Together they jump over the bumps, look at each other and seem to smile. Well, how to shoot here? You'll kill the dog!

The animals saw the forester and ran up. Vaska jumped onto his shoulders, and the dog stood on his hind legs, rested his head on his owner’s chest, yapping and jokingly catching the fox’s tail.

- Oh, you little devils! - said the forester. He pulled the trigger on the gun and returned home.

So the fox lived in his hut all winter - not on a chain, but just like that. And in the spring she began to go into the forest to catch mice. She caught and caught and remained in the forest completely.

And the hound Ogarok has not chased foxes since then.

Apparently, all the foxes became his friends.

Bear cubs

There is such a village called Malye Sosny. Small not because the pines in the forest are small, but because the nearby village is called Big Pines. Unlike that one, then.

In the most impenetrable forest are these Small Pines. Dense forest all around. The spruce trees are overgrown with moss. Pine trees spread their branches in the sky. The aspen tree is erected in damp places like a picket fence. And the whole thicket is covered in rotten dead wood and damp. You won't get through it. Only long-legged elk can walk here, step over dead wood.

After a hunt, hunters brought two bear cubs from the forest. They brought them to the village, to Praskovya Ivanovna’s hut, and put them under the bench. There they began to live.

Praskovya Ivanovna made their nipples herself. I took two bottles and poured some warm milk

and covered it with rags.

Here are the cubs with bottles. They sleep, suck milk, smack their lips and grow little by little.

At first they didn’t get out of their sheepskin coat, but then they started crawling around the hut, hobbling, rolling around - ever further and further away.

The cubs are growing up safely, wow.

Only once did one bear cub almost die from fright - the chickens were brought into the hut. It was frosty

The yard was such that the crows froze in flight, so they brought the chickens to hide them from the cold. And the little bear rolled out from under the bench to look at them. Then the rooster jumped on him. And let's chat. Yes, how he was shaking! And he beat with his wings, and with his beak, and with his spurs he flogged.

The little bear, poor thing, is screaming, doesn’t know what to do, how to escape. With his paws, like a man, he closes his eyes and screams. They barely saved him. They barely took it away from the rooster. They took him in their arms, and the rooster jumped up. Like a dog. He still wants to fuck.

For three days after that, the little bear did not leave his sheepskin coat. They thought maybe he was dead. Nothing - it worked.

By spring, the cubs had grown and become stronger.

And in the summer, the cats became much bigger—about the size of a small dog.

Such mischievous people have grown up. Either the pot on the table will be knocked over, then the grip will be hidden, or the feather will be released from the pillow. And underfoot everything is spinning, spinning, disturbing the owner Praskovya Ivanovna.

She began to drive them out of the hut: “Play, they say, on the street. Make as much fun as you like there. You can't do much harm on the street. And you’ll brush off the dogs with your paws or climb much higher.”

The cubs live in the wild all day long. They don’t even think about running into the forest. Praskovya Ivanovna became to them like a mother bear, and the hut became a den. If anyone offends or frightens them, they now go to the hut - and straight to their bench, to their sheepskin coat.

The hostess asks:

- What have you, mischief makers, done again?

And they are silent, of course, they don’t know how to say, they just hide behind each other and glance slyly with their brown eyes.

Praskovya Ivanovna will give them a good spanking, she already knows that they have done something. And rightly so.

Not an hour will pass - the neighbors are knocking on the window, complaining:

“Your animals, Ivanovna, have scattered all my chickens, now collect them all over the village.”

“Sheep don’t go into the barn, they’re afraid.” It was your bears that scared the sheep.

The hostess prays:

- Will anyone take them from me soon? I have no patience with them.

And it’s not so easy to get into the city. We have to drive about sixty kilometers.

If you go in the spring, the mud does not let you in: not the roads, but the mud rivers. And in the summer, work keeps you busy - you won’t be able to leave either. This is how cubs live.

I once came to Malye Sosny to hunt. They told me that there are bears here. I went to look at them.

I ask the owner Praskovya Ivanovna:

-Where are your cubs?

“Yes, in the wild,” he says, “they play around.”

I go out into the yard, look in all corners - there is no one.

And suddenly - oh! — a brick is flying right in front of my nose.

Bam! Fell from the roof.

I jumped back and looked at the roof. Yeah! That's where they sit! The bears are sitting, busy, dismantling the pipe brick by brick - they will roll off the brick and lower it down the slope, along the plank roof. The brick crawls down and rustles. And the cubs tilt their heads to the side and listen to the rustling sound. They like it. One bear cub even stuck out his tongue from such pleasure.

I’ll quickly go to the hut - Praskovya Ivanovna, save the pipe!

She drove them off the roof and spanked them thoroughly.

