The next afternoon Joseph stood by the bedroom window, hands in his pockets, listening to the pulsing drone of the cicadas in the magnolias outside. Downstairs he could hear Audubon instructing Eliza in the parlor; they were in the middle of a dance lesson.

“And one. And two. And one. And…no, Miss Eliza, the left foot, not the right foot. Please, concentrate! You want the young men for miles around to come and admire your talents on the dance floor, yes?” Notes from the pianoforte began again.

Joseph had spent all day working on his botanical drawings; sheets of discarded paper, covered with attempted sketches, littered the floor.

He looked at Celeste. “Little One, I need inspiration!”

He pulled a cotton bandanna from his hip pocket, then folded and twisted it into a bowl-shaped nest for Celeste.

“Here you go,” he said, sharpening a pencil with his pocketknife. “You just sit there and take a nap.”

But Celeste couldn’t sleep. She watched as Joseph started to sketch her. He began with a soft, arching line: the contour of her back. Then a second line swept over the first, hinting at her tail.

“You’ve got such beautiful eyes, Little One,” Joseph remarked. He studied her face and sketched the outline of her eyes and ears. Details followed: the white whiskers and pink nose, the tiny toes tucked under, soft and cream colored. With the side of his pencil he shaded in the background pattern of the bandanna and the tiny soft lines of her fur. He chose a softer, darker-leaded pencil and added still more details. Celeste watched as her eyes in the drawing became darker and more alive, the inner curves and shadows of her ears more prominent. Joseph took an eraser and touched certain places on the paper, creating highlights. The whole portrait took only minutes. Celeste could see that it was an exact likeness, with a warmth and spirit, and just enough details to show it was her, Celeste.

With a soft pencil Joseph signed his name along the edge of a shadow. “Hey!” He laughed. “You should sign your name, too, Little One. After all, you’re the subject matter. And I can’t think of a better subject!”

Using the blade of his knife, he shaved off some graphite dust from one of the softer pencil leads. He carefully gathered up Celeste, rubbed the bottom of one of her paws in the gray powder, and then gently pressed her paw to the paper, next to his own signature.

“Here,” Joseph said. “This is for being a good model.” He reached into his trousers pocket and fished out a peanut. “Your favorite!”

Celeste sat in the bandanna, contentedly nibbling the nut and gazing at her portrait.