Picasso Perkins

1. The Painting Competition My name is Perkins and I am an old cat and a wise cat. I am, in addition, familiar with all the sayings of Our Ancient Furry Ancestors. They say, for instance, "Breakfast is the right meal for interesting news." Today at breakfast, Lexie said: "Guess what? There's a painting competition in the Bugle. It's called Paint Your Pet, and there are cash prizes! Also, the winning picture gets printed in the paper." "Lovely, dear," said Melissa. "Please eat your cereal." Lexie continued, through a spoonful of food, "Entries have to be in on Monday. I wish I'd known about this before . . . we haven't got enough time. I want to do a portrait of Perkins. Jess'll be here in a second and I'll tell her about it, and we'll do it together. It's sure to win. Perkins is so beautiful, aren't you, Perkins?" I looked up and blinked at her to show her my gratitude. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for. Lexie likes to get her own way. She is not a calm and docile child. She goes upstairs two at a time; she never walks when she can run; and she climbs trees as well as many cats. The Jess she was expecting is her best friend and she lives next door to us. Lexie is a great talker, just like her mother. Melissa is a teacher at Lexie's school and believes in recycling and the creative use of various foodstuffs. The children in her class are forever making sculptures from old cornflakes boxes and egg cartons, and sticking lentils, beans, and uncooked macaroni onto cardboard, spraying them with gold and silver paint, and taking them home to proud parents. Roland Blythe, Lexie's father, is an artist. "I'm a pro," he says. "A real professional. There's not many who can say they make a decent living from their brushes. Starving in a garret wouldn't suit us, eh?" he says to his wife and daughter. Nevertheless, Roland would love to have his paintings exhibited in a proper art gallery. That is what he would call success. His pictures end up on greeting cards, calendars, and wrapping paper. Still, I know he has been preparing what he calls "real pictures" in a shed at the end of the garden, which he calls "my studio." It is a delightful, warm place to curl up in during the chilly months of the year, and Roland likes to chat to me as he works. "I value your opinion, Perkins," he says to me. "Tell me what you think of this. I call it 'Seagulls at Sunset.'" He likes painting animals and birds. He has done "Puppies at Playtime," "Fluffy Fun" (rabbits), and "Purrfect Peace" (kittens asleep). I never tell Roland my opinion of his work, but Blossom, Callie, and Geejay know that I am not a great admirer of his pictures. Their colors are too bright or too pale. They are all much the same as one another and they are what Lexie and Jess call "soppy." Whenever Roland shows me something new, I purr enthusiastically and pretend to examine the painting carefully, but often my eyes are half-closed and I am thinking about my next sleep and where I might be most comfortable. I would not wish to hurt his feelings, for as the Furry Ancestors say: "A purring cat is never short of chopped chicken liver." But let me return to the breakfast table. Lexie had decided my portrait was going to win a prize. "That's very exciting, Lexie," said Roland, "but I have some thrilling news of my own. Look at this letter." He waved it around, narrowly missing the milk jug. "Wilfred de Crespay is coming to view my work on Saturday. That's tomorrow . . . oh, my word!" He began to fan himself with the letter. "I've gone quite hot and bothered." "Who's Wilfred the Crispy?" Lexie said. "Is he foreign?" "De Crespay," said Roland. "His nameGeras, Adele is the author of 'Picasso Perkins' with ISBN 9780440418153 and ISBN 0440418151.