The official Sir Percy portrait. This pretentious and misinformed frog is writing his memoir, called *Sir Percy’s Memories!* He is drinking Memory Juice to help him recall salient episodes of his life. Swimming in the glass bowl is a tadpole, a younger version of himself. He wears tadpole-print breeches and cap. Beyond is a marsh, where a naiad frolics.

An attempt at starting, in his stocking feet, a private journal. Sir Percy thinks that “to reflect” means to have an image of oneself in the mirror. His fan-mail box is empty, but he has a letter opener at the ready. Sir Percy is famous for doing nothing. He is, in fact, always pretending to be doing something.

*Top,* a disgruntled, ailing Sir Percy is brought by two uniformed men to live at Utopian Senior Living. As the pandemic is still in full swing, everyone is safely masked. Sir Percy’s mask serves the secondary purpose of muffling his off-color utterances. *Above,* on day two at the Utopian, Sir Percy, who has no common decency, is already misbehaving with his night nurse.

Sir Percy is installed for the duration in Room 131 of the Utopian. He hangs a sign outside his door to identify himself. Sir Percy, too, is hanging from a striped barbell, left over from his circus days, he says.

Eureka! Sir Percy is bathed by Nurse Costanza in Room 131’s shower. A frog naturally loves water.

Sir Percy, who always gets everything wrong, believes ipso facto that his nurse has given him consent for further intimacies, including a sponge bath. Racing after her, like Harpo chasing after a girl in a Marx Brothers movie, Sir Percy wears on his frog feet monogrammed bathing slippers.

Sir Percy carries his sleeping creator, Hilary Knight, and does not find the task burdensome, as the artist, Sir Percy sings, is his “alter e-bro.” Hilary finds his disorienting new circumstances at the Utopian far more tolerable with Sir Percy taking over.

Sir Percy is deeply offended by Johnny Mercer. As he is totally self-involved, Sir Percy thinks Johnny Mercer’s American Songbook classic, “Jeepers Creepers,” is about baby frogs, tadpoles, or polywogs, also known as “peepers.” That is why he wears his peeper-print pj’s, and why he imagines Johnny Mercer took notes for his song lyrics in a marsh full of amorous, tuneful frogs.

More old tunes from Sir Percy, who imagines that he not only can sing, but that he also can play the upright piano. Here he rehearses, in a tailcoat, for a New Year’s Eve recital with the legendary Mabel Mercer. He is woefully confused by the tongue-twisting lyrics. He falsely claims that the song originated with the hirsute Ainu people of Japan, and is written in their language, a tongue that he himself discovered. In fact, the song was written by Louis Jourdan and Billy Austin in 1943.

By New Year’s Eve, Sir Percy has forsaken the piano for drinks and a dressing gown. Though the night is young, he is already tipsy, and loses a slipper while doing the frog-hop.

Sometimes Sir Percy fancies that he has performed the starring roles in remakes of classic Hollywood movies. Here, he mumbles Ronald Reagan’s famous line from *King’s Row.* The future president plays a wounded railroad worker who wakes up to find himself legless, the result of a needless amputation by a spiteful doctor, played by Charles Coburn. Percy, per usual, is all mixed up. Because frogs legs are on the dining hall’s dinner menu (and because he is entirely self-absorbed), he assumes they are cooking his lower extremities, even though evidence to the contrary is right before his eyes.

Sir Percy watches too much television, and feels he belongs on the small screen. He had a notion that maybe, if he wore a shaggy wig or an olive-green T-shirt, he might be in the news all the time, too.

Sir Percy also toys with the idea of making his on-air debut as an auto-insurance spokes-frog. He figured if a mere gecko, a reptile, can do it, so can an amphibian, but no one has asked him yet. He has all the mannerisms of a smarmy salesperson—the smirk, the interlaced fingers, the manly frog-spread legs.

He really became miffed when he saw a Talking Toenail shilling on TV, during the local news, for a fungal nail-renewal ointment. Sir Percy wants to be taped, but once again he confabulates. He thinks that means someone would have to wrap some adhesive Duck-type tape around him, and who would ever agree to do that to him?

