Fourth illustration from “Olga & Trotsky,” a short story by Katja Hofmann.

(4) As expected, Trotsky fell for her trick straight away. Patience had never been his forte. He spread his hind legs indignantly and began to wash his arse. ‘Or not, so it appears,’ he hissed through his incisors, no longer as sharp as they had once been.

‘Quite,’ Olga smiled. ‘I think not.’

Olga reached for her coat and wound her woollen scarf round her neck. Trotsky chose to continue ignoring her. ‘You know, considering we haven’t seen each other for three weeks, you really could have come up with something more endearing,’ Olga grumbled, and placed her Borscht down in front of his nose. Without hesitating, or awarding her so much as a glance, Trotsky moved his pink tongue ably through the red stew, and fished out all the white islets in a matter of seconds. A few droplets of soup clung to the short fur on his muzzle and sparkled like rubies in the light of the stove. Purring luxuriously, Trotsky dropped his feline body to the floorboards again and regarded Olga with alluring bedroom eyes.

— Translation by Steph Morris.