Picasso Perkins - Couverture souple

Geras, Adele

Couverture souple

ISBN 10 : 0552545554 ISBN 13 : 9780552545556

Editeur : Young Corgi, 1997

Synopsis

Life becomes very difficult for Perkins when Lexie decides she's going to do a picture of him for a "Paint Your Pet" competition. All he wants is a bit of peace and quiet but to his surprise he finds that he too can be creative.

A propos du livre

Extrait

1.

The Painting Competition

My name is Perkins and I am an old cat and a wise cat. I am, in addition, familiar with all the sayings of Our Ancient Furry Ancestors. They say, for instance, "Breakfast is the right meal for interesting news."

Today at breakfast, Lexie said: "Guess what? There's a painting competition in the Bugle. It's called Paint Your Pet, and there are cash prizes! Also, the winning picture gets printed in the paper."

"Lovely, dear," said Melissa. "Please eat your cereal."

Lexie continued, through a spoonful of food, "Entries have to be in on Monday. I wish I'd known about this before . . . we haven't got enough time. I want to do a portrait of Perkins. Jess'll be here in a second and I'll tell her about it, and we'll do it together. It's sure to win. Perkins is so beautiful, aren't you, Perkins?"

I looked up and blinked at her to show her my gratitude. Little did I know what I was letting myself in for. Lexie likes to get her own way. She is not a calm and docile child. She goes upstairs two at a time; she never walks when she can run; and she climbs trees as well as many cats.

The Jess she was expecting is her best friend and she lives next door to us. Lexie is a great talker, just like her mother. Melissa is a teacher at Lexie's school and believes in recycling and the creative use of various foodstuffs. The children in her class are forever making sculptures from old cornflakes boxes and egg cartons, and sticking lentils, beans, and uncooked macaroni onto cardboard, spraying them with gold and silver paint, and taking them home to proud parents.

Roland Blythe, Lexie's father, is an artist.

"I'm a pro," he says. "A real professional. There's not many who can say they make a decent living from their brushes. Starving in a garret wouldn't suit us, eh?" he says to his wife and daughter.

Nevertheless, Roland would love to have his paintings exhibited in a proper art gallery. That is what he would call success. His pictures end up on greeting cards, calendars, and wrapping paper. Still, I know he has been preparing what he calls "real pictures" in a shed at the end of the garden, which he calls "my studio." It is a delightful, warm place to curl up in during the chilly months of the year, and Roland likes to chat to me as he works.

"I value your opinion, Perkins," he says to me. "Tell me what you think of this. I call it 'Seagulls at Sunset.'" He likes painting animals and birds. He has done "Puppies at Playtime," "Fluffy Fun" (rabbits), and "Purrfect Peace" (kittens asleep). I never tell Roland my opinion of his work, but Blossom, Callie, and Geejay know that I am not a great admirer of his pictures. Their colors are too bright or too pale. They are all much the same as one another and they are what Lexie and Jess call "soppy." Whenever Roland shows me something new, I purr enthusiastically and pretend to examine the painting carefully, but often my eyes are half-closed and I am thinking about my next sleep and where I might be most comfortable. I would not wish to hurt his feelings, for as the Furry Ancestors say: "A purring cat is never short of chopped chicken liver." But let me return to the breakfast table. Lexie had decided my portrait was going to win a prize.

"That's very exciting, Lexie," said Roland, "but I have some thrilling news of my own. Look at this letter." He waved it around, narrowly missing the milk jug. "Wilfred de Crespay is coming to view my work on Saturday. That's tomorrow . . . oh, my word!" He began to fan himself with the letter. "I've gone quite hot and bothered."

"Who's Wilfred the Crispy?" Lexie said. "Is he foreign?"

"De Crespay," said Roland. "His name is probably of Norman origin, but he is English. He is one of the best-known art dealers in town. He goes to see what artists are painting and chooses pictures to go in his gallery. Then rich people buy them for lots and lots of money. I could be famous! I wrote to him some time ago but never really expected an answer. Goodness me! And such short notice! He says he likes to catch painters as they are and not give them too much time to prepare new work. But I must go and begin to get everything into a fit state to be seen."

