Scaredy Cat!

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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Not every meal is eaten this way of course.

Perhaps only for celebration. Like having

vanquished the spectre of Kristo.

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