I'm ready with my pose, Mr. Degas

I love watching my cat get ready for a date. At least I like to think he has a date; why else would he go out late in the evening? I often tease my friends that my cat has more dates than all of us combined.

He sits on the carpet and extends a back leg, looking very much like a ballet dancer. I'm sure if Degas were around he would grab his paintbrush and canvas and get to work. Degas famously went backstage at ballet performances and we all know the marvelous paintings that came out of his roving eye.

Kitty holds his pose until every last fur is cleaned and groomed, spit polished, one might say. Then he does the second leg, then he arches and makes sure his back is just-so.

The care he expends is a marvel to behold. I'm sure Degas was also enchanted with the precision of the ballet dancers, the way they extended their arms just-so, the way they flexed their legs.

I am continuously learning from all around me, especially my cat. My palette contains neither fur nor paint, but words. Which means I need to find the right word, the perfect flow for a sentence, the important scene that makes the novel come together just-so.