Squeezer: Your name is guess for a reason.
Guess: And what might that reason be, your highness?
Squeezer: Guess?
Guess: What a riot you are in your old age. You’re lucky to have not been subjected to the
slaughterhouse or an oriental market in downtown Moscow.
Squeezer: I am a pedigree!
Guess: Pedigree’s make the best glue.
Squeezer gives up and rests his head down on his paw. He is weary and famished. He
cares not about the argument with Guess. This is a daily routine. The constant belittling
keeps their wits sharp and passes the time. Squeezer simply cares about the dinner
bowl.
Guess: What I wouldn’t give to lie upon Lomov’s crotch right now. Tis a shame we are
housed in this insulting tenement.
Squeezer: NATALYA STEPANOVNA’s crotch is much better and has more of a pleasant
smell. However, I’m with you. This building is not suitable for someone with such pedigree.
My mother would dig up her own grave if she could see me now. Oh, woe is that poor bitch!