When Roland is arranging paintings, it is as well to avoid his studio. He picks things up and puts them down somewhere else. He takes three steps backward to look at something, and if I happen to be in the way, my tail is almost certain to be trodden on. So I decided to settle down in Lexie's room. Lexie is an excellent child in many ways, but no one would call her tidy. Her bedroom looks as though a medium-sized hurricane has lifted every garment, every book, and every knickknack, whirled them around in the air for a time, and put them down in unexpected places.

It is quite normal to find a sneaker on the windowsill, or a book on the pillow, or a pair of socks draped over the dressing-table mirror.

Still, she is always glad to see me and there is generally a space on the bed into which I can fit myself if I curl up really small. Sometimes good luck is with me and one of Lexie's cardigans is spread out and waiting for me.

"Perkins!" she cried, following me as I edged my way into the room. "I'm going to paint the best picture of you ever. And Jess is going to help me."

Jess had already arrived at our house, waiting to walk to school with Lexie. She said, "You'll like having your portrait done, won't you, Perkins? If we win, your picture will be in the paper. It's going to be brilliant."

"And," Lexie said, "we're not going to do the normal cat things. We're not going to show you sleeping or looking cute or anything. It's going to be dead unusual."

I have never thought of myself as cute, but I did not say anything.

"We'll think," Lexie continued, "of good places for you to sit."

"Or stand," said Jess.

"Or maybe lie," said Lexie. "You'll have to keep very still. You can do that, can't you, Perkins? You're often still for ages, just staring into space."

I jumped onto Lexie's bed and decided to ignore her last remark. Many humans think that cats stare into space, but we do not. We are thinking cat thoughts (for example: do the sounds from the kitchen mean that Melissa is cooking, and if she is, will there be scraps for me?), dreaming cat dreams, and seeing cat things invisible to the human eye, such as specks of flying dust drifting through the air and catching the light.

"We'll use pastel crayons," said Lexie.

"No, watercolors," said Jess. "I want to use my new paint box."

"Okay," said Lexie. "We'll try watercolors, but maybe we should do some sketches first. There are a few minutes before we have to go to school. My dad always does sketches."

It occurred to me that sketching had not done much to improve Roland's pictures, but I kept quiet and hoped the girls would be content to draw me as I lay on the bed.

Not a bit of it. Lexie picked me up and said, "Now, stand here, Perkins, and try to look fierce!"

She deposited me on top of the bookshelf, and fierce is just what I felt, so I glowered at her. The Furry Ancestors say: "Better wide awake than being woken up," and it is true that I intensely dislike being interrupted as I am falling asleep, so I went on glowering.

"That's lovely!" Lexie squeaked. "Now don't move while we draw you."

She and Jess began to scratch around on sheets of paper. The top of the bookshelf was covered with bits and pieces: jewelry, pencils, ornaments, and so forth, and there wasn't an inch of space where a cat could put his feet. So I jumped down onto the carpet and ran out of the room.

"Perkins!" Lexie shouted. "Come back here at once! Naughty cat!"

She tore down the stairs behind me and very nearly caught me, but even at my advanced age, I am quite nippy on my feet in an emergency, and thankfully, Lexie cannot follow me through the cat- flap. I made my way to the garden in the middle of the square.

Présentation de l'éditeur

Perkins is a wise old tabby cat with a problem: His 8-year-old owner insists on doing his picture for a “Paint Your Pet” competition. Perkins is very fond of Lexie, but really! All he wants in life is a little peace and quiet. Perkins doesn’t expect to find a surprising talent of his own. . . .

Détails de l'édition

• Éditeur: Young Corgi
• Date d'édition: 1997
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN 10: 0552545554
• ISBN 13: 9780552545556
• Reliure: Broché
• Illustrateur: Ross Tony
• Nombre de pages: 96
• Coordonnées du fabricant: non disponible
• Personne responsable: non disponible