8 x 10, oil on canvas
I first met Cleo about 10 years ago. Nobody really knows how old she is, but we are fairly certain she will still be around with the roaches when Wall-E becomes a reality. Not everybody "gets" Cleo because she tends to be kind of bossy and, shall we say verbal, especially in the wee hours of night. Or, perhaps it is her Georgia drawl that makes "meow" sound like an opinionated "NOooo!" that is often misinterpreted? Either way, she and I see eye to eye, and over the years, we have developed a close relationship grounded in our many deep and meaningful discussions - like this one:
me: "hey, Cleo, these chocolate chip cookies look great! Mind if I have one?"
me: "Ok, thanks, by the way, I'm thinking about getting my hair cut a few inches shorter. Do you think I should?"
me: "Well, what is your opinion about these jeans? Do they make me look fat? Cleo? C-l-e-o? Hey Cleo, where did you go? come back, I have more questions..."