My Mi

I have a kittrs named Milo.  Milo is an orange marmalade tiger stripe with leopard spots kitty.  He is thirteen years old.  As anyone, when they get up in years does, Milo has his good days and his bad days.  He is thin. When I got him I named him Milo after the Milo and Otis cat.  Plus, Milo is a talking cat.  He and I talk to one another all the time.  Uh-oh, I think I sound like a crazy cat lady now.  If you have a cat that talks to you, you know what I mean.

Now I lay me down to sleep...

I had a dream last night that Milo was talking to me with a human voice.  He was dying and telling me that he didn't want to die and I was telling him that it was o.k.  (WHAT has been my fascination and fixation with death as of late?)
Milo is soft as a bunny and I love to cuddle him.  He kind of took a back seat to Chelsea when she came along.  Chelsea is in your face...pet me, Pet ME, PET ME! And Milo doesn't have the patience for that.  Milo looks at Chelsea with this pissed look on his face and then ever so often he will just haul off and slap Chelsea with his paw.  When Chelsea meets other dogs out in public, she is always timid and holds back.  I always explain "she lives with cats that slap her."  (Doug's cat Tree joins in the slap-fest, too.)
Milo has a barfy tummy and acts like his teeth hurt him sometimes.  I know he could live another three years or so or he may be nearing the end.  He is a wonderful kittrs.  Even when he slaps Chelsea.