Black and white. He likes to sleep at the bottom of my huge double bed. I begin to move my legs slowly, trying not to disturb him. I’m almost good, I just have to put on my warm bathrobe. The floor is a little bit cold and I can’t find my slippers. He likes to steal them and hide them somewhere. Last week I found them behind the long, azure drapery.
My walnut curls are ruffled, as always. I look in the mirror, to arrange them a bit. Another one again. I think, it’s a new one. I have more patches than Lucky. But I love them. I see myself as a beautifully painted artwork. I’m unique. Just like a map that leads to a treasure. Every patch has a story on me. I love the one around my left eyes, they are from Barcelona.
I walk down on the wooden stairs, to get my hot espresso and a cookie chip. The sky is dark. I get closer to the drapery and my toes feel something soft. He did it again. I shuffle into the living room in my fluffy slippers. The canvas is there. Still white, just like my lovely patches. Forms and dimensions, contour and shades.
I hated them so much. I felt really ugly with them. One day, I got home from work and Lucky was there. He loved me unconditionally from the first moment. I got back to my painting hobby. I loved to play with all those colors, creating a new word from them. He is my little savior, just like the sunlight after a stormy weather.
I hear some silent steps behind me. He is stretching his long legs and body and yawning cutely. The sky went from indigo to lighter blue, with a pale apricot.
“This is our favourite part, am I right, Lucky?” I asked him with a huge smile.