“Can I help you?” I press my fingers against my forehead and squint down at Berry. She’s so judgemental all the time with those unblinking green eyes, and this just isn’t the morning for that. I mean...okay. So I know that’s like the overarching personality trait of cats, but come on. Gimme a break.

She saunters off towards the kitchen in response, rubbing her silky black fur along the trim. 

“Are you mocking me?” I brace myself against the same wall and follow at a much slower pace.

My hangover almost takes me to the floor when I tilt forward to pour food in her dish. She gives me another disapproving look at the sound of my groan before digging into her breakfast. 

Then, as if that isn’t enough, the coffee carafe slips from my grasp and clunks into the basin of the sink. The harshness of the impact brings a curse through my inhale as my head sears in response to all the world has to offer today.  

I swear I feel a “ping” in my brain as I plop myself on the counter to wait for caffeine. I’m surprised there are enough cells left in there to wither and die. The pings are probably self-inflicted at this point. 

About halfway through my second cup of coffee, Berry makes her presence known from above me with a loud crash.

“Are you fucking joking with this right now?” I round the corner to the upstairs bedroom to find all of my brother’s CD’s strewn across the carpet. “It took me days to alphabetize these!” I glare down at my asshole of a cat before slowly lowering myself to the floor. I guess this is my project for the afternoon.  

About three hours into sorting, I run out of spare CD cases to replace all of the ones that didn’t survive the wrath of a black cat. With one glance out the window, I determine it’s far too bright for me to emerge just yet. I’ll order some online.

Bryan was the only person I could think of that collected actual CDs. He would obsess over acquiring every single album of a group he liked, and then burn mixes for different moods or situations. Or presents. I don’t think I ever saw a birthday without a CD from my little brother. 

He’d never developed an organizational system for them, always digging around frantically whenever he just had to listen to something. He would basically bite my head off for pointing that out to him, and called it his “artistic chaos” before slamming the door so the wood would block the sounds of my obsessive need to clean it all up.  

“Are you Bryan reincarnated?” I demand, as Berry watches me work without any expression of remorse whatsoever. “You certainly have his appetite.”  

She leaves. 

I don’t see Berry again until I’m in my studio, also known as the shed in the backyard with a view of the lake. She attempts to trip me as I’m moving from painting to painting across the tiny space. 

I ignore her, too focused on replicating a picture on three separate canvases to acknowledge her bullshit. I’ve had three orders come in from the gallery in town for this painting of the lake at sunset, and it couldn’t possibly be driving me more insane.

I just hate saying no to people, so if they want the same picture I’ll always agree to it. This instance was just one woman, wanting “fresh” copies as gifts for her three sisters. She’s keeping the original for herself.

“Maybe if they see how beautiful this place is, they’ll come visit once in a while.” She’d smiled sweetly at me, her tiny blue eyes almost disappearing completely.

Mrs. Pinsky is old. Maybe seventies...and seems awfully lonely. So I agree to do pretty much any projects she desires. At the cost of my sanity. So. Much. Blue. She’s actually loaded, though, and offered way more than I would ever ask. So here I am. 

As dusk settles in, Berry perches on the tiny window in the shed. She makes herself busy by staring at the treeline and into the bushes, flicking her tail every few seconds. I join her as the breeze picks up, bringing my cigarette along for the ride.

There’s a clearing in the trees that frame the backyard, so I can see gentle waves creeping over the rocky shoreline below. The sun has set, but a sullen orange glow remains on the horizon.

“I guess this is pretty spectacular.” I puff out an exhale of smoke.

Berry immediately tenses, but she keeps her glare on the bushes.

“Gonna ignore me, huh?” I sigh, and turn to clean up the mess of paints along the shelves. 

I make sure every can and bottle is sealed tightly. Paint gets expensive, so I take good care of my inventory. 

The cat stays on the shed’s window sill, even when I head inside to wash up. The air is dropping to the mid-fifties, the slight breeze whispering softly against my bare skin until goosebumps form. I should probably grab a shirt. Early June in Michigan can be a little all over the place as far as temperatures go. I glance back at the cat before ascending the deck steps. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.

“Hey!” I open the back screen door. “Feeding time!”

I’m ignored.

Berry holds her perch until dawn as I work on some sketches for the bakery remodel in town. Ella Jo’s has been in business since before I was born, so I figured it was time for a spruce. That woman is like a grandmother to me, so I’m not charging her for the plans and designs. I’m not a contractor, but I’ll paint the hell outta that place for free once everything’s ready to go.

Berry doesn’t even move when I walk outside around the shed to press my forehead against hers in our usual greeting. She just blinks at me like I’m the worst nuisance to ever exist, so I take a puff of my cigarette and head towards the water. 

I almost faceplant in the grass when she entagles herself in my legs. “What the hell?” I push myself up, stomping out the cigarette before plucking it from between the damp blades. “Are you trying to kill me? Because in case you’ve forgotten, I provide the food.” I huff at her as I head towards the house to dispose of my tiny stick of relaxation, now crumpled and dirty. Such a waste.

When I glance outside the kitchen window, Berry’s still crouched on the lawn, peering into the bushes as if nothing happened. My feelings are a little bruised, and I jog outside to scoop her up. Her fur is cold against my arms as she wiggles around in my grasp, and she only stops her protesting when she sees her food dish full and waiting. 

Once my cat’s been fed and watered, I sink into the swing on the back deck and poke at the knots in my neck with timid fingers. Painting should be a sport or something with all the havoc it wreaks on my body.

I decide to let myself rest for the day, and finish off my glass of whiskey as the dim light of dawn casts shadows across the trees.