It had been a long morning for Renee; several phone calls and the loud yowls from her cat, Michie, had succeeded in driving her up the wall. Literally, she thought.
“Hush,” she waved the cat away with a nudge of her foot, “I’m sorry, I am not interested in whatever product you’re selling. Don’t call this number again.” There shouldn’t be anyone left to bother her! She slammed the phone down.
“Can’t a body get some peace around here?” She huffed as she threw her arms in the air.
Sighing, she glanced down at her calico fur ball and muttered, “Spoiled…Kitty.” His green eyes gazed at her, the tail thumping in slow motion.
He rumbled out a long mia---oou as Renee looked in the cabinet for a can of Frisky Feline tuna and dumped the contents in the ceramic dish. She laid it down beside the water dish. Michie wriggled his fat body between her ankles and slid on his paws to the dish full of Frisky Feline. She chuckled at the sight; it was like watching a furry Goodyear Blimp sliding down with all fours in every direction. The sound of Michie’s scarfing down the food filled the air.
“Eat up. I’m going up now. Behave yourself, Michie.” She ruffled the white tuft between Michie’s ears.
Renee climbed up the stairs toward her studio where she kept her artistic creations and her supplies at hand. She entered the studio and took her usual favorite seat facing an easel work-table, and then propped a canvas on the easel. She knew she had to complete a painting for the LaSalle gallery and she had put it off until now. Well, no more, she promised. She pulled together her colors and brushes and laid it beside the canvas. She picked up a HB2 pencil and drew a light sketch. She, then, started several layers of washes over the pencil lines; her eyebrows knitted in concentration. The painting took shape with the buildup of stroke after stroke. She paused and slid off the wooden stool to peruse her work. Feeling satisfied with herself, Renee cleaned up while she left the paint to dry slightly before she applied the final touches and let it dry completely. The clock struck 12:17 p.m. and she realized with a start that she was feeling hungry. After all, she needed a break and her neck was developing a crick. That couldn’t be good for her. She took two steps at a time as she skipped down the stairs. Just before she entered the living room, she sensed something was wrong with the layout of the room. Circling, she checked every window in the living room and none of them were opened. Not even an inch. She frowned. It sure was puzzling. Renee crept toward the study on the left and realized the door was ajar; she had not opened the study in few days. Who could have done this? A burglar?
“Michie?” She whispered.
The cat did not respond. She bit her lip as she was likely to be nervous when she did that out of habit. “Psst. Psst! Anyone here?” No Michie in sight anywhere. Not Grayson, her husband since it was his domain where he went to spend time alone to read Scriptures at night. She took a step further behind the desk and… roiled in disgust.
“Michie!!! Grr! How could you?!”
The cat jumped at the rebuke. The ears twitched in apology. Or half-hearted apology at best, she figured. Renee had caught Michie in the act of puking two large hairballs right. Soggy hairballs with bits of Frisky Feline embedded.
“That is the last hairball you’ll cough up in here!” She hissed.
Michie let out an indignant mia-oou.
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