Milo in Memorium
my teacher
i learned a lot from Milo. the value of a good nap, a warm lap, and the ability to put your pride to one side while you begged at the table for any scraps you could get. i learned that there is nothing so important that it should get in the way of enjoying a playful "here-and-now" every so often. i learned that, no matter how soundly one is sleeping, if there is a knock at the door, you should get up and offer a friendly greeting of a leg rub and yodel. i learned that few things can beat the feel of a warm cuddle at the end of a long day; esp. when purring is involved.
Milo showed me every day how to enjoy life to the fullest. even if "the fullest" meant spending most of the day resting on your favorite blanket or squeezed into your latest cardboard box lined w/ crinkly papers.
my supervisor
he also kept me focused. over the last year, i spent a good chunk of time working from home; mostly writing
and doing research on upcoming projects. each day, as i sat down at my workstation for a round of work,
Milo would come to the base of my chair and start "talking" to me (he had quite a wide vocal range).
eventually, i learned to pull up an empty chair near the desk and he'd hop up, settle in, and keep an eye on my efforts. often, after about 30 minutes, he'd squeak, stretch, and signal that it was "break time." apparently, he understood about the dangers of sitting at a desk too long!
not long after this pattern started, Milo was referred to as my 'supervisor' and the seat near my desk was known in the house as 'the supervisor's chair.' the chair is still here next to me as i type this.
my guide
as i headed home from the vet's office today, i noticed that the sky was a clear, especially bright blue.
and it was dotted with a number of puffy altocummulus clouds. there was a warm breeze in the air, too.
on days like this Milo liked to sit outside in the tall grass in our yard under a shade tree. he'd strain
his neck to catch each breeze; carefully bobbing his head as he flared his nostrils sniffing the wind
as he squinted. i always wondered what it was that he smelled; what gave him
such evident pleasure. whatever it was, he seemed to revel in each wafting breeze.
in the last few days of his life Milo spent most of his days alone in our basement on a stack of blankets my son had arranged for him. he labored up and down the steps and, near the end, his breathing became shallow and strained. his nostrils flared again, but not to catch the scent of summer. now, he was struggling just to catch enough air to breathe. he'd stopped eating and had been losing weight, too.
still, he did his best to keep up appearances. no longer able to hop up on his chair, Milo rested at the foot of my desk. unable to even reach the couch, he settled along the edge of the storage chest we used as a coffee table. when we coaxed him onto our lap, he tried his best to relax, but the pressure in his chest was so great that breathing caused his head to rock back and forth. he did his best for as long as we let him.
and so, farewell
even though today was a very bad day, i have many great memories of Milo. many great stories. many
great lessons. i miss him already but will try to remember what i learned. live life to the fullest,
enjoy the hear-and-now, appreciate the mystery in the warm summer breeze, and take a stretch every 30 minutes or so.
as i finish this blog post, there's a summer rain hitting the roof. the sun is still shining off in the distance, too. and, sure enough, there's a double rainbow outside our front porch. i need to stop now and go enjoy that moment, too.
but before i do, i'll sign off with the same phrase i used everytime i left him in the house as i took off on one of my many road trips. after a quick cuddle and a pat on the head, i'd head to the door and call out over my shoulder: