During my 20 years as a professional artist, Christmas Eve was inevitably devoted to finishing paintings.

My husband implored me every year not to accept last minute orders, but when you are one of "Santa's helpers", it's hard to refuse a heartfelt request. Having no children, it was my pleasure each holiday season to be able to contribute to the Christmas joy of families, even though it sometimes meant delivering paintings in the middle of the night before Christmas. Now, that REALLY made me feel like Santa!

In 1978, an older gentleman approached me about doing a painting of his cat, Chester.

Wesley had with him a large stack of photographs, so I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought that there would surely be one amongst the stack suitable for inspiring a painting to honor Chester, whom he had lost just two days previous.

One by one, he showed me the photographs, each coming with a detailed story about his beloved Chester. I listened attentively to each story, even when the photo was unsuitable. It was clear to me that this gentle man lived alone and had lost his only companion. Being able to share his grief and memories with someone who also treasured cats seemed almost as important as getting the portrait.

Although this was not to be a present, I could tell the importance of having it ready to hang by December 25th, so he would not be spending Christmas truly alone. We laughed together and even cried a bit as he relayed the many antics of his large marmalade cat.

"Oh, this one's just great!" he would exclaim, and then show me a totally out-of-focus orange blob.

"Here's another one that shows you just what a big boy he was!" -- another blurry mass of orange fur.

I was starting to worry that his photos wouldn't contain enough information for me to truly capture Chester when he literally shouted, "Now, THIS one REALLY shows you his personality!"

I anxiously took the photo, which, to my dismay, showed only a wall of drapes, out from under which poked one chubby orange paw!

He could clearly see his Chester in each and every photo, but there was almost no information that would help me create a good portrait. Understanding how important this was to him, I took a deep breath and accepted the commission.

The next night, I painted Chester. First I closed my eyes and visualized all the stories Wes had told me, and prayed that even without a good photograph I might somehow be able to create an acceptable portrait.

We delivered the painting early Christmas morning in 1978, lingering long enough for tea and doughnuts -- and a few more stories about Chester. I nervously held my breath, because in truth, I had no real confidence that the painting looked anything like his cat.

He was thrilled!

According to Wesley, I had captured everything about Chester that made him unique and special. His wonderful reaction made MY Christmas special -- one I will never forget! We ceremoniously hung the painting above his fireplace where, in anticipation, he had already placed a nail.

Every year I received a Christmas card from Wesley. In 1979, he was standing in front of the portrait holding his new orange kitty, Chester II. In 1992, he was proudly showing off Chester III.

Last year we didn't get our card from Wes, and ours was returned in the mail, with the sad message scrawled on the front, "Recipient deceased".

I realized that he was well into his 90s, but it still came as a shock not to get our Christmas picture of Wesley with one of his Chesters.

It started out simply as a gentleman ordering a portrait... but for over 20 years it became a joyously anticipated picture from a friend. Each year we would laugh at how Wesley's Christmas photo was as blurry as the originals he brought me on the day of our first consultation. But I could always see everything I needed to see in them -- a friend and his beloved companion.

They also brought the reminder that with an earnest prayer and a lot of hope, even just a tiny blurry photo will do. After all, it had to!

Copyright © Terece Lewis
December 19, 2001