I have this cat and he goes by the name of Mr. Quincy. He is a rather fussy gentleman, and not much of a gentleman in the traditional sense of the word, but he is a good friend and therefore I try not to speak ill of him.
...He is very conversational. He often approaches me with a high-riding tail and a comment or two. I will reply with a greeting of my own and I'll ask how he is doing. In response he will growl tiredly, and bump his forehead to my shinbone, or commit a smooth slide along the side of my leg, ending with a gentle tail wrap.
...Our conversations are constant. I will say something about the weather. He won't understand but out of courtesy he will pretend he does, and offer a few words which I won't understand. Perhaps it is advice about the frequency of feeding times, perhaps he is forgiving me for the bath I subjected him to yesterday, perhaps he is suggesting that it would be nice for the two of us to go sit in the ivy on the patio and watch the hummingbirds.
...I'd like to think he approves of me, but I don't have any proof that his concerns go too far beyond the obvious despair he feel when his bowl is empty.
...He is a very prominent fixture in my world and he creeps into my dreams and into my sketchbooks. There he is again, damn cat.
...Pencil sketch, scanned and given a ten-minute color job.
This is an assortment of heads. Nobody in particular. Pen, brush and ink with a little bit of white goache because I got carried away with the ink.
...There was a great temptation to fiddle with the drawing after scanning it. When I over-inked, I shrugged and thought "eh, I'll fix it in photoshop." It's bad enough I'm coloring some of these on the computer.
...Which reminds me; I did apply watercolor to one of my drawings but the paper doesn't take to it to well, and the drawing was pretty weak. It shall not appear.