7:00 PM, no drawings done today, zero impulse to do any now, so I scoop up a handful of Jesse's toys from around the house and dump the wretched things on my drawing table. I think I'll cheer myself up by using color and painting the battered mousie with as much care and attention as a flower, paint the rubber snakie as though it were an Etruscan artifact. Things are going pretty well. And then into the room comes Jesse, up he springs onto the tabletop, and it's all over for painting. He wants with a desperate urgency the toys he hasn't looked at all day. He sits down as close to me as he can get, hooking his chin over the edge of my sketchbook and batting at the paintbrush. He begins grooming diligently and doesn't leave until I fling all his toys back down on the floor, put the paints away, and he can go back to snoozing on the back porch table.