Milo by Poechick13

Its amazing how much we really take for granted. When we become so accustomed to the presence of someone or something we don't even realize its/their importance. I realized this after my favorite pet passed away on September 15, 2004.
I was 6 (1995), and it was my birthday. I had just woken up watching cartoons trying to get my "together together".My brother (at that time 11) handed me a small white cardboard box with blue paw-prints and holes in the side. He said it was a gerbil, I became nervous so I sat the box to the side of me and opened it. In it I saw the smallest little kitten. He was white with gray spots, a large one covering his left eye and left ear. His tail and his nose were also gray. At that time, my favorite movie was "Milo and Otis", so I named him Milo.
I was so excited that I took a picture of him and showed all my friends at the daycare. He quickly became a favorite of the family and neighborhood. I remember quite well how he and my other cat Hoosier got along. They were like brothers. Milo would sleep in sinks and in laundry baskets. We nick-named him "moocher" for obvious reasons. When one of us ate he would put on a show of cuteness for food. Sometimes he would stand on his feet and search for food with his paw on the table. It got to the point where he would jump on our laps or backs and beg. At night he would sleep with me in my room. Sometimes he would sleep on my face and practically smother me. He became so fat he was hard to pick up.
Milo was probably the sweetest cat ever created. I don't remember him being bad, not even once. The most he ever did was knock things over or spill water. He seemed to think I was his mother. Milo followed me wherever I went, and meowed crazily when I was not there. He loved everyone, but me especially. Once we got this other cat named Socks. Socks was a character. He didn't like anyone. We tried introducing Milo to him and Milo crept up to him, low to the ground. Socks smacked at him and hissed. If Milo were a person, he probably would have cried. But Milo was persistent and determined to make friends. Let's just say it didn't work out.
In 2001 we moved from New Jersey to Indiana, where I live now. In 2003 my father moved out because my parents divorced. Then last February he moved back to his home in Mobile Alabama. We decided I would visit him over the summer. I left in May and came back in July due to homesickness. When I came back, Milo appeared skinnier. I dismissed the thought and told myself it was because I just hadn't seen him in months. But, his conditioned worsened. As of a few weeks ago, he wouldn't leave the living room. His sickness increased so he wouldn't eat or drink. Milo looked very sickly. My brother told me if Milo kept up like this he would die. I couldn't bare the thought of him dying. So for the last few weeks i have been sleeping in the living room, spending all the time possible with him. Then 2 nights ago (the 15th) I went into the living room and my mom was talking on the phone and looked rather sad. She was talking to my uncle so I thought something went wrong at work (He is a policeman). she told me to sit down. The first things she said was "Milo isn't looking that good." At that point I lost it. Milo, The cat I've had since i was 6 would be gone soon! Any time anything bad would happen and i was depressed, i would hug Milo and cry and I'd get over it. But my "living teddy bear" would be lost to me. Mom said he had a mini-stroke. He tried to stand up and he fell. By the look of his eyes, she said he went blind, we also thought he couldn't hear. Mike (my mom's boyfriend) got a large green rubber maid box and filled it with blankets. We set Milo in it. My mom called my brother to come, he was the one to put him to sleep. I sat there, for what felt to be hours,petting him and talking to him in his last moments. He tried to stand up and he meowed a meow that just tore at my insides. I read him my favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem, "Alone", telling him that with him I was never alone and as long as I exist, neither will he be. I told him I would be with him, even in the grave. I remember not wanting to realize that he was to leave me forever. My brother came in, picked up the box containing Milo. In one emotionally painful moment, I quickly got up, ran to the box and hugged Milo, saying goodbye forever. Milo came to me in a box, and left in a box. I woke up this morning wanting for it all just to be a bad dream. I wanted to go into the living room, say his name and to see his little head perk up and for him to meow. I just wanted to see him, and pet him. He was and undeniable miracle and an important piece in the puzzle of my life.