Last night when I went to bed I was looking so forward to sleeping in. My husband went to visit a friend for a few days, which means the dog (his dog) will be calm. No getting up early, quiet quiet quiet in the house because I have three boys who sleep in and nothing but me and my big bed to sprawl out in.
But this morning, oh at around 5-ish, I felt a presence. I tried to ignore it, you know, like when you are watching a scary movie and you put your shirt over your head? I used the covers. But still it persisted. The presence became ever more apparent, almost as if it was coming closer towards me, staring me down. I could feel the staring!
When I pulled back the covers I saw him. That damn cat! His name is Milo. He has been trained to get up at this unGodly hour, because my husband ran for years at that time. Apparently Milo didn’t get the memo (or couldn’t read it), that this is no longer a thing.
I tried to ignore him. Maybe even nudged him a bit, so he went away, but he jumped back on the bed and stared at me from the other side. That cheeky little #$%^&*(!
I don’t like cats. I mean, I do, I’m just highly allergic to them. But Milo is more like a dog in a cat body. He has all of that icky fur thing going on that makes me allergic, but his personality is off the charts.
I think a lot of people who come here come to see him, not us. If he were human, I would tell him to run for office. But he’s not. He’s a cat. A cat dog. He’s not afraid of anything and most dogs that come into our home from fostering are afraid of him.
I’m afraid of him. I think he actually plots things. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spoke several languages or had a secret society somewhere, like Perry the Platypus. He also eats at the marble counter top with my boys, like he’s one of them. I know, right?! Has his own chair and everything! If you are sitting in his chair and he wants to go there, he stares you down like he wishes you were dead.
When he first came to us he weighed one pound. One pound! He was barely alive, had gunk in his eye and also had severe pneumonia. His chances were slim to none really. I was told he needed to gain weight, in addition to being fed copious amounts of medicines. In short, he was a lot of work. But when you sign on to foster animals, you take what is given to you and you do your part the best you can.
Fast forward 13 years later and this guy is not only still here, he weighs a whopping 22 pounds. Yeah, he’s a big boy! And that big boy makes a really loud sound when he jumps from the bed to the floor. He actually does it until you wake up. Or he walks on the alarm clock and somehow manages to turn on the music.
Genius? Probably not. A present? Certainly! That cat is a real gift. He makes us laugh, gives love and affection in just the right amount of doses and seems to know when you need a kiss. He also lets you have it when you bother him too much, which I totally appreciate. Except of course when I am on the receiving end of his death wheel grip.
Milo, in short is a presence that is a present. I just wish he would learn to sleep in!