A tribute to my cat, Tip, who I love. Generally I try to keep the references I choose as subjects in my art broad and universal, things that won't be misinterpreted or age badly. I know the world doesn't know my cat Tip, but my wuv for him transcends my artistic morals.

I suppose to properly explain this piece I will have to begin at the begining with the story of Tip. Our other cat gave birth to him and his name was Victoria. Upon getting to know him slightly better, it was Victor. Over time, however, as he grew in size, a peculiar attribute became appearant. Tip, or the cat who would become Tip, primarily black, had a wee tuft of downy white hairs at the very tip of his tail. The nick name was irresistable.

When I graduated High School later on and joined construction, my world became a very small place. All my friends left on big airplanes to attend big universities, while myself and the other construction workers squated on buckets eating our sandwhiches and indulged in vulgar penis talk. And while my appearnce and daily surroundings grew ugly and rugged, my room, to which I returned every evening, naturally became a heaven. Over the monthes the inside of the walls were encrusted in every manner of pretty thing, old french mirrors, exotic silk throw pillows, etc. I nick named the place the opium den for it's orante, cavern like qualities. Nobody ever went in there.

And in this fishbowl life of mine, Tip was my only company. Through the months we developed into quite the old married couple. There were times in the middle of the night when in scratching one leg with the other under the sheets I'd wake Tip, he'd actaully speak in little merr's and prret's as if to say 'stop that'. When I'd get home every night Tip would wake up, yawn and greet me in his little cat voice. I never exclaimed any of my thoughts on this, sure, in the depths of my construction phase, that this was all in my vaste, unbriddles imagination.
It was one day when sitting on the back porch with my mother that Tip strutted out of the garden towards us. Mummy scratched Tip desperately behind the ears but to no avail, and pleaded, "Tip, why don't you ever talk to -me-?" And it was then I realised and said right there out loud, "Tip is a talking cat! Tip, speak!" And have been saying it ever since.

Ok, so the picture really doesn't necessiate a drawn out story like this, and if you've read this far I recommend drugs if you really need entertainment this badly, but many thanks. Eitherway, this is my first stab at oekaki, something I've always secretly wanted to do, but upon trying always get carried away with shading and come away with another fucking graphite masterpiece. Well, ta chilling, I have a big surprise to post soon!

Pan