There was an old artist with his cat named Ganymede. They sat before a window high in a tower. Below was the market, above was the sky, and a circus on rooftops where all animals could fly. In the morning the market filled with pastel figures, buying candy balloons and jewel-colored food. The cheese monger sang as notes left his mouth. The fish monger danced with salmon and trout. Hawkers sold wares that all came to life, and helped the old cutler polish his knives. A mime mimicked windstorms, a flutist the night. And the florist threw roses to every person in sight. Down flew a lion, a zebra, and clown and sprinkled confetti all over the ground. The old man cried as his breath grew faint, and his paint-covered fingers started to ache. For a moment the market was dirty and bare, and the rooftop circus existed nowhere. Then Ganymede purred and pawed at the panes and the old man saw god in all living things.