Mission im-paws-ible

We have a cat named Jake. She’s at least 18 years old. I believe that’s old enough for her to move out.

My family, however, has a different opinion.

On any notion of Jakey leaving the nest, they suggest it’s me who’s old enough to find another place.

Darn cat.

The internet would never have succeeded if it depended on my love of cats.

I’ve never been a fan and would never post, watch, like or share a cat video — unless it involved KISS drummer Peter Criss. Back to Jake, who won’t get off my feet or leave me alone as I write this.

She came into my life in the fall of 2000 as a working kitten. A mouse skidded out of my hockey bag and, living in an older home at the time, we needed a mouser.

Jake, who was born in a barn, got the job.

The terms of employment were simple: she was to catch mice in exchange for food.

But over the years, she has managed to endear itself to the people around me and become a family pet.

Sigh. I wanted a German Shepherd. And the roles are now reversed. It’s me working for the cat.

The new terms of employment are unwanted: I feed her, keep the litter box clear, and clean up hair balls in exchange for an annoying and unsolicited amount of attention.

She is under my feet all the time. I cannot move without stepping on or tripping over her. I’ve come close to wiping out numerous times.

If I’m watching TV, she has to sit on me, purring loudly and, to secure herself, digging her claws into my thighs. Her meow leads to my “YEEOOOW!”

After I put the kids to bed, she’s waiting for me, and meowing loudly, at the bottom of the steps. It’s like she’s demanding to be fed again — even though her bowl is full.

Before kids, when we’d let her overnight upstairs, Jake would try to sleep on my bald spot. Other follicle-free men have shared similar stories about their cats. I’ve dubbed the predicament “male cat-tern baldness.” (Sorry.)

And, despite her age, Jake isn’t showing any signs of slowing down right now.

It was a different story this time last year. It seemed like she was on her last paws. She had lost lot of weight and hair, so much she had a big bald patch on her back.

“It’s time to put her down,” people would tell us.

“Not as long as she’s acting and eating normal, and not showing any sign of pain,” my wife would reply.

Guess what? The cat has pounced back, nine lives and all that.

She’s gained back some of the weight and the fur has regrown. She now looks better than she has in 10 years!

Which means I’ll likely be a reluctant cat caregiver for some time yet.

And why I am telling you this? Just in case anyone out there is looking to buy an 18-year-old cat.