Jace Coda, the cat from East Tontin, tapped his foot to the music, out of time with the rhythm. He was the pianist, the only one in town with multi-coloured fur and a style just as creative. His nimble fingers zipped up and down the keyboard as though they had minds of their own. He watched his left hand bounce here, bounce there, climb up his favourite scale (dorian, of course) and descend. His right hand ran chromatically up the keyboard and teetered on the high notes, making them whistle like birds, then jumped back down into a chord. He had given his hands free reign to explore and express the energy of the moment. That was the joy of improvising - freedom for his instincts, a necessity for a cat. He could give voice to his emotions, strange as they were. A wild emotion sprung through his right arm and his fingers flicked with the speed of a wasp wing. The piano sound yelped in delight. Jace couldn’t contain the smile as it quirked his lips. I’m on fire tonight, he thought.