And that same day in the evening, her neighbors came to her and also complained: the bears had dismantled the pipes of three houses, but they had dismantled little, and they had also piled bricks into the pipes. The housewives began to light the stoves during the day, but the smoke did not go where it should, it poured back into the hut.

Praskovya Ivanovna didn’t say anything, but just started crying.

And as I was getting ready to leave the hunt, she began to ask me:

“Do me a favor,” he says, “take away my hooligans.” You see for yourself what it’s like for me with them. While they were little, they were just like kids. Now look what has grown.

I took the cubs and took them to the city. He walked for about two kilometers on a rope, and when he reached the forest, he took off the rope. They are afraid of the forest themselves, they huddle close to me, they don’t want to fall behind.

The forest is alien to them, scary.

So we walked with them for two days. We reached the city. Here I again led them on a rope.

How many dogs, children, and adults also stopped and looked.

I gave my Malososnensky hooligans to the zoo, and from there they were sent straight abroad. We exchanged it for a striped zebra - an African horse.

Pischik

I have long heard that hazel grouse are hunted “by squeak.” It's like this: a small whistle is made from tin, copper or a bird's bone, empty inside.

The hunter goes into the forest, into quiet dense thickets, where hazel grouse live secretly and secretly; it’s good if there is some kind of stream or ditch there. Here you need to sit comfortably and beckon - whistle into this whistle, and the hazel grouse will certainly fly up.

I got a wonderful squeaker. It was made of a yellow tube-bone from a grouse leg, all embedded in silver - and the very hole where you whistle was in silver, so as not to accidentally crush the bone with your teeth, and the end of the squeak was in a silver filigree case. And a case with a ring for a chain or rope.

I learned to whistle in the hazel grouse style. You must first give two long, calm whistles - and then the end of the song - another whistle with short, abrupt whistles. It turns out like this: pi-i-i, pi-i-i, pi-i-ik-ki-ki-ki-kik! It's all about the end of the song. If you whistle too much, you are calling for a fight, not the female calling. You shorten it and it doesn’t look like anything at all—it’s like tits are pampering you. We need to know for sure.

And here I am sitting under a pine tree in a deep forest. He leaned against her. The gun is on my lap. There are trees all around. Quiet, no wind, no rustling.

I took out my whistle-pipe, put it in my mouth and called: “Pi-i-i, pi-i-i, pi-i-ik-ki-ki-ki-kik!” I listened. No one is flying towards me. I took the whistle out of my mouth, held it in my hand and admired it. Eh! Good job!

He put the squeak in his mouth again. He called again: “Pi-i-i, pi-i-i, pi-i-ik-ki-ki-kik!” He whistled again. I beckoned again - there was no one. I look at my silver whistle again, admire it, examine it, hold it in my hand.

And suddenly! This whistle from my palm, like a bird from a nest, will sing: “Pi-i-i, pi-i-i, pi-i-ik-ki-ki-ki-ki-kick!” Wow, how scared I was! He spread his fingers as if he had been burned. The whistle fell next to some kind of bump, lies on the ground and... sings again. And then it happened just like in a fairy tale: a forest cockerel appeared, stood right in front of me, right here next to me, at my foot. His posture is proud, he himself is wearing felt boots - he has shaggy legs, instead of a crest there is a black crest. He spread his tail like a fan, and every feather was painted - with spots and stripes.

The cockerel looked at me from under his red eyebrow with his black shiny eye and was surprised.

And I’m sitting there like a stump, frozen. And then, apparently, I either opened my mouth in surprise or blinked my eyes. The cockerel immediately recognized that I was not a stump, but a living person. And as if they had put an invisibility cap on him, he probably ducked behind a stump, ran behind a tree, and another, got up after it and flew away completely.

And I started laughing. I sit and laugh with all my heart. I laugh at how I deceived the hazel grouse, and how the hazel grouse outwitted me, and how the whistle lay next to the pine cone and whistled itself.

Forest kitten

A stream flows in a clearing. And the grass all around is thick, multi-colored - multi-colored from flowers. Here the bees are working, and the bumblebee is buzzing. And at the pine tree, at the three-year-old, which is knee-high, there are crowds of mosquitoes and mosquitoes. The whole bunch jumps up in one place. And the clearing is small, like a room—five steps wide, ten steps long.

Currants grow like a wall around, in the currants there are rowan berries, under the rowan berries there are raspberries again. And then a real forest surrounded the clearing. Spruce forest.

I'm walking through the forest with a gun. I saw this thicket - raspberries, currants, rowan - and climbed into the bushes. I look, and behind the bushes is this very clearing. Look how you hid!

“Is there any game here?” - Think.

I slowly look through the currants and see: right in the middle there is game walking.

