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 …
This article was originally published by The Verge and written by Elizabeth Lopatto.
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