I Am a Cat and My Painting Was Sold for $7.3 million

It all started when I was out for my lunchtime prowl. I went into my human owner's Olga's broom closet, which she referred to as her art studio.

I found no food in there. Just my human Olga, pale and exhausted, was staring at her blank canvas.

My name is Jellicle Gold the Third, but you can call me Jelly for short. I have a very sophisticated palate -- I prefer to eat caviar, and cream of chicken soup with truffles.

But of course, Olga couldn't afford any of that. As an Uber driver, she only made enough money each week to buy me a dollar-store bag of soggy cat food.

Yet, I'm a gentleman. I know what it means to be loyal. That's why I was determined to stick with Olga until the very end, whatever that might be.

I knew that Olga aspired to become a renowned artist, yet I was fairly confident it would not happen anytime soon. In my view, she wasn't bold enough in her artistic expression.

As I walked in, I snickered at her work in my usual sardonic manner. What I saw on her canvas didn't taste delicious if you know what I mean. It lacked flavor, like a bowl of boiled water without even a hint of milk.

Yet, as I observed Olga, I began to feel deeply concerned. Her hair was a mess, she looked as though she hadn't had a shower in months, her beautiful dark eyes were sunken in. She seemed to have given up on life itself. It was a very long face she had, a weird mixture of disillusion and despair.

We cats are not as selfish as some might think. We have feelings. I was deeply saddened to see Olga in such a state.

So, I approached; she was sitting on an old broken chair; and jumped on her lap. She embraced me and, while stroking me softly with one hand, gazed into my eyes lovingly. I was, as usual, the only thing that made her reasonably alert. After a few moments of quiet, she set me down on the floor and left without saying a word, perhaps to weep in the bathroom.

That's when I got down to business. I have seen plenty on TikToks of what REAL artists do. I dragged the canvas over to the floor and laid it flat. I spilled paints onto it by overturning the paint buckets. Clever, huh?

Purple, orange, green, turquoise; I felt like a cat gone mad. I threw in some gold glitter for good measure. You can't ruin anything with glitter.

I pawed at the canvas with vigor as if I was kicking a soccer ball. I stepped all over it, which would add effect to my design and texture that usually is usually absent from Olga's work.

Splatters, drips, dots. I danced on my hind legs like I was attempting to capture a fly and flicked paint with my tail randomly at the canvas. I even clawed at the canvas's rough surface a bit.

Look, I might not be a Picasso, yet I saw plenty of modern art on Instagram to make me feel I can do much better than that.

To thrive in today's art world, Olga, in my opinion, did not have the required lunacy.

She went to university for art history and, naturally after that was done, she was up to her whiskers in college debt and unable to get neither a decent job nor a boyfriend, so she decided to become an artist like that was going to solve everything.

I can't blame her, she is human. In their world, there are bills to pay, there are norms to follow. It is not like she can start behaving like a cat, right?

My own cat philosophy is "to enjoy my day, sleep where I can, and pursue pleasures."

And now, messing up paint on canvas began to seem like one gigantic ball of pleasure. I swear by my whiskers, I began to understand why there are so many artists in the world.

The paint felt like condensed milk under my paws, yet it wasn't as tasty. It smelled of turpentine. Not my favorite odor. I prefer the smell of a fish head.

Yet, there was no time for wishful thinking, I scratched vigorously across the painted surface, leaving a nice trail of sharp nail marks.

In the end, I peed on it. Just a little bit. I felt that that really added a nice touch. I sniffed it and felt satisfied. After that, exhausted, I passed out on top of the painting.

I was sleeping, enjoying a well-deserved cat nap when Olga came back and saw my work of art for the first time. She gasped, grabbed me, and planted a long wet kiss on my nose.

I was glad her demeanor changed, yet couldn't figure out what she was going on about until later that evening when a couple of her friends came over.

She told them "Look at this!" pulling away white cloth covering my work or art. "What do you think?" They all went "UHHH, AHHH," fawning over my masterpiece, calling it "magnificent" and "refreshing."

Just call me Kandinsky the Second, I guess.

The next day, I was lying in the sun on top of my new painting when Olga came rushing in with a camera. She started snapping pictures with her phone and announced that the friend of a friend of her second cousin's wife arranged for my masterpiece to be sold at an art auction that night.

My whiskers curled in delight!

The bidding began just at $10,000, yet quickly escalated. Olga was fanning herself with a catalog in her excitement. It was intense; there were even three bidders actively engaged.

Finally, one of the bidders got out of the fray and... " "SOLD! For $7.3 million!" an oversized man in rimmed glasses slammed his gavel like a maniac.

Holy whiskers! We don't know even who the real buyer was, the guy who did the bidding, wasn't even the real buyer. Rumors have it, it was a Russian billionaire.

What can I say? $7.3 million! I only saw that much money in gangster movies. When the paparazzi rushed to snap our picture, I plastered on my most charming cat grin and raise my left paw. I learned that on Instagram -- how to smile for the public.

Now, if you'd like to see my masterpiece, you might need to travel to Paris or maybe Tokyo already. Olga has been showing it off at art galleries around the world. She is now famous as that crazy cat lady who trained her cat to paint. She even wrote a book about me called, "How to Influence Your Cat To Paint." I'm so proud!

She's one crazy rich lady now, she bought me this new gold collar with diamonds and rubies! I am not into jewelry though. My favorite thing that Olga bought for us is a house in the south of France. I am going to build a private fish pond and a cat shelter in the rear. If you are a wealthy cat, you have obligations, right?

You might think, now I get to take naps in the sun all day. Nope! I work my tail off. My "Rainbow Whiskers Foundation" helps to feed and shelter stray cats and teach young kittens to paint. You can help too by donating on my Instagram page. If you do, I'll give you a shout-out and even re-post!

Kitty kisses for all of my fans!

-- Jelly the Cat

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Thank you, you can find more of my writing here. Love, Irina