A small, small kitten is walking, a big-headed kitten. The tail is short - not a tail, but a ponytail. The muzzle is goggle-eyed, the eyes are stupid. And he is only half a cat tall. The kitten is playing for himself. He grabbed a long straw in his mouth, fell on his back and threw the straw up with his hind legs. His hind legs are long, much longer than his front ones, and his feet are thick, with pads.

The kitten is tired of the straw. He chased the fly, then hit the flower with his paw. He grabbed a flower, chewed it and spat it out, shook his head - it was bitter, apparently the flower was hit. He spat, snorted, sat quietly for a while, and suddenly noticed a cloud of mosquitoes.

He crawled up to them, jumped and spread his front paws apart - apparently he wanted to catch all the mosquitoes in an armful. I didn't catch a single one.

And then a bumblebee caught my eye. The kitten got close to the bumblebee and hit the daisy on which the bumblebee was sitting with its hind paw and knocked it to the ground.

Deftly uses his hind leg. Like the front. A domestic cat cannot do this.

He knocked the bumblebee to the ground, and then squeaked and meowed. A bumblebee stung him. I wanted to help him, squeeze out the poison, pull out the bumblebee’s sting. But suddenly I realized: no, it’s impossible. And I went completely cold with fear. I don’t remember how I jumped to my feet and started running. I run as fast as I can from the kitten, only shielding my eyes from the branches.

There's a hole on the way - I'm going through the hole. Bush - I'm through the bush. And I have such agility from fear that I would be glad to jump over the entire forest in one fell swoop.

I run, I jump. He probably rode about two kilometers like that. Finally he ran out into the meadow and fell on the grass - and fell straight down. My legs can’t even hold me up, but my heart is beating and pounding.

Okay, I think the kitten lost its legs.

The kitten was not an ordinary one - it was a lynx. This means that his mother was wandering around somewhere nearby. While he was playing quietly and peacefully in the clearing, catching flies and chewing straws, his mother was also minding her own business - hunting. And when he raised his voice, squealed, screamed, then the lynx, of course, came to him - to his aid, to his rescue. And she would have torn me to shreds if she had caught me along the way.

And as luck would have it, my gun was loaded with the smallest shot - for hazel grouse, for small game. How can one cope with a lynx! The mother lynx is from a good wolf.

Yashka

I walked around the zoo, got tired and sat down to rest on a bench. In front of me was an aviary cage in which two large black crows lived - a raven and a crow.

I sat, rested and smoked. And suddenly one raven jumped up to the very bars, looked at me and said in a human voice:

- Give Yasha some peas!

I was even scared and confused at first.

“What,” I say, “what do you want?”

- Peas! Peas! - the raven shouted again. - Give Yasha some peas!

I didn’t have any peas in my pocket, but only a whole cake wrapped in paper and a shiny new penny. I threw him a penny through the bars. Yasha took the money with his thick beak, galloped off to the corner with it and stuck it in some crack. I gave him the cake too.

Yasha first fed the cake to the crow, and then ate his half himself. What an interesting and smart bird!

And I thought that only parrots could pronounce human words.

And there, in the zoo, I learned that you can teach a magpie, a raven, a jackdaw, and even a little starling to speak.

This is how they are taught to speak.

It is necessary to put the bird in a small cage and be sure to cover it with a scarf so that the bird does not have fun. And then, slowly, in an even voice, repeat the same phrase - twenty, or even thirty times.

After the lesson, you need to treat the bird with something tasty and release it into a large cage, where it always lives.

That's all the wisdom.

This raven Yasha was taught to speak like that. And on the twentieth day of training, as soon as he was put in a small cage and covered with a scarf, he hoarsely said from under the scarf, like a human being: “Give Yasha some peas! Give Yasha some peas!” Then they gave him peas.

- Eat, Yashenka, for your health.

It must be very interesting to have such a talking bird at home.

Perhaps I’ll buy myself a magpie or a jackdaw and teach it to talk.

Stupid monkeys

Two mother monkeys were feeding their babies. One monkey was an old, experienced mother, she held her little one tightly in her arms, and the other, a young monkey, dozed all the time. She sits and sits, her hands unclench and lower - her child is about to fall out of her hands and fall on top of the floor.

The old monkey saw this and pulled its ear.

Like, wake up. What are you doing?

The young monkey woke up, grabbed her baby tightly and sat down more comfortably.

Again, two mother monkeys sit side by side and feed their babies.

A little later the young woman again began to nod off and fall asleep. He's about to drop the baby.

Then the old monkey poked her lightly in the side with his fist.

The young one shuddered, straightened up and hugged the cub with her black little arms.

“Look, look,” said the people who stood near the cage, “how smart these monkeys are.” How they teach each other. Just like real people.

