When I was in school I was always known for being ‘the girl who draws cats’. I thought that was a bit limiting, and tried to draw other things. Recently, though, I have begun to embrace the fact that when my hand and my pencil are on autopilot, it is typically a cat who emerges onto the page, wearing an expression of feline disdain or sleepfulness. I can hardly help it, having never lived without at least one cat to call home.
My own personal cat was named Jake, and passed away in December at the age of 15. He was a large and unkempt creature, prone to bouts of nervousness, and with a penchant for lying his head on discarded shoes.