Bastien
Bastien had gotten down the starting lines: the soft angle of the ears as they raised up from the cat's head, the fur sprouting from her cheeks. He was about to start on the eyes, try and capture the inquisitiveness he saw in them, when Lily began to struggle on his lap. Immediately he raised his arms to let her go, knowing that it was unwise to hold a stray cat down when it wanted to leave: besides, the best art was often made in fleeting moments; maybe there was something to be said for the unfinished sketch, the way it spoke of the quick nature of their meeting and time together. Leaning on the table he watched the cat go to capture whatever it was on the wall, idly sipping some water.
Let's pick the truth that we believe in
like a bad religion