But then the young monkey fell asleep again - she didn’t get enough sleep, or what? And the old monkey pulled her tail with all her might.

And then a fight broke out! What a fight! A real monkey!

Both mothers on the top shelf are punching each other, pulling each other’s tails, pulling each other’s hair, and have completely forgotten about their boys. Their boys had long since fallen to the floor, hurt themselves, and were crying. And the mothers grimace, bare their teeth, and fly at each other like roosters.

So much for being smart!

Pig

Do you know how wooden spoons are made?

First, the aspen or birch tree is cut into short logs, then the logs are split into logs, and then they are hewn with an adze - a hole is dug in a spoon. And then they cut off the excess with a sharp knife and level it.

The bark and shavings from this work turn out to be mountains.

I have a friend, the spoon maker Yegorych.

Yegorych is a bore. He has no one in the world. He lives alone and every spring he goes deep into the forest. He lives there in a hut by the lake and whittles his spoons. Yegorych will bring food to his hut through the snow in winter, because in the summer it is difficult to get through the swamps.

In spring, the forest has its own food - forest food. In spring the Christmas tree blooms. Red columns grow on spruce paws. You can eat them.

There are pine and spruce cucumbers. Between the old, hard bark and the wood is a layer of young wood. This layer is peeled off in layers. Transparent and, of course, crunches on the teeth like a cucumber.

And horsetails grow near the swamps. This is a grass that looks like Christmas trees. In our area, horsetails are called pestles. Because horsetail looks like a pestle. It has not yet blossomed into a Christmas tree and sticks out of the ground like a column. These pestles must be collected, salted and fried in oil in a frying pan. It turns out very tasty. It looks like liver.

I was hunting in these forests and stopped at Yegorych’s to spend the night. He was happy to see me and gave me a beautiful spoon with a pike fish carved on the handle, and the spoon itself was painted with flowers. He treated me to tea and fried pestles and told me an interesting story.

“Listen,” Yegorych told me when we lit tobacco after tea and lay down in the hut on the hay fields. “This spring I had to make a lot of spoons.” I probably dumped two cartloads of wood chips and aspen shavings near the lake. What I’m saying is that if it weren’t for these shavings, nothing would have happened.

One evening I was sitting in a hut and whittling spoons. I wanted to light a cigarette, struck a match... Suddenly the branches in the forest began to crackle. Apparently some animal ran away.

And at night at dawn I hear: someone is walking. He walks around the hut carefully. Either a twig will crunch, or a pebble will roll.

Well, I think maybe an evil man has come, a tramp, or maybe a bear?

I took the ax in my hands and went out. Nobody here.

The second night someone is walking again.

The logs were getting wet in the trough. I heard the logs clatter, and the water splashed, and then on the shore of the lake my feet began to claw on the damp ground.

And someone walked there all night.

So I got up early in the morning and looked: on the shore of the lake there were footprints, just like a pig had walked.

Although I’m not a hunter, I see: there are two hooves on each leg. Well, if it's a pig, then it's a pig, let him walk. It’s just amazing, I think, how the pig got so far into the forest. After all, it’s twelve kilometers from the village to me. This pig must be hungry. I think we should lock her in the barn at night. True, we don’t have wolves, but the bear wanders around.

He built a fence and attached a trap: when a pig enters the barn, steps on the board, the doors will close behind it.

I put two slices of bread in this barn and placed a trough with swill.

Well, I think mine is a pig now!

That night again the pig wandered around the hut, again for some reason drinking bitter water from the trough where the aspen logs were soaking.

The pig walked around and around, but didn’t even look into the barn.

Then during the day I scattered bread near the barn, piece by piece. I made a bread path from the trough to the barn. I counted and there were thirty-four pieces of bread.

Well, I think that now a pig will certainly come into the barn. He will pick up piece by piece and get caught.

The next morning I looked: there was no one in the barn, and there were fewer pieces - twenty-nine pieces.

At night I hear a pig crunching right next to the window, chewing something.

I slowly looked out and saw: it’s not a pig! This is someone with a big head, long legs, and the size of a foal.

I took a closer look and recognized it as a moose calf.

And the elk calf leaned over the log of bitter water and drank, smacked his lips, then took a piece of bitter aspen bark into his lips and began to chew.

Eh, I wish I could catch him!

I looked out a little and began to smack my lips and call him. Slowly, slowly, so as not to frighten.

The elk calf pricked up his ears here. He looked out the window at me and how he would splash into the fog. The dirt splashed right in my face, the branches crackled - and there was no one. Only a hole in the fog remains, floating.

But I still caught this elk calf - not on bread, but on aspen bark, on a trough with aspen infusion.

