The Manly Cat

I must admit that when Amy and I first got Milo, I wasn't too sure about this whole cat owner deal. My family went through three dogs growing up and I had all ways been a dog person. Cats just seemed girlie to me.

Milo has done a lot to change my mind. There is something that is just cool about cats. Mostly I think it has to do with their killer instincts. Living with a cat is like living with the sniper of the animal kingdom. Milo was great when we had crickets last year. He'd just wait outside of that little crevice they were chirping from. Then he'd pounce on them repeatedly or bite them in half. Thankfully he didn't eat them and then barf them back up.

With dogs, you play very contrived games like fetch or tug or whatever. They're like your sloppy, slobbery buddy. Despite a working relationship with humans for millenia, cats show a blessed lack of this form of domestication. Sure Milo wants his belly rubbed or some good scratchings, but all the games I play with Milo are just variants on Kill It. What is that flittering bird-like thing? Orange furball must kill it! Is that a mouse? Feline fist of death! A big bug? I will Stalk It. Closer. Closer. Yes. Yes. Now kill it!

And that literary device about catlike reflexes? Really true. I've thrown something across the room only to have Milo streak out of dark recesses of my apartment and intercept it before it hit the ground. He's like Milo Cat, the Ginger Jedi.

All in all, Milo has proven the value and coolness of his entire species to me. Especially since his automatic feeder has now gotten him through the stage where he wakes me up at 5am every morning.