While tidying up one of my dark corners, I came across this oil painting, some decades old. I used to paint. It is a pretty bad photo, of a not very good painting, but gives enough evidence that I do love cats, if any of you were wondering.
This is Charlie, the last cat that I could really could call my own. Or maybe he belonged to the family, he might have belonged to my son. Sigh, I don’t really remember, but I know I loved Charlie.
[Oil paint on masonite, crudely framed]
In my previous existence I helped form a local art group in a very small western district town. I don’t know if they are still going or not. We ran an annual exhibition each September and I actually sold a painting at one of them, sold another on the way home once, too. I was delivering to a neighbour (paintings the fellow’s wife had bought) and he wanted to see mine, and there happened to be a little view of a landmark on his property. He bought it. I was stoked. Lovely bloke.