This elk calf was very nice. Hump-nosed, long-legged, soft. Probably an orphan. Not otherwise - the bear ate his mother or some harmful hunter shot the uterus for meat.

The elk calf learned to eat bread, and ate porridge, and potatoes. If you add more salt, the elk will eat more greedily. Apparently he really liked salt.

This is how we lived. I whittle spoons, the elk calf eats porridge with salt and sucks bitter shavings.

One day I looked into a stall, and I didn’t have much flour or cereal. I let the elk calf out of the stall.

So what would you think? The elk calf climbed into my hut on its own. That's how tame and affectionate he has become! He came to the hut and groaned, mooing like a moose: oh! oh! oh! Asks for salt.

This is how the elk calf and I lived all summer.

And by autumn the elk calf left. Apparently, he saw his own people in the forest, accosted them and left.

Epifan

It’s nice and relaxing on the wide Volga River.

Look how wide it is! After all, the other shore is barely visible! This living, flowing water sparkles. And the whole sky looks like this water: clouds, blue azure, and little sandpipers that, whistling, fly in a bunch from sand to sand, and flocks of geese and ducks, and an airplane on which a man flies somewhere on his business, and white ships with black smoke, and barges, and shores, and a rainbow in the sky.

You look at this flowing sea, you look at the walking clouds, and it seems to you that the shores are also going somewhere - they also walk and move, like everything around...

Good, good on the Volga River!

There, on the Volga, in a guardhouse, on the very Volga bank - in a steep cliff, lives a watchman-buoy. If you look from the river, you will see only one window and a door. You look from the shore - one iron pipe sticks out of the grass.

Steamers run along the Volga day and night, tugboats puff, smoke, pull barges behind them on ropes, carry various cargoes or drag long rafts.

They slowly rise against the current, their wheels splashing through the water. Here comes a steamer, carrying apples, and the whole Volga will smell of sweet apples. Or it smells like fish, which means they are bringing roach from Astrakhan. Mail and passenger ships, one-story and two-story, are running. But the fastest ships are double-decker fast steamers with a blue ribbon on the funnel. They stop only at large piers, and after them high waves spread across the water and roll across the sand.

An old buoy keeper places red and white buoys along the river near shoals and rifts. These are floating wicker baskets with a lantern on top. Buoys show the right path.

In the evening the old man rides a boat, lights the lanterns on the buoys, and puts them out in the morning. And at other times the old beacon keeper fishes.

He is an avid fisherman.

One day the old man was fishing all day. I caught some fish in my ear: bream, white bream, and ruff. And he came back. He opened the door to the guardhouse and looked: that’s the thing! It turns out that a guest has come to see him!

A white, white fluffy cat sits on the table next to a pot of potatoes.

The guest saw the owner, arched his back and began to rub his side against the pot.

His entire white side was stained with soot.

- Where did you come from, from what areas?

And the cat purrs and squints his eyes and stains his side even more, rubbing it with soot. And his eyes are different. One eye is completely blue, and the other is completely yellow.

“Well, help yourself,” said the beacon keeper and gave the cat a ruff.

The cat grabbed the fish in his claws, purred a little and ate it. He ate it, licked his lips - apparently he still wants it.

And the cat ate four more fish. And then he jumped onto the old man’s hay and dozed off. Lounging on the hay field, purring, stretching out one paw, then the other, putting out claws on one paw, then on the other.

And he apparently liked it so much that he stayed to live with the old man forever.

And the old beacon keeper is happy. It's much more fun together!

And so they began to live.

The baker had no one to talk to before, but now he began to talk to the cat, calling him Epifan. Before there was no one to fish with, but now the cat began to go boating with him.

He sits in the stern of the boat and seems to be in charge.

In the evening the old man says:

- Well, Epifanushka, isn’t it time for us to light the beacons - after all, it will probably be dark soon? If we don’t light the buoys, our ships will run aground.

And the cat seems to know what it is to light beacons. He goes to the river, climbs into the boat and waits for the old man when he comes with oars and kerosene for lanterns.

They will go, light the lanterns on the buoys - and back.

And they fish together. An old man is fishing for a fish, and Epifan is sitting next to him. The cat caught a small fish. I caught a big one - in the old man's ear.

That's how it happened.

They serve together and fish together.

One day, the beacon keeper was sitting with his cat Epifan on the shore and fishing. And then some fish bit hard. The old man pulled it out of the water and looked: it was a greedy brush that swallowed a worm. It's as tall as a little finger, but it twitches like a big pike. The old man took it off the hook and handed it to the cat.

“Here,” he says, “Epifasha, chew a little.”

But Epifasha doesn’t exist.

What is it, where did it go?

Then the old man sees that his cat has gone far, far along the shore - he is whitening on the rafts.

