Take Good Care of My Baby

Dear Lord,

His name is Milo. I sent him to you today. He was 17 years old on August 4th. I was hoping we'd have more time together.

He died today. He had a large menangioma, a brain tumor that was slowing killing all his neurological functioning.

He didn't really know who he was, or what was going on, anymore. But he seemed to know us. He smiled when we'd cuddle him for hours, sitting in the chair or couch, watching TV. He loved being touched, and was soft and warm very, very beautiful.

He'd forgotten how to eat. That's okay, I fed him with an eyedropper. I was happy to do it. He deserved that kind of treatment for the years of loyal and unconditional love he had given me.

He'd forgotten how to use the bathroom, too. I let him 'go' wherever he wanted and just cleaned it up when he was done. It was okay. He deserved that much from me.

He would never tell us if he was in pain, but the blindness in his left eye and the weakness in his left legs made us wonder.

He loved canned milk. Please see he gets lots of it. And chicken, too - please find him some of that. And butternut squash. That was his favorite of all favorites.

He died like a champ. Cradled in my arms, he just stared up at me with the most beautiful blue-green eyes in the world. When the needle went into his portacath and the doctor said it would take ten seconds, he never flinched or moved as the drug went in and did its work. He just stared up at me as I bawled hysterically with his usual curious expression.

Then the most amazing thing happened...his looks totally changed. His hair flattened out really smooth, darkening the top of his head and flattening the tufts on each side of his face until he looked just like his brother. He was absolutely gorgeous. And courageous. And classy, to the end.

I will miss his little quirks, his kneading of my fat arm flesh, the way he used to crawl up on my right shoulder and fall asleep, and especially, his purr. He was a purr machine. It was loud and warm and joyous. You could hear him from across the room.

I will miss him climbing on my bed every night and sleeping on top of my head.

I will miss the way he and his brother had 'kitty battles' for possession of the brown chair or the prime spot on the dining room couch.

I will always love him, and never forget him. Cats leave footprints on your heart.

So please, Lord, take good care of my baby. Make sure that he joins my other parted loves - Heidi, Casey, Beth - and make sure they take good care of him until I can get to meet up with him again in later years.

I know, intellectually, that I did the right thing for him. So why do I feel so guilty? He trusted me, all of his life.

Did I let him down?

Please, Lord, let him hear me singing my last song to him whenver he gets lonely. Let him know that there isn't one day that goes by, for the rest of my life, that I won't think of him. Let him know that his was the best male relationship I ever had. He was always home, always loving, and never once took my agenda.

If you have time, please cradle him in Your arms once a day, and let him purr to you.

You'll enjoy it. Milo was Love, personifed.

So I give Milo into your loving hands. This is my kitty, in whom I am well-pleased.

Thank you, Lord. Amen