⊰ ✎ ⊱ Steve had lived here for years, in a small apartment building in Brooklyn: it was perfect really, all the tenants were older, his neighbor’s quiet. In college he had dealt with loud roommates and other tenants that made the walls shake and the floor vibrate. Here though, everyone was kind and respectful of one another – Steve liked it, even if Sam always complained about the lack of people their age: ❝Steve it’s like you live in a nursing home!❞ Nursing homes hardly had stairs, especially four flights of them…. If he were in a nursing home, he’d have the joys of an elevator that actually worked!
Still, the blond didn’t often have visitor’s during the day, which was why he painted then, got commissions done or finished up old sketches. So, during the day he tended to keep his door open, letting the fumes of the paint or the dust of charcoal a place to go – other than his lungs. He supposed that was how the cat got in.
One minute he was working on a sketch of city view from outside his window, and the next moment he looked up to find a cat perched there, enjoying the sun. Blue eyes blinked for a moment, because there weren’t any cat’s in the building and—No, there was a cat sitting on his windowsill.
❝Hi there.❞ Stevie offered with a smile, setting the charcoal down so that he could try and approach the feline. ❝And who are you, hm?❞ The fur ball seemed more tan friendly, letting the blond stroke down it’s back with a soft mew of approval. Steve was careful to avoid putting his fingers on the soft fur, not wanting to get charcoal on the small animal; it was bad enough that he undoubtedly had smudge marks on his clothes and face.
After several long moments of loving on the animal, Steve’s fingers etched to sketch the animal, so disregarding the rather horrible architectural lines, he settled for his smaller sketchbook. Sitting cross legged on the floor, the blond hunched over and started trying to emulate the way wisps of fur would curl away from the cat’s body – such elegant lines.