“Why did he go there,” thought the old man, “and what is he doing there? I’ll go take a look.”

He looks and his cat Epifan catches fish himself. He lies flat on a log, puts his paw in the water, doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. And when the fish swim out in a school from under the log, he - one! - and picks up one fish with his claws.

The old beacon keeper was very surprised.

“What a trickster you are,” he says, “what an Epifan, what a fisherman!” “Come on,” he says, “catch a sterlet on the ear, and a fatter one.”

But the cat doesn’t even look at him.

He ate the fish, moved to another place, and again lay down from the log to fish.

Since then, this is how they fish: separately - and each in their own way.

The fisherman uses tackle and a fishing rod with a hook, and the cat Epiphanes uses his paw and claws.

And the beacons are lit together.

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Class: 2

Tasks:

• develop students’ speech activity and students’ creative abilities
• expand and enrich the student’s vocabulary
• to cultivate a caring attitude towards nature, our smaller brothers.

Equipment: textbook O.V. Dzhezheley “Reading and Literature”. Part two. 2nd grade, portrait of the writer E.I. Charushin.

A task for practicing reading and expressiveness techniques.

Hush, toads!
No way! (quietly, in a warning tone, you can use a gesture - finger to lips)
A heron walks
In the meadow. (Quiet - in a tone of fear)
So that there is no trouble
Take some water into your mouth . (Very quietly - whisper).

Fairy tale by N.M. Pavlov “Winter Feast”. They were asked to complete a task of their choice.

1. Heard:

a) children’s stories about each tree, what it looks like, and what benefits it brings to people.
b) independently compiled questions based on the text of the fairy tale.

2. Drawings for the favorite passage of the fairy tale are considered.

4. Learning new material

Working with text before reading.

Turn to page 193.

a) Look at the illustration at the top of the page.

What is shown in this illustration?
-Where does this all happen, do you think? (In the forest, in winter)
-Who is the main character of this illustration? (Cat)
-Why do you think this illustration is placed before the text?

b) Who wrote this work? Read the author's name. (E.I. Charushin)
- Do you know this name? (We met this author in 1st grade)
Remember what you know about the writer.
What works did you study a year ago?
(In 1st grade we became acquainted with the following works by this author - “Tomka”, “How Tomka learned to swim”)
- What were these stories about? About funny incidents from the life of a dog named Tomka.

c) Read the title of the story by E.P. Charushin, which you will meet today in class. (“Cat Marusya.”)
- Who are we going to read about? (About a cat named Maruska). So you guessed correctly: she is the one depicted in the illustration before the text.

d) Look at the illustration at the end of the text on page 195.
-Who do you see there?
(Cat Murka drinks milk, next to him is an elderly man who looks at her with joyful eyes)
- Who could this person be related to the cat? (By the owner)
- Where do the events take place? (In the owner's house)

Did you manage to understand why the cat in the first illustration is shown in a cold forest, and in the illustration after the text - in a warm house? What else can you guess? (Student statements)

Let's read the text and check our assumptions.

Working with text while reading. Understanding at the content level.

Primary reading.

a) Reading by children “to themselves.”
Reading 1 paragraph.
- Who lived with the cat Maruska? Name her owner.
(At the village hunter Nikita Ivanovich Pistonchikov)
Why was the cat thin?
(The owner fed her very poorly, she was starving)

b) Read 2 paragraphs silently.
Why did Maruska start going into the forest?
(From hunger)

c) Reading silently 3, 4, 5 paragraphs.
Where did Maruska live in the spring? (she stayed to live in the forest, gained weight, and became prettier)
How did the owner behave? Was he upset that the cat had been away for a long time?
(The owner completely forgot about her.)

d) Read silently 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 paragraphs.
How did the cat begin to eat in the forest with the arrival of autumn?
(Only mice left for food)
Why did the cat lose weight again?
(It became cold and hungry, as all the animals and birds hid from the cold)

e) Reading silently 11, 2, 13 14, 15 paragraphs
What funny incident happened to Nikita Ivanovich while hunting in the forest?
(The cat Marusya fell right on her owner’s head while hunting in the forest, mistaking his hare’s hat for a hare)
What did Maruska look like? (skinny-skinny)

Reading paragraph 16.
- What decision did Nikita Ivanovich make?
(Nikita Ivanovich took pity on the cat, brought it home and began to feed it until it was full.)

Let’s reread the text “out loud” and reflect with the author, did you understand everything?

