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gay and provocative paintings, that the old man condemned as degrading. It was her delight to name cats after such free and uninhibited souls.

With its intelligent, intuitive, cat brain, Miro loved her mistress, for she knew the old lady had saved her life. But even more she loved food, - and Piccasso. She followed Picasso about and tired to stroke him with her paws. He only froze at the attention and spat. The kitten even took possession of [[strikethrough]] his [[/strikethrough]] ^[[the]] apricot tree that had been Picasso's treasured kingdom for six years.

From the meadow, Picasso watched Miro sleeping in its branches, and it was like a dagger in his heart. There was no question but that he was in a state of psychological crisis. He would make up his mind to leave his happy home, only to reconsider. The absorbing memories of fillet mignon and saule Margery were greater than his self respect. He invariably showed up for dinner.

To make matters worse, a daschund dog, Dali, also named after a horrible modern painter, who had been away to the country, came back from his holiday. For years this dog had been Picasso's best playmate. The dog took a liking to the kitten.  

Of course, at first glance, he was a surprised to find it in the house as Picasso. But the old lady had talked to him and he was open to reason. She had firmly explained, "This little cat had no nice home like you. You must share your comfort and happiness, then you will find more."

"But I want to eat the ^[[CAT]] cat." Dali said in the best of dog manner.

"Oh, no, you must not." the old lady held out.

"I want you to love this little cat, the way you love Picasso. Look at poor Picasso, ruining his life, because he will not make friends. It is important to learn to get along

[[Image: sketch of daschund]]