I LOVE MILO. HE IS ONE OF THE GREAT
BEAUTIES ON EARTH. I STARE AT HIM,
stroke his fur, coo in baby talk, let him see
me as no one else is allowed to. I know he loves me too,
because when I cry out "OUCH", as if I were a cartoon,
he comes running, eyes ever widening, and cries along
side me. It's a very spooky sound, and for a moment,
stops me in my tracks till I feel the pain again. Then
we both go back to crying together.
We all have great affection for the eccentricities of our
furry friends. Milo is 6, and I've had him hanging
out with me since he was 2 months old. All his habits
were basically formed with me. So what's this fear,
as if the Spanish Inquisition was at my door?
For instance...Every spring one of the maintenance
men who works in this building has to change
the air-conditioning filters. So once a year, for the
last 3, the really nice, polite Kristo comes to my door.
The instant the doorbell rings, Milo goes into a
Keystone Kops routine, shooting straight up,
bounding into a wall, scooting to the safest place
on earth..under my bed. Never to emerge.
Well not really, but the next 3 days are ruined for him.
Finally slinking out from under, his body elongating,
as cats mysteriously do, his head darting, he resumes
his normal life, but with a major change. In his mind,
Kristo, that lovely person, causes a trauma greater
than any other. So Milo closes the bathroom door,
securing himself in the sink, or under a low stool.
Then makes a pest of himself when he tries
to get out, meowing his demands to be let out.
Days are devoted to this routine, until the vision
of scary old Kristo finally fades from his mind,
only to arise again next year.
Lots of cats have insecurity issues, of course.
But I'll bet you dollars to donuts that Milo is the
only cat who makes a soup of his chow. Here's
the recipe, for later reference. I am the
enabler. First, I shake the chow into his bowl.
Then fresh water in the bowl alongside.
Milo enters. Cups his paw, scoops some chow into
the water, stirs a few times with his furry paw,
gently retrieves some of the soupy contents, chow
and all, and nibbles his entree' with great relish...
supplied by his imagination.
Not every meal is eaten this way of course.
Perhaps only for celebration. Like having
vanquished the spectre of Kristo.