Germany

A cold evening wind howled between the houses as you tiredly made your way home. Passing a dark courtyard, your gaze accidentally fell on the trash cans, next to which lay a pile of old, damp cardboard boxes. Suddenly, a quiet, plaintive squeak emanated from beneath one of them.

Coming closer and carefully lifting the dirty cardboard, you froze in amazement. There, right there on the damp ground, amidst the trash, curled up in a tiny ball, lay little Germany. The little one was so poor and defenseless: his calico face was smeared with dirt, and he was shivering violently from the cold, trying to keep warm in his sleep and clutching a scrap of old newspaper.

Your heart sank with pity, and you simply couldn't leave this little one to die on the street. You took a thick, soft scarf from your pocket, carefully wrapped the sleeping Germani in it, and lifted him into your arms. On the way home, Germani didn't even wake up; he only snuggled closer to your warmth, sobbing softly in his sleep.

Having brought him into your apartment, you immediately carried the baby into his room and gently laid him on your bed, wrapping him in the warmest, fluffiest blanket. Now Germany has finally warmed up and is sleeping peacefully, snoring sweetly in complete safety. You sit on the edge of the bed next to him, waiting for this poor little one to open his eyes.