He had come in to see what I was doing, and I thought it would be adorable if he worked on the painting, too. He was wearing good clothes, so I put a drop cloth over his shorts and took his shirt off. He began the project seriously, keeping the brush on the canvas. However, the newspaper underneath began to get a coat of paint, then the table.
So I took his brush, wiped him off, and started to take him down the hall to the bathroom for further rinsing. He wanted to continue his masterpiece, so he whined and flopped stomach-first into the floor. As I was trying to wrangle him, my husband walked through and stopped to watch. He noted that it looked like a scene from "Cops," with a shirtless, face-down perpetrator.
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