Welcome Home, Milo
    Any of you that have known me for a while probably know my cat Milo. Milo was my little roommate when I was a bachelor, starting from the time he was about 2 months old.
    As our lives changed, added more people (and a dog) to our household, Milo tried his best to get used to familial life. After a half dozen moves and another much smaller human addition, I think he threw in the domesticated towel and started some pretty heinous abhorrent behaviors. Mostly the usual cat stuff, but as it progressed from a mild nuisance to requiring vet trips and medications to try and calm him enough to not claw off my face, there came a point where it was obvious something had to change. About two and a half years ago, after a particularly gnarly day of cleaning cat pee out of leather furniture, his eviction day had arrived. My wife luckily found a co-worker with a small farm that was away from major roads, complete with a barn and other feline degenerates to hang out with. We literally sent Mr. Milo to the farm.
    This whole mess weighed heavy on my heart, vanquishing my ridiculous little buddy to a life of outdoor peril and a probably death at the mandibles of god-knows-what predator. We sporadically got word from his new home that he was seen eating birds and rodents, holding his own and staying far away from the human interaction and food sources he could have taken advantage of. Slowly my guilt and concern faded into a sort of uneasy resolve that he was having more of a life out there than he ever would have had doped up and miserable with us. ... and then he came back.
    That's right, after two years of living on the wild side, this resilient little bastard decided to walk the 15 miles back to us. He navigated numerous water obstacles, at least two major freeways, and ended up in my front yard, chirping and rubbing his skinny black face on my pant leg.Â
    What do I do now? He certainly can't come back inside, harboring fleas and who knows what other pleasantries the feral life had afforded him. He had obviously adjusted fine to seeing the world as his latrine, so I had no interest in trying to get him back in the litter box. Would I have to embrace the fact that I was now a dreaded outdoor cat owner? Have I become one of those people I have spent countless hours complaining about?
Yep. I have.
    So here we are. No more cat food, instead cans of tuna and chunked chicken. No more little fuzzy mice, instead I help him corner squirrels in the yard. Although I never thought we'd be anything more than a memory, I couldn't be happier that he's back. I relied on the idea that his life was better amongst the beasts outside, but it turns out his two lives don't have to be as mutually exclusive as I thought. Anybody know a good vet that will come to my house and give him his shots via blowdart?
