Mondays With Mr. K (No. IX)

Hello Gentle Reader Well it’s only the ninth “Mondays With Mr. K,” but I am afraid, that it is in dire need of going into hiatus. With a lot of my time, being taken up work and other aspects of my life, I find that there is just not enough time to write the “Mondays With Mr. K,” once a month. Which sounds pretty silly, and it is, but it’s rather straining at times, trying to come up with new ideas for the quirky odd, and other wise plotless and pointless, drifting character. There is just not enough time, between working and reading the required amount of short stories in order, to get everything to work; it’s unfortunate, but also the truth. For now, Mr. K, will sit locked away for a bit, but also vows for a second round with you Gentle Reader. But for now, the odd number nine, will be the one for a while. __________________________________________________________ Autumn had approached Mr. K’s apartment, as it did elsewhere in the city. Already had he pulled out extra blankets, and had begun preparations for the immovability of winter, that was surely coming his way. As the wood hit the cobble stone stress, with that usual dull thud, thud – the sound of an axe’s heavy blade, ripping through the wood splinters, Mr. K could only shutter at the very prospect at being the wood. However, people still came over to his small apartment. The cats – one, and two and three – but not four; have become more acquainted with their places by the stove, and the fireplace, to gather the warmth. Though they kept their distances from Mr. K, always watching him with suspicious eyes; and yet there small little pointed triangular mouths with the upside down y that connected the lips with their nose; would betray their somewhat secondary feelings of Mr. K. There was that small hint of a content smile, and a thank-you. Though a cat would never, admit to those feelings. Certainly the three of them – but no more; would never admit to it. Though as their pointed little fangs, stick out of their slumbering mouths, like little blood sucking beasts, Mr. K would smile to himself, as he himself – much like a cat; though he would never admit it; would sit by the stove or the fire place, covered in a blanket dosing off. He knew just as autumn came, and the rest for a while would begin, there would soon be invitations to go to places to eat supper with families in merriment; ghastly little ghouls and ghosts would soon be shouting out for treats, and then shortly winter would follow, then there would be even more strange behaviour of people inviting to celebrate, and exchange gifts. However in all Mr. K would be forced to turn all of it down. Instead of course to head down to the pub or some place of a community, and share his stories with listeners, would desire to hear his tales; for the winter months, until spring and summer rolled around and people go lazy in the haze, and came to visit him more frequently.