The piano is in the corner behind a trunk and my TV cabinet.
A few days ago my cat decided that she wanted to be on top of the piano. My cat is not the most graceful of her species. She is a little chunky. She sometimes undershoots when she jumps. When she doesn't make her jumps onto a bed, she claws her way up the blanket.
There are things on top of the piano. Some of them are books. Some are papers. None are blankets.
So I went behind the TV cabinet to retrieve the things that had been on top of the piano, and found several that had apparently fallen in between some time before. There was an album I'd been looking for—Il Berlione's self-titled debut—and old programs from the Cal Animage anime club, which I was a member of when I was in high school and anime fandom still involved a lot of tape trading. And flyers from old animation festivals.
When I was a child my parents would sometimes take me to animation festivals at the local art house: the late, lamented UC Theater. I remember watching shorts like Pixar's Luxo Jr., Aardman Animation's Creature Comforts, Bill Plympton's Your Face, the Oscar-winning Balance, and several less well-known pieces.
I picked up one flyer and opened it. Right in front of me was a still from a short I had been looking for off and on for years, and had thought of as recently as this Halloween. I had been unsuccessful in my search because I could only remember that it was stop-motion, creepy, and titled Door—not the most helpful search string. But here, listed under the title, was the animator: David Anderson. I now had enough information to find it online.
And I did.
It is strange, funny, and unsettling. The visual of keys skittering across the ground like insects has stayed with me all these years.