Oh, I have plenty of stories about how I took an antique violin off my parent's wall and tried to play it. Or how it turned out that my brother really wanted to play the violin, too. We both have had a real love for strings, yet neither of us played. (I did piano, and a touch of clarinet.) But the story right now belongs to the Cat, who when he received his rental violin yesterday, fell in love. (And so did I, of course.)

I love how the scratches on it show it has been around the block a bit, and how the two sparkly pink stickers on the bow give it a little extra character. I love the white fuzzy inside of the case, and the Cat loves the teal-green color of the outside of the case. (Everyone else randomly got a black case. His green case was a very pleasant surprise.)

The Cat says he doesn't want to give it back when the school year is up. He actually started to tear up at the mere thought of it.

Of course, this proclamation is made before any "real" lessons or official practice time. Although, he's "practiced" many times since yesterday afternoon, attempting to create songs. But - I'm skeptical. Or perhaps I should say "cautiously optimistic with a sprinkle of reality thrown in."

Who knows where this new hobby will lead him, if at all. But the launch into the journey has been enthusiastic so far.