The (Fictional) True Story of The Three Cats

I was painting one morning when the first arrived.  He was a plump, ginger guy with a skeptical air.  He appraised the canvas knowingly and then sat in my studio for most of the day, gazing pointedly off somewhere.

Later that day the second appeared, a dark and handsome brute.  He was more disarming.  He sat and stared keenly at me and perused my work thoroughly but never said a word.

The third was supple, dusky and seemed more relaxed about her duties.  She took one glance at me when she arrived on the scene, examined my palette over-casually, and then curled up immediately in the corner and fell asleep.

It seemed that my critics had it far too easy.  So I gave them something to think about the next time they dropped by with their noses in the air.  I painted all three then hung the portraits in my gallery with this accompanying note:
To critics and cats: I don't ask much when you view my work, just three polite requests:

     1.  Actually take a look
     2.  Do say what you think
     3.  Please stay awake!