Maybe, instead, Sir Percy could host a game show. To show off his range, he creates a set of emojis.

Sir Percy sees himself as an international frog of mystery, an irresistible James Bond type, his “martanique” drink shaken not stirred. Note his dapper tadpole-print waistcoat.

Sir Percy imagines himself now as a sports hero, the subject, like prizefighter Jack Dempsey, of a George Bellows painting. Bellows, a master of the Ash Can School, was also the art teacher of Clayton Knight, Hilary’s father.

While turning his attention to sports, Sir Percy points out the necessity of sticky frog fingers to speed skaters. Does he know that touching fingers to the ice can disqualify Olympic contenders?

Sir Percy loses himself in another Olympic frog fantasy. As Sir Percy is sewn into his lily-pad skating costume, he pictures himself partnering with Miss Polli Wog in an ice dance. Percy wears Frog Foot warmers, as he, like all other frogs, is allergic to ice.

Sir Percy went a-courtin’. But at the Utopian’s exclusive Amphibian Retreat, he was repelled on his first date. The sound of the lady frog singing Kermit’s song turned him off, possibly for all future dates, for all time.

Sir Percy prefers ogling nurses, all of whom he regards as “maidens.” But the nurses prefer Tousey, Hilary’s tabby cat, who is Sir Percy’s roommate at the Utopian. Once again, he is repelled, this time by kisses delivered to furry kitten lips, even when administered through a protective mask.

Indifferent to dating and mating, Sir Percy applies to rent a robot (frog) baby from a foundling home. In the park, a couple politely pretends to admire the little monster in the pram, but their son and the bird in the tree above them speak the awful truth about what they see.

Sir Percy loves a holiday, and observes Valentine’s Day with Tousey.

He celebrates Easter with special alacrity, in bunny ears, bunny slippers, bunny tail, bunny breeches, and a bunny bolero. Tousey finds his enthusiasm to be foolishly excessive.

Tousey gets out of the Easter basket and more into the festive spirit.

The most important holiday of the year, of course, is Save the Frogs Day. This festival is not a consequence of Sir Percy’s imagination run amok. This special day really exists. Look it up. He gets the date wrong, though. It’s April 28, not 29. He is not, by the way, father to any of the polliwogs pictured. They are orphans.

After watching, like millions of others, the coronation of King Charles and Queen Camilla on television, Sir Percy understandably believes he is equally fit to be a king. The fact that he has yet to find a queen is an inconsequential technicality.

Honoring Hilary’s 100th-birthday wish, Sir Percy drives his alter-e-bro to India to celebrate. En route, as he pulls up to a refreshment stand, he runs over a hapless cobra.

Bonus!! Sir Percy Paperdoll. Percy may be a natty dresser, but he sometimes has trouble spelling his own name, here revealed for the first time in full, between “Polly Wogg” quotation marks. Also note the “royal Frog” logo on his waterproof undergarment, over which his “Camo-Frog-Flage” pants can go. The snakeskin Swamp Sloggers come with an attached serpent’s forked tongue, a fitting embellishment for this mendacious human-size frog.

The Adventures of Sir Percy

On the eve of his 97th birthday, Hilary Knight, the artist behind the Eloise picture books, introduces a new character: Sir Percy, a human-size frog!

illustrations by Hilary Knight

Introduction and captions by Amy Fine Collins

Last spring, several friends of Hilary Knight’s, the near centenarian best known for illustrating Kay Thompson’s Eloise books, received an e-mail with an impressively polished rendering of his newest character, Sir Percy, a smartly dressed frog striking a courtly pose in the manner of Hyacinthe Rigaud’s Louis XIV. Often, artists mature into what art historians call an alter Stil (old-age style), usually characterized by freer brushwork, color, and form. If this freshly minted image was any indication, time had miraculously not altered Hilary’s supple line.

He is “more important & more interesting (to me) than Eloise … & ALL my own invention,” Hilary wrote on April 18 when I asked for more information about his pretentious amphibian. “… remember, Kay was not Child friendly … not in any way!!!! Did that make the book more appealing?? WE have so many things to plan & discuss … it would be absolutely perfect if you could come HERE!!”