Arthur Surveys the Painting Lady

Stealthily, I maneuver my way through the dining room on my way to the studio where the painting lady is working. I hop delicately onto the chair and sit upright, tail wrapped neatly around my paws. 

She is standing at her easel, absorbed in her depiction of a starling. The room smells of linseed oil. She tilts her head, squinting at the canvas, then dabs at the starling. She does not notice me at first. 

The starling on the windowsill gives a small chirp. This, of course, I ignore.

The painting lady continues. The starling portrait nears completion.     Acceptable workmanship.

 I stretch and place one paw on the edge of the table, signaling my approval.

“Oh!” she says, delighted. Naturally. “Arthur.”

I permit her to scratch the top of my head for several seconds.

In the distance, a car door slams.

Spot barks with renewed enthusiasm.

The parrots are shouting.

One of the bloodhounds starts to bray.

I descend from the chair and glide across the room toward the open doorway. There, I pause. 

The lady puts down her brush. 

I step outside. 

The mermaid is in the pool at the edge of the flagstone terrace.  

I sit down and begin washing my paw. 

The mermaid watches me for a moment, chin resting on the tiled rim of the water. She flicks her tail beneath the surface, sending a soft ripple across the pool.

“They’re still arguing inside,” she says. “The bloodhounds think the hedgehog is hiding under the piano.”

I pause mid-lick.

“GET HIM!” a parrot shrieks, breaking my reflection.

Spot’s bark erupts again through the open door.

The mermaid sighs and slides a little deeper into the water. “Chaos,” she says.

I stretch one leg behind me, extending each toe with deliberate precision.

A dragonfly darts across the terrace and stops to hover by the pool. 

I glance at it briefly with my eyes, though I do not move. One must not appear overly interested in insects.

The painting lady steps onto the terrace carrying a teacup to the mermaid.

“Arthur, don’t wander too far,” she says absently.

I turn my head slowly and regard her. Her comment is beneath me. I do not wander. I conduct inspections.

From inside the house comes a crash.

Spot whoops with joy. A chase is on.

The parrots scream their encouragement.

The mermaid winces.

I step down from the terrace onto the grass and apply my considerable powers of observation to the pressing matter of selecting a place to nap. The situation indoors appears to be deteriorating, but I have done what I can.