Thursday, September 28, 2006
Sometimes, I’m like a cat . . .
Why has Pat Janssen Hall’s “CAT” picture so enticed me? Of all the marvelous pastels and sketches on Pat’s studio desk, I kept coming back to this mournful critter. Look at him. He’s so sleek and well-fed that I should hear him purring. But there’s nary a purr emanating from this sketch. Instead, I can almost hear him groaning.
And Pat is such a sunny gal; why would she draw such a gloomy-Gus Cat?
“Why is he so unhappy?” I demanded, laying the picture in front of its creator.
Cheshire Pat smiled. “Look at his eyes.”
Obedient, I looked. And I saw . . . Fish.
Beautiful, cat-food-perfect fish.
Never mind that Cat has obviously just finished ten courses of Nine Lives.
He wants more.
I laughed and returned the picture to Pat. “How human of him!”
At the end of our visit, Pat generously allowed me to take home a portfolio of her drawings. Chief among these was Cat.
By now, this frustrated feline has all of my understanding, if not pity. Reflected in those dark fish-longing eyes, I see much of my author-self.
I ought to be satisfied with my work and enjoying the gift the Lord has given me. But too often, I want more.
I want my writing to be so perfect that editors rejoice. I want to scribble every story in every language and every genre—okay, almost every genre—in the known world. I want to write poems, epics, songs, and pen marvelous quips to make others laugh.
Very Cat of me.
Could it be the tuna I had for lunch?
Blessings, dear Reader,
Pat's desk, 2006