Framed-Art Tour, Exhibit 15

 

You almost can’t see the cat puddled along the windowsill.

And to get a grander picture, you must bend your nose to each piece of the story. For example, this one, and this one.

 

But even then, that won’t do. So here’s the book (it’s also here—the whole thing). After chopping up my thrift-shop copy for its illustrations, I had to go find another.

 

The cat is a nuisance and a pest, in the eyes of Mr. Foster, the hotel manager. He uses Mr. Foster’s toothbrush—the cat hairs are evidence. “Cat whiskers!” cried Mr. Foster. The cat rides the elevator when he wants, eats the night clerk’s tuna sandwiches, thinks the lobby is his own living room. Mr. Foster intends to shoo the animal for good, once the rain stops.

Maybe it sounds terrible—my cutting up a book. But isn’t this vandalizing what a junk store is all about, really—its mission? Its used and useful ethos?

And even if my objets d’art lack the gravitas of somebody’s actual museum collection, I still think mine’s owed the space on the wall. No velvet cord roping it off, and no spotlights, true. But the shade’s fringes might be enough seductive.

 

A cat can have a lot going for it. Even a stray like this one. If only we could see. If only we could own up. Doesn’t every cat—whoever’s getting rained on, I mean—deserve the same protection we afford ourselves, safe in our high houses and planning bigger barns like in the Bible, or even ballrooms?