Saturday, August 6, 2011

Prisoner of Love

Prisoner of Love; sometimes resentful and unwilling. When did cats become so much work?
I think I was feeling sorry for myself when I painted this one!
I grew up with cats; my children had cats; they came and went; they were given and they were taken away.
One flew home from Hawaii with us when we came back to the mainland after three years on Oahu. He rode wherever cats ride on the airplane.
I do not remember having to turn on the kitchen faucet at 5:30 a.m. for a cat...I do not remember that plaintive cry from somewhere deep in the throat.
I don't remember going to the vet with a cat and paying mucho dinero!
Maybe I have a selective memory. Most people do.
What I think it is is that our previous cats never got old with us. They disappeared first. We usually feared it was coyotes or owls.
My cat Bali is still with me after ten years!
So I sold the painting yesterday! To a woman for her mom.
Happy Day@

1 comment:

  1. Very nice... perhaps we are prisoners of love, the love of our pets, our humans, ourselves. That painting looks more like someone totally loved by her cat, not imprisoned by it.