What the Cat Saw

The unfinished bull sculpture loomed in my studio, its massive horns catching fragments of dying afternoon light. Marcus had commissioned it—my oldest friend, now a venture capitalist who collected art the way he collected failed startups. "Make it powerful," he'd said, checking his watch. "Something that says I survived."

I'd been working on the bull for three months, my hands constantly coated in clay, my thoughts circling back to our friendship like water around a drain. We'd been close once, back when spinach stuck in our teeth was our biggest worry, back before he sold his soul for Series B funding and I sold my time for his validation.

The cat—my roommate's, really—watched from the windowsill, yellow eyes judging my lack of progress. She'd bring me dead mice sometimes, as if to say, "This is how you hunt." I hadn't left the apartment in six days. Spinach wilted in the crisper drawer, along with my ambition and my will to call my mother.

Marcus called while I was mixing epoxy.

"It needs to be more aggressive," he said. "More... conquering."

"It's a bull, Marcus. It's inherently aggressive."

"No, I mean—make it look like it's winning. Like it crushed something."

I stared at the sculpture. The bull wasn't conquering anything. It was just standing there, stubborn and sad, exactly how I felt.

"Maybe," I said, "it doesn't have to conquer anything. Maybe it's enough that it exists."

Silence on the line. Then laughter, sharp and incredulous.

"That's why you're still in that studio, and I'm opening a gallery in Chelsea next month."

After he hung up, I made myself a spinach salad that tasted like regret. The cat wound around my legs, purring, and I realized she was the only one who saw me—really saw me—without wanting anything in return. Not my art, not my success, not the reflected glory of being friends with someone important.

I gave the bull a gentler expression. Something almost vulnerable. Marcus would hate it. He'd demand revisions, maybe refuse to pay, maybe finally cut ties completely.

The cat jumped onto my worktable and sat beside the sculpture, tail twitching. For the first time in months, I knew exactly what to make next.