Reading aloud 1, 2 paragraphs.
How do you understand the expression - bald cat?
Explain how you understand:
Will he catch some bird?
Find synonyms for the word sneaking
What did Maruska eat in the forest in the spring? (mice, birds)

Reading aloud 3, 4 paragraphs.
Explain
Destroying nests?
Does he live in pleasure?
Reading aloud 5, 6 paragraphs.
How did the cat begin to eat with the arrival of autumn?
(Only by mice, because the birds flew away from the forest)

Reading aloud 7, 8 paragraphs.
Has Marusya's life changed in winter?
(It became hungry and cold)

Reading paragraph 9 aloud.
Ambush - explain.
Who did she ambush and how? (Climbed trees on mice, hares and jumped on top of prey).

Reading paragraph 10 aloud.
- What kind of hunting can be called “non-prey hunting”?
Who did the cat's behavior resemble? (for a wild animal).

Reading paragraph 11 aloud.
What was Nikita Ivanovich wearing?
Short fur coat - what is it?
Reading aloud 12, 13 paragraphs.
Whose animal tracks could the hunter disassemble?
(Hare, fox, squirrel)

Reading paragraph 14.
Explain the meaning:
Throw to the ground
All skin and bones

Reading 15, 16 paragraphs.
Can this story be called a story with a happy ending?
(The owner showed pity and began to take care of his animal.)

Physical education (gymnastics for the eyes, massage of the ears).

Step 3 (re-reading the text).

Selective reading.

Did he love his cat? Prove with words from the text.

Work in pairs.

Expressively read a comical episode, one where it’s funny, but not fun.

Working with the text after reading.

What feelings did you have after reading the story? Were your assumptions justified?

a) Problematic question:
What do you think could have given rise to this story?
What lesson did the cat teach its owner?

b) A story about a writer.
You have become acquainted with another work by Evgeny Ivanovich Charushin.
What did Charushin write about? (about love for animals, nature)
Right. Evgeniy Ivanovich was a great connoisseur of nature.

He spent his childhood among the Vyatka forests, so he had the opportunity to observe its forest inhabitants. He knew the forest well and loved its inhabitants. The writer was able to skillfully convey his love for nature to his readers.

Why do you think Evgeniy Ivanovich wrote a story about the cat Marus for you guys?

c) Revisiting the title and illustrations.
Which fragment of the text did the artist illustrate?
Is the artist accurate in detail?
Does his vision match your vision?

d) Performing creative tasks.
What would you call this story?
What proverbs and sayings can be selected for this text?

Draw an illustration for your favorite part of the story.
- Come up with your own continuation of the story.
- For the next lesson, try to read a new story by E.I. Charushin.
- Do you have animals at home?

Write a story about your pet on the topic: “We are responsible for those we have tamed.”

Literature:

1. Speech. Speech. Speech. Book for teachers / Edited by T.A. Ladyzhenskaya. – M., Pedagogy, 1990.

Muska the cat

The incident came to mind at lightning speed after reading the miniature “Kitty” posted on the Prose Portal. ru, author – Liliya Sosnovskaya.

At the end of December 1965, just before the new year 1966, I came home after school. A Cat was sitting on the porch at the entrance to our barracks apartment. Gray, with a tiger pattern. Her smooth fur was fluffy from the cold, and therefore she seemed quite large. She was shivering from the cold.

I walked through the threshold into the first vestibule and called the Cat.

- Muska, let's go.

She got up and followed me. Having passed the second vestibule, I invited her again, she hesitantly, but followed me.

Once in the apartment, she sat down at the threshold and began to examine the home.

- Who else came to us? - asked the grandmother in a good-natured voice.

– She was sitting on the porch. Frozen. It's very cold today. It was you who sent me to school! Out in the cold. And they said on the radio that first-, second- and third-graders might not go to school today,” I answered.

Grandmother no longer listened to my reproaches. From behind the stove I took out an old bowl left over from Vaska’s previous cat, who disappeared at the end of autumn. She poured milk into a bowl from a can standing on the warm stove. She called the Cat to the bowl.

“Go, sleepy (this word, apparently common in the Urals, replaced the word “eat” when it came to animals.),” the grandmother called again in a good-natured voice.

The cat, already from the warmth in the house, took on a smooth-haired appearance, but did not decrease much in size. Big cat!

She walked up to the bowl, sniffed it, turned to look at her grandmother, as if to make sure once again that it was intended for her.

- Sopi, come on! Look, lady! Come on, come on!

The cat started eating. Having had her fill of warm milk, she looked around the room and headed towards the exit. And after sitting opposite the door, she decided to lie down on a felt boot that was lying near the shoe shelf.

While I was eating, the Cat was already nodding off. I fell asleep.

I wanted to play with her, but my grandmother forbade it.

“You’ll probably want to sleep, and you’ll grumble like an old man that they’re preventing you from sleeping.”

I gave up on the idea.

