Always an appreciative guy, Mr. K is on the wane. You wouldn’t know it by his face, which is still happy. He spends his days curled up somewhere like good cats do. Lately he’s been atop the waist high border around the patio where He can keep an eye on the ever changing kingdom while still having rapid access to the open door, should there be one. Historically, he picks a spot and covers it with hair for about two weeks then moves on just like the big cats do.

He came to the family as a companion to a brown tabby named Hap, who I felt would enjoy having one of his own kind for company. Hap was mature and sedentary. Mr. K on the other hand was a kitten and pounced without discrimination on anything that wiggled.

Flies that landed on the drapery taught him how to climb high and fast for no reward.

The bird cage suspended from a high place taught him that no creature could not be at least brought within inches of consumption. Poor bird. I gave it to someone who had no cat.

The fish tank taught him to fish. And he could do it.

The majestic palm that I’d wanted for years was demolished in a single day, presumably because the heater came on and blew the leaves about.

Christmas trees came down from the imbalance of his dangling form off one side of the trunk as he made his way up.

And Hap – he literally went nuts. Finally he moved out and took up with the neighbors. He came back for a few visits but he was truly changed into a mental case.

There was a long time where we could not settle on a name. I thought of calling him Sergeant, because of his fearless campaigns. He would go anywhere that promised a conquest and didn’t mind spider webs or rodents. One of the kids had a name for him that I didn’t like. I’d considered another name for him too. The only common element in the two names was the letter K. So, he became Mr. K.

His fur has been the softest and his attitude among the most enjoyable of the many cats I’ve known.

For some reason, he’s tended to get skinny in Summer then plump up for the Winter. He still likes to play and loves to be paid attention to. He is, as they say, a lover.

My only complaint has been his tuning. When I have something that I absolutely must pay attention to, he picks up some vibe that makes him start with the meowing. Then I get distracted and annoyed because the action has to be somewhere else. He’s tuned in to mental energies somehow.

His meow has turned old. It’s more Janice Joplin than Marylin and the first few seconds of the attempt go mute before the vocal cords catch up. You can see the whole effort to get that meow out before sound gets produced.

With the combination of fleas from the back yard and ineffective treatment by the stuff I used on him, he’s been an outside cat all summer (if the covered patio with waist high sides and a door and two fully glassed sides counts as outside). Food is dispensed, always later than he wants it, twice a day. I discovered that he’s happier and less wasteful when the offering is metered.

Some cats, you cradle them. Mr. K is an on the shoulder type of guy. That way he can purr into your ear and rub cheeks and bury his face in your chest while rattle purring. His purr is still strong and steady, but it’s always seemed like he’d vibrate apart.

Now, he’s old. His frame is light and boney and his fur is as ratty as my front yard got this year. At fourteen years, I know he’s in the home stretch.

Today he mooched some meat out of our hamburgers, which we willingly shared. That seriously pleased him. Then he watched from a perch over where the dog used to live as we used the back yard trampoline.

His end certainly isn’t anticipated any time soon, but it’s clear that he’s old. As long as there is a place to curl up and the possibility of tidbits for treats, he has a reason to stay. That, and I occasionally take him in arms for a tour of all the cupboards which he loves for me to open so he can peer inside.

Mr. K watches the trampoline. It has to seem very strange to him that we bounce on it.