Sanmu stays beside me while I paint · Sanmu Memoir 003

When Sanmu was little, it sometimes jumped onto the desk while I painted and watched from beside the drawing board. As the watercolor brush swept across the picture, Sanmu would watch for a while, then reach out a paw and bat at it.

Of course I did not let that happen. How was I supposed to paint?

Talking now about a cat keeping me company while I painted makes it sound very warm and lovely. But in the middle of painting, if Sanmu touched the brush I was using, I still had to stop it. Watching from beside me was fine; joining in with the brush was not. Loving the cat did not make everything negotiable.

Still, that only happened occasionally. On the whole, Sanmu was not interested in my art supplies. It did not deliberately step onto the palette or chew my brushes. I think the interest in the brush as a kitten may have been because I was moving it. The materials themselves seemed to hold little attraction.

That was quite different from what I had worried about when I first got a cat.

For a first-time cat owner, the familiar things at home suddenly all deserve another look. Especially where I painted, with the paper, brushes, and colors. Once a kitten arrived, could I still leave everything where it had always been? Would it cause trouble while I was painting? Not knowing Sanmu yet, I had all sorts of worries.

And yet, my wish to have a cat had itself begun with painting.

In 2013, I was taking pet portrait commissions. A customer would give me a photograph, and I would paint the cat or dog in it. But when we spoke, I always felt there was only so much I could say. Having never had a pet, I found it hard to truly understand why they so wanted a painting of their own animal, or how much affection was held in that wish.

Later, in an in-person watercolor class, many of my classmates had cats, and I increasingly wanted one myself. I could paint my own cat, and hoped that living together would teach me things I could not experience just by looking at photographs. So Sanmu's arrival did carry a little intention connected with my work.

But a real cat beside the painting desk was very different from a photograph of one. A photograph stayed where I put it, and I could paint from it. Sanmu jumped up independently, watched what I was doing, and might reach out to tap the brush. As I painted, I had to gradually get to know the cat: what interested it, and what it did not want to touch at all.

Living together, I discovered that painting had not become much more troublesome. Sanmu did not insist on standing in the area where I was working, but stayed beside the board. Nor did I have to chase it down simply for getting onto the desk. Apart from occasionally stopping a paw from batting at the brush, most of the time I painted and Sanmu stayed nearby.

I once wrote on a card about Sanmu that we did not need to make rules for each other. That may sound vague, but painting makes it easy to understand. I did not specifically teach Sanmu not to step on the palette, or put effort into teaching it not to chew brushes. It was not interested in the first place, which neatly saved me the trouble.

If Sanmu had constantly touched my supplies, I do not think I would have found it cute. I still had work to do. But Sanmu did not make me worry about these things. I could keep it close without having to train it into a cat suited to accompanying me while I painted. That is what I mean by "just right": something very practical and easy to live with.

As Sanmu grew a little older, it spent more time lying beside me. As a kitten, the movement of the brush could catch its attention and prompt a paw to join in. Later, more often, I painted and Sanmu lay there. Looking back, beside the drawing board is one of the places where I remember Sanmu, at different ages.

I would also reach out for a stroke, feel the warmth through my fingertips, and say a few words. There was no need for anything particular to say. Sanmu was beside me, and I wanted to touch it and talk a little. I was still doing my own thing, with a cat close enough to be affectionate with.

When I first painted customers' pets, I felt that without having one myself, it was hard to understand that affection. After Sanmu arrived, I gradually had these very concrete experiences of living together. When it batted at my brush, I found the interruption annoying. When it lay beside me, I wanted to stroke it. Put those small things together, and that was our everyday life.

Now, when I say Sanmu suited me, these are the scenes I think of. I did not have to constantly watch for things being damaged, and Sanmu did not have to be repeatedly told what to do. I could paint in peace, and when I wanted to stroke the cat, I only had to reach out to feel that warmth.

Having a cat in your life really is a happy thing.