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Kafka was both a ‘Moosehead’ and a gentlecat, a fine feline ambassador to humankind. I was not a cat person before Kafka adopted Moosehead Manor as his home last June, however his impeccable manners and gentle contemplative nature won everybody over. He never harmed any wildlife, with the exception of one rat, which he clearly took to be an affront to his clean and tidy habitude. He regularly chased invisible mice around the living room with much gusto, and for a while it was a mystery to me why the fireplace rug was always a crumpled heap, until I saw him running at it, then leaping on it, time after time.  Generally, however, he preferred to contemplate the universe from the perspective of the laundry basket, rather than chasing stuff around. He never scratched or bit anyone; in the early days he would occasionally show his teeth and then run away, but he soon trusted us and it was clear that would never dream of harming anyone. He habitually welcomed visitors by standing on his hind legs and head-butting them, or rolling over and demanding a tickle.  He didn’t like being put out into the conservatory (or lean-too, to be more accurate), and would always wait by the door until he could come in. Clearly he loved human company, and I like to hope that this was reciprocated. Rest in peace Kafka, the house is a lot more empty now.

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