– I see she’s not impudent. I think maybe I should leave it with us. Although well-groomed and not skinny. Clearly not homeless. But maybe it will remain. After all, the mice began to prevail in the fall. The creature settled alone in the beds. I've already eaten the grains.

In those years, the country was still dealing with the consequences of Nikita Khrushchev’s rule in terms of food. Therefore, people stocked up on cereal products and crackers and were in no hurry to tear the barn locks from their “bins” - without hoping for improvement. Stock, as they say... Well, the reader himself knows...

On the very first evening, the grandmother put the Cat on the bed and within an hour the fuss began there. Standing on a stool, the grandmother pulled back the curtain. A cat with a fat mouse in its mouth appeared before our eyes.

- Huntress!!! Would stay with us. “Otherwise he’ll wait out the frosts and leave,” the grandmother said with regret.

The cat stayed with us. She asked to go outside to relieve herself and, without lingering in the cold, returned to the house.

But after two weeks of bitter frost, limp after the school holidays, the cat did not return to the house.

“It’s a pity,” the grandmother said dejectedly.

But after two weeks, this Cat was sitting in the same place again.

- She's back! The old owners probably didn't accept it. They apparently threw it out in the cold in winter. They probably thought he would disappear,” the grandmother reasoned, clearly pleased with the return of the Cat.

That’s how this cat took root with us. For her loyalty and neatness and for never climbing on the table or stealing food from it, she was given the nickname Muska by her grandmother. Actually, that’s what my grandmother called all the cats. And if it was a cat, then he certainly bore the nickname Vaska.

A year has passed. I was already a third-grader. In January 1967, our barracks were demolished.

For the fiftieth anniversary of the October Revolution, people were massively relocated to comfortable apartments. Although many families moved to old houses with communal apartments. But the barracks were wiped off the face of the earth. The UralKhimmash plant succeeded in this.

At the end of January we moved too.

Grandmother, having learned that they would move us to a communal apartment on the first floor, during the first inspection of the allocated apartment, notified our future neighbors that we were taking the Cat with us. The neighbors didn't mind. Well, since she’s so smart, take her.

When we moved, Muska was the first to be let into the apartment.

And the next day the grandmother, calling Muska to the bowl, did not call her.

- Vitalka, you go to the barracks. They haven't been broken yet. She probably went to her old home. This happens. Not all cats go to a new place.

And it's true! The barrack was still intact, of course, only the residents had already moved out of the apartments; the window shutters were closed and boarded up crosswise. Smoke was coming from two chimneys. There were still people in the barracks. Barack still showed signs of life.

Through the street closet, from which the lock was removed during the move, I made my way into the apartment with my friend. Due to the closed shutters, the rooms were in deep darkness. But the very recent presence of people in this home was still felt.

The cat was sitting on the edge of the stove, which had already completely cooled down. And steam came out of my mouth while talking.

I brought it home. But a few days later she disappeared again.

And again I climbed into the apartment and took Muska home. The grandmother took measures to prevent Muska from sneaking away again.

Well, it seems to have caught on. Control over Muska was almost removed.

I came home from school, and my grandmother said that Muska had apparently left again - we went out with her to the street to take her for a walk. But she disappeared.

I ate and went back to the barracks. All the windows there were already boarded up. Everyone has moved out. But Muska was not there.

I went there every day right after school, but Muska didn’t show up.

In mid-March the frosts returned again. It was very cold. One day I was not sent to school - the frosty wind simply knocked me off my feet.

In the afternoon I went to the barracks. For some reason I walked around him. The barracks were not residential. Not a single chimney was smoking anymore. All windows and doors are boarded up. Everything has been put to rest.

I got into the apartment. Twilight again. The walls of the apartment breathed cold on me. The walls were covered in smoke in places. It's chilly and not comfortable.

Muska sat in the same place and dozed, burying her nose in her paws bent under her. I called her, but she didn’t even blink.

I walked up to her, took off my mittens and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my coat to put her, as they say, in her bosom.

I took it with both hands, but in my hands I found Muska’s already numb body. I didn’t immediately understand what happened to her.

I was afraid!!! I have never touched a dead body in my life.

Disheveled and excited, stuttering, I ran home.

Grandma, seeing me in this form, asked what was the matter. I told you. Tears came out involuntarily.

The next day after school my grandmother and I went to the barracks. I don’t remember why. Probably bury Muska.

From a distance we saw a bulldozer and an excavator working on the site of our barracks. All that remains of it is a pile of ruins.

Muska seemed to remain faithful to the old housing that sheltered her a year ago, and decided to share the fate of the barracks.

The frozen, numb body of the house-loving Cat Muska remained forever buried under these ruins.

© Copyright: Vitaly Syrov, 2017

Certificate of publication No. 217122001035

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