Milo

I have tried to write this post for about a month now but I just didn't know how to do it. The wound was just too fresh. It's a strange thing how we get attached to our animals almost as if they are human. I'm dealing better with it now and I feel like I can finally write it.

Many of you that know that I've had an orange tabby cat named Milo for almost 15 years.

I promise he wasn't grumpy in this picture...he was just anxious to get back to his Christmas catnip.

I got him when I was 15 years old. He was my pride and joy. He was soft, fuzzy and full of personality. When I got him he was a tiny little thing and I was told that his Mom was really small so he would probably be a small cat....they were wrong. His Mom may have been tiny but his Daddy must have been the Hulk Hogan of cats because Milo got big...actually he got huge.   He never acted unhealthy and he was always active...he was just huge.  At his heaviest he was around 18 pounds and He rightfully earned the name FatCat courtesy of my brother.

I got married and moved out and my Mom decided that Milo should stay with her since she had another cat that was a couple of years younger than Milo. She didn't want them to be separated. I understood and left Milo there but he was still my FatCat.

Milo was never really bothered by anyone or anything. If he wanted to be left alone he would go off and be by himself. If he wanted to be rubbed he would come sit in your lap. If he wanted to play he would just look at you and "meow" until you got a toy for him. He also had a "stare" that would let you know if he was displeased. He loved tuna and homemade vanilla ice cream.

Milo gave us a good scare about three months ago. I remember walking in Mom's house to drop Ivy off before work and she had him wrapped up in a towel and cuddling him. My stomach lurched into my throat. All I could think was "Oh Crap!" Mom took him into the vet that morning when they opened and they basically told her what we expected. "He's old." He was down to barely weighing nine pounds and they didn't recommend us spending a lot of money on him with blood work but they did say that his eyes looked clear and he seemed to have some personality left. He was really dehydrated so they gave him a bag of fluids and sent him home with instructions to force feed him gatorade several times a day...Milo did not like this and neither did Mom. He went back in the next day and got another bag of fluids and Mom kept on giving him gatorade for a few more days.  Soon enough Milo was back to his old habits...jumping on counters, taking up the entire couch to sleep and trying to jump on the table while people were eating in hopes of getting some scraps.

But about a month ago the inevitable happened. Mom called me at work upset and said something is wrong with Milo. I could tell it was different this time. The vet was closed so I had to call around and find another one. When I got to Mom's he looked absolutely pitiful. He couldn't walk and wouldn't even look at me when I rubbed his head. Mom said that he fell and had what she thought was a seizure. We got him to the vet and I had prepared myself for what was about to happen.  The vet was able to get him to stand a little and almost had me convinced I had made the wrong decision.  He was offering to give him fluids, run blood work, and keep him over night.  I was ready to change my mind and tell them to run the tests and then I looked over at Milo - he was gasping for air and his eyes looked empty.  I told the vet that I couldn't watch him like this.  It was hard but it was time to let go.

I sure do miss that fatty. And I know my Mom does too.