“Hey, Missy?” Marica asked as she approached Missy’s desk. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a minute?”

“Sure, Marica,” Missy said slipping off her reading glasses and looking up. “I’m working on the final edits you suggested to my Epic Novel but I could use a break. What’s up?”

Missy and Marica just looked at each other for what seemed like minutes on end.

“R.U.F.F.?!?” Rocky broke the silence.

“That was weird,” Missy said.

“I’ll say,” Marica replied.

“Ruff,” Rocky agreed. The dynamic of that interaction was… weird.

“Well, in any case, Marica, what can I help you with on this gloomy day?”

“You remember our friend, the Raku Potter?” Marica asked.

“Of course! The Alchemist! Creator of the masterpiece I named The Vahz!” Missy replied excitedly.

“Ruff!”

“Exactly! Though he ended up naming it ‘The Many Fabled Vase’ to thank everyone– including you, Missy!– who named his vase,” Marica explained. “Anyway, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

“Ruff ruff ruff,” Rocky mumbled as he picked up his British detective novel and settled into his corner of the futon. He much preferred it when Marica wanted to talk about statistics or probability theory.

“See, The Alchemist has put out another ‘Name that Vase’ call, and I can’t come up with a thing, Missy, so I wondered if you’d take a look if you have the time?”

“Oh Marica! I’d be delighted,” Missy exclaimed. “I simply love The Arts! I find deep and abiding creative inspiration looking at the work of The Masters– and our friend The Alchemist is surely one if ever there was one! Why, just the other day I was leafing through the works of Too Loose la Track. Ah the post-expressionists! What a … Oh! Oh my!” she said and cleared her throat. “Apologies for running on, Marica. May I see the vase?”

“Impressionists, Missy. But whatever. Here it is,” Marica adjusted the screen so Missy could see. “What do you think?”

“Stunning!” Missy gasp. “Just stunning, and so unique– I’m absolutely awestruck.”

“I know. It’s something, isn’t it? Do you think you could come up with a name for it?” Marica asked.

“This beautiful piece certainly deserves a decidedly original name. Not an undertaking to be undertook lightly, I should think. Humm…,” Missy thought for a minute. “I believe I need some time to think more carefully about this, Marica. Some little piece of an idea is nestled at the base of my brain but I cannot coax it out to the fore, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, take some time. See what you can come up with,” Marica said as she walked back into the dining room to continue her homemaking.

Later that afternoon– after Rocky had awakened from his nap finished the Hounds of the Baskervilles and was now quietly perusing the shelves, and Marica had finished her drudge work homemaking tasks and was now wandering about the world-wide-web in search of inspiration for her next riveting blog post– Missy came running at nearly full speed through the house and into the den shouting, “MARICA!! MARICA!! COME QUICK!! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!!”

“Ruff?!?” Rocky does not like his solitude being so abruptly broken.

“What is it, Missy?”

“Ruff?”

“You won’t believe this! You’ve got to see it! Come on!” Missy said breathlessly as she led them out of the den. “I knew The Alchemist’s vase reminded me of something but I just could not call to mind what it was,” she began to explain her excitement. “And then I walked into the front bedroom and… . Well, see for yourselves!”

“Oh my gosh!” said Marica

“I know! Isn’t it uncanny? What are the odds?”

“Ruff!” exclaimed Rocky feigning excitement before turning around and walking out. Two similar looking things– why all the fuss? What are the odds? What a silly question. But then again, he wondered, what are the odds? “Ruff!” he said as he began to calculate.

“Marica, tell me, from where did this lovely… thing come?” Missy asked.

“The market in Budapest, years ago,” Marica replied.

“Budapest? HUN-gar-ia?” Missy said in her best accent. “And you say years ago?”

“That’s right– years ago,”

“Years ago and a continent away, but it’s as if they were created by kindred spirits, isn’t it?” Missy asked rhetorically. “Ah, the forms you humans put into your art– how everlasting they are. How unchanging across the spandrels of time and space. How spirit kindled in one flows ever on to his kindred kind… .”

“Any ideas for a name for The Alchemist’s vase?” Marica interrupted Missy’s musings.

“Ah! Yes. I believe I’m… . Let me do a spot of research… . Won’t take but a few minutes. What have I done with my…,” Missy mumbled as she trotted off.

“Rokonlélek!” Missy shouted out from her desk a few minutes later.

“Ruff?”

“The name of the vase, Dear Friend! Rokonlélek!”

“Say what?” Marica asked. Maybe her hearing was going bad, after all.

“Rokonlélek. Rokonlélek,” Missy repeated. “RO-kon-lé-lek” she sounded it out.

“Okay, I hear what you’re saying, but what the heck does it mean?”

“Ruff?!?”

“It’s Hungarian for ‘Kindred Spirit’, Marica. Isn’t it lovely sounding? I think it suits The Alchemist’s vase quite well, don’t you? Conjures up all of the timeless ideals of form about which we were speaking earlier…,” Missy said while sweeping her long front leg through the air.

“It’s very nice, Missy. Quite creative– but then again, you do have a creative streak. I’ll let The Alchemist know your idea of a name for his vase. Unless you want to post it yourself,” Marica suggested.

“No, no. You go ahead, Marica. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to those edits.”

“Hey– speaking of naming things, Missy, any thoughts yet on a title for your Epic Novel, so-called?” Marica asked.

“No, not yet, Marica. Still working on it.”

“Ruff,” Rocky shook his head. The probability of any two randomly selected pieces of 3-dimensional art having roughly similar shapes is… let’s see, where did he leave off?