Continued From: "A Few of Kelp's Favorite Things," part of a thread beginning with "Remembering Professor Kelp"

I am grateful to have this snapshot, although I am amazed it survived deletion from the digital camera's memory. The composition is not well lit or framed and it did not appeal to my myopic artistic sensibilities. The lack of action is so everyday mundane, I failed to see I had captured a treasure.

With this dear cat's passing, the longer I linger within the imagery above, the deeper I adore the beauty and the peace I see.

Perhaps, more than any other photograph, this one presents the quintessential Professor Kelp.

Here he is in his most recognizable pose, at rest with those big blue eyes processing us and the panoramas of his world. That's Kelper.

A closer look reveals he is perched on the kitchen table, a house rule no-no, but we gave up on shooing him off by 1989.

Note his heinie basking in sunlight. Ha, that makes me smile.

Kelp was a happy cat. He would sit in this position for hours, or so it seemed. The chances were he would pass much of that time purring.

Maestro Kelp was the most boisterous purrer I have ever heard and his concerts were magnificent.

As the final fortnight of his life engaged, I feared he was in irreversible decline. I knew he was in trouble. I knew because the music had stopped.

Kelp stopped purring.

Mere days earlier, I was at my desk in the teensy hours of the a.m., reading email and typing nonsense. I sat in darkness, working by light from the computer monitor.

Suddenly, I heard a noise.

I was not alone.

Out of the silence, the room became alive, rumbling with vibrant waves of purr.

Unbeknownst to me, Kelp had entered the office and assumed his aforementioned comfortable position next to my feet. He purred loud and he purred into the night.

He was content.

I said nothing as, hindsight reveals, I enjoyed Kelp's fabulous parting gift.

Next: "The Last Pictures Show"
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