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Posts Tagged ‘art’

It was Saturday morning. I was at the computer applying pale peach nail polish to my fingernails. In the middle of doing that, I had an idea for a story and started writing. Kippy, one of my seven kitties, was lounging on the desk, helping the story along by alternately pushing the cap lock or tab keys as needed.

It is Saturday morning. The forecast has said fifty percent chance of rain and the sky is a flawless blue. She is sitting at the kitchen table, her fingers spread in front of her, waiting for the pale peach nail polish to dry. The window panes are projecting sharp sun-yellow rectangles on the butcher block. She looks at the pattern of light, regular, repeating, until it cascades off the table onto the linoleum floor. She is irritated, but she doesn’t know why. Her daughter is in the living room at the piano, playing Bach. The rhythm lurches forward and stumbles, corrected wrong notes punctuating the music with randomly placed exclamation marks. Hell, thinks Carla in her irritation, the girl has lead fingers, tin ears. She wonders why she has been paying Mrs. Kramski for piano lessons the past six years, why Heather continues doggedly to practice, practice, practice, without the thrill of accomplishment, without hope. She remembers the old joke: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice, and she sneers.

She thinks she has pinpointed the source of her discontent, until her eyes focus on what she has been staring at absentmindedly all along: the bottle of nail polish, bathed in the yellow light. “Why on earth did I buy pale peach?” she thinks.

The doorbell rings, mercifully suspending the piano playing in mid-phrase. The bell also distracts Carla from her irritation and she is unhappy. Carla likes to wallow in her moods undisturbed, likes to travel through the nuances of her feelings, as a befuddled tourist would navigate through a foreign city without a map, trying to decipher the unfamiliar landscape.

The doorbell rang. I stopped writing and got up to answer the door. When I returned, there was an overturned nail polish bottle on my desk and a lovely pail peach paw print on the black keyboard. I am irritated and I do know why.

Filed under: Cats help life imitate art.
Alternative filing: Fiction writing with cat-assist.

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