If you spend any time exploring my work, it won’t take long to notice a recurring cast of characters – cats. Big ones, small ones, grumpy ones, aloof ones, plotting ones (and aren’t they all?). People often ask why they feature so heavily in my illustrations. The truth is simple: they live here. And they are everywhere.
Our little French village may not have a traffic light or a reliable corner shop, but it does have cats. Lots of them. They stroll along windowsills, sun themselves on café chairs, and loiter outside the boulangerie with a look of studied nonchalance. They’re not pets so much as furry dignitaries with their own mysterious social order. And they have, whether they like it or not, become my artistic muses.
When I first moved here, I was more interested in the humans – their habits, quirks, and café gossip. But it quickly became clear that the real stars of village life wore whiskers and had opinions about everything. One cat in particular, a tabby with a missing ear and the swagger of a retired pirate, adopted our garden as his throne. Another, a sleek black shadow, insists on accompanying me halfway down the street before turning abruptly back like a Victorian chaperone.
They appear in my work not just because they’re funny (though they are), but because they capture something about the soul of the place. The rhythm, the laziness, the absurd self-importance of everyday life. They are natural comedians, reluctant philosophers, and occasionally unintentional therapists.
So next time you see a feline face pop up in one of my drawings, know that they’re not fictional. They’re my neighbours. And like any good neighbour, they are both endlessly entertaining and slightly nosey.
More cat tales to come, naturellement.