The artist, in a moment of quiet contemplation. | Photo by Elizabeth Lopatto / The Verge The pianist sits before her instrument.
She carefully extends a front paw, pressing gingerly on a key.
She presses again, and again.
She is composing some soul music, because something terrible has happened to her: The vacuum cleaner has come out of the closet.
Yes, my cat is a tortured artist.
When Jeeves is moved by something that upsets her - say, I have gotten up when she was comfortable sitting in my lap - she goes to her piano and plays a brief melody.
And then the piano dispenses treats.
At night, she prefers to sleep on me.
If I wake up to pee, disturbing her, my bathroom visit is accompanied by a moonlight serenade.
She hasn't mas … Read the full story at The Verge.