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An interviewer asks a famous singer, “How do you come up with your songs?”


He pauses, considering the question. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his wife spill some of her morning coffee on the carpet, and then sneakily cover it up with magazines. There is a hum in his ears, a melody that goes A minor, F, C, G.


The interviewer repeats the question, but the singer’s mind is elsewhere.


His eyes follow his wife as she bumps into the cameraman, spills her remaining coffee, and rouses their cats, Fish and Chips, from a deep slumber by stepping on their tails. After earning some loud verbal abuse from the two, she turns to look at him, sheepishly, like a child caught in mischief.


He smiles at her. Words run through his mind like lightning, fusing together with the melody in his head.


Love, is what he wants to say. When you’re surrounded by love, the music isn’t hard to hear. But his wife is standing close to him now, and he feels shy. So, he settles on:


“I think it’s my cats that really get me going.”

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