"You see," said the Bohemian artist who was in danger of confusing Mistress PushmiPullu for his beloved Pushmimi, who had died in their tiny garret some months earlier when, in her final tumultuous aria, so strongly had she howled that all the tubercular goo in her lungs had been expelled, and the sudden inrush of oxygen into what had been unexplored lung tissue for many months, had made her giddy, and she had rushed out onto the landing and toppled down 7 flights of stairs, killing the concierge, herself, and two members of the chorus. This tragic mishap had seriously affected his mind, and darkened his pallette, not to mention the pallet on his floor. "You see, it was Bernard Berenson who determined that the best way to detect original paintings by famous artists was not to concentrate on the main features, but on those things that an artist would do without thinking about it, and which no one else would notice, for instance, earlobes, how the big toe was painted, and other body parts out of the limelight. That was how he authenticated many a painting for Isabella Stewart Gardiner and many another patron of the arts"
"Yes?" replied Mistress PP, wondering with each passing second when the siren was going to be heard approaching from a distance.
"So. So, since I want to be a similarly famous artist, I am taking the similar route, but starting with the body parts. The jelly mold and the "Apotheosis of Catspaw" -- see all the body parts? -- are starts in that direction. My next painting is called "Ankles." Did you know that almost nobody paints the malleolus properly?"
Mistress Pullu put her leg up on the table, revealing her ankle peeking out from under the end of her shift. "You mean this?" she suggested.
It was in many ways a godsend that the emergency vehicle arrived at just that moment, the siren wailing the first two bars of "Heart of Gold", so that the dead faint into which the disconcerted Bohemian had fallen upon catching a glimpse of ankle disrupted the proceedings hardly at all. The professional staff entered, took one look at the painting, and the painter out on the floor, and went to work. Within moments, both had been whisked away -- the painting replaced with a Georgia O'Keefe watercolor, and the painted replaced with empty space -- and the merriment continued. Mistress PushmiPullu sat for a moment at the table, and looked down at the calling card which had THE NEIL YOUNG, etc. on the front, and on the back had the following rubric:

OUR STAFF ARE TRAINED PARA-NORMALS. YOUR FRIEND/ENEMY/LOVER/HUSBAND/WIFE/ACQUAINTANCE/DISGUSTING BUM/RICH WELL DRESSED, HOW COULD SUCH A THING HAPPEN TO HIM, WELL IT JUST GOES TO SHOW, DOESN'T IT/MOTHER/IS IN GOOD HANDS. IN LIEU OF FLOWERS SEND LOOSE CASH IN ENVELOPES.