---
title: Transforming the Ordinary (With a Bit of Cat Hair)
description: Wally nudges me past self-doubt and sparks creativity for every art project. Join us for a bit of feline judgment at the art table.
url: https://kelliejoart.com/transforming-everyday-objects
date_modified: 2025-05-22
author: Kellie Jo Close
language: en
---

Wally, one of our three cats and arguably the most judgmental roommate I’ve ever had, doesn’t just *tolerate* my art practice—he supervises it. From the moment I so much as *think* about entering the art room, he’s already there in the periphery, [like a Shadow](https://kelliejoart.com/shadow-work-a-creative-path-to-integration/) with whiskers.

Today I was doing my “real job” (read: digital drudgery) when he slinked in, sat down, and stared—quiet, stern, with that cat face that screams, *Why are you wasting your opposable thumbs on that nonsense when there’s twine to be tangled and objects to be transformed?*

And yeah, [maybe I’m projecting](https://kelliejoart.com/dark-mirror-jealousy-cringe-obsession/). Maybe Wally’s face is just… his face. But the truth is, I use him as a stand-in for my own inner critic—a furry embodiment of that ever-present voice whispering, *This isn’t good enough. You’re not doing enough. You should be better by now.*

That voice? That’s Shadow. And Wally? He [holds space for it](https://kelliejoart.com/how-to-integrate-your-shadow-without-fear/) without saying a damn word. Which makes him kind of perfect.

## Cats Are What You Let Them Be

But Wally isn’t just a four-legged manifestation of shame and artistic pressure. He’s also a creativity catalyst. A [dark muse](https://kelliejoart.com/erotic-energy-fuels-creativity-and-dark-muse/) in a fur coat.

Case in point: my latest micro-project. You know those giant kitchen utensils that refuse to stay in their drawer? Like they’ve unionized and are staging a coup every time you open it? I found the perfect place to contain their rebellion—a leftover coffee can.

(And no, not the sturdy, old-school kind. We’re in the era of flimsy cardboard canisters that pretend to be useful. But I’ll make it work.)

I wrapped it in thick twine—nothing fancy, just rustic enough to pretend it’s intentional—and boom: functional, upcycled, and weirdly satisfying. Wally supervised the entire operation, occasionally batting at the twine like he was offering creative direction. He wasn’t. But I gave him credit anyway.

## Art Is What Happens When You Stop Trying to Impress Yourself

That’s the thing: the project didn’t need to be impressive. It just needed to get done. It scratched the itch to *make something*—not for sale, not for social, not for some imaginary audience, but for the [part of me that feels better when I create](https://kelliejoart.com/healing-through-art-guide/) instead of spiral.

We talk a lot about transformation in art, but sometimes the most important thing being transformed is the artist. Wally doesn’t care if I make a masterpiece or wrap a coffee can in rope. He shows up. Stares. Hangs out. Demands nothing but presence.

Maybe that’s why I keep making things—even small, utilitarian things. Because presence is enough. Because judgment can wait. Because there’s still a kind of magic in turning the forgettable into the functional and calling it finished.

## Wally Oversees. I Obey.

The plan is simple: wrap the can in heavy twine for a rustic look. Wally will, of course, be by my side, offering his silent support, probably hoping that his involvement will net him a string or a treat. Spoiler: it will.

 

 

 

The project took thirty minutes. The result? A surprisingly cool holder for mutinous utensils and a silent victory over the voice that says, *This is a waste of time.* Spoiler: it wasn’t.

So tell me—have your pets ever nudged you back toward creativity? Not with words, obviously, but with looks, energy, or pure stubborn companionship?

Because if you’ve got a Wally in your life, maybe it’s time to make something. Anything. Even a damn utensil holder.