Why Milo? — The Surprise Brought by a Little Cat
Chapter 5: Milo, Love and Emotional Growth
In Chapter 5, we explore the transformative power of love and emotional growth through Milo’s influence on the family. His empathetic nature and unwavering support lead the family to discover new depths of connection, resilience, and understanding. This chapter highlights how love, in its purest form, can heal and bring about growth, both for individuals and the family as a whole. Milo’s actions serve as a reminder of the profound impact that unconditional love can have on emotional well-being.
Every year, we go to Montreal to spend Christmas at our son’s cottage. We can never bear to leave Milo behind, so we always bring him along. During the journey, he is terrified of being in the car and constantly cries. I want to comfort him by holding him, but he ignores me, seemingly upset, unwilling to listen to anyone, not responding to anything anyone says. He searches around the car for any way to escape. He refuses to eat or drink, and if he could, I’m sure he would angrily smash the car. It wasn’t until he used his portable toilet that he started to calm down a little.
Even then, he still stared out the window, occasionally crying and jumping around, looking anxious. I constantly worried he would disturb the driver, but he insisted on trying to get to the front, near the steering wheel. We joked, “Do you want to turn the car around and drive back home? You don’t even have your G1 license yet!” After about two hours, he eventually fell asleep.
Throughout the journey, I dreaded him waking up, especially when we stopped at a service station. I couldn’t bear the thought of letting him out in case he threw a tantrum and ran off, which would certainly panic my daughter.
After six hours, we finally arrived. We placed Milo inside the house and didn’t let him out. Soon, we discovered that Milo didn’t need our constant supervision. He was able to find his way outside and back in, even making a new friend outside and secretly bringing he ( or her) home that night.
Every night when I went to sleep, I couldn’t help but think about him. Milo knew when I was asleep, and he would try his best not to disturb me, quietly jumping onto the bed and lying close by. But, he rarely slept through the entire night. When he wanted to go outside, he would quietly sit beside me and wait for a long time. I pretended to be asleep, and he seemed to know this, gently licking my face or tapping my cheek with his soft little “paw,” almost as if saying, “Sorry to disturb you!” As soon as I moved slightly, he would quickly jump off the bed, waiting for me.
He loved talking to me. Whenever he needed me to open the door, give him food, or keep him company, he would lift his head and make a soft “mhm” sound. I would ask, “Do you want to go outside?” and he would respond with a “mhm” again, raising his head. Though he didn’t say “I love you” like Snowy, his little “mhm” with the motion of his head was enough for us to understand each other. Many of his actions often made me wonder, “Are you a person or an animal?”
After we returned from Montreal, our neighbor’s little black cat, Rolo, was hit by a car before he could even learn how to cross the road. My daughter and I were both very upset. I wondered if Milo knew that his good friend had met with an accident and how much he was grieving.
My daughter loved playing with Milo, hugging and kissing him. However, after Milo turned one and a half, he seemed to develop a bit of a rebellious streak. Whenever he didn’t want to be hugged, he would squirm and try to jump down, like a toddler learning to walk. Sometimes, when my daughter wasn’t looking, he would sneak up, gently tap her, and then quickly run away. ”My daughter would joke, 'Mom, can't you do something about Milo? He's picking on me again!' She always says it with a smile, as though she’s secretly enjoying his mischievousness.
When my daughter was at school, Milo would quickly jump onto her bed and sleep. His hearing was so sharp that when he heard her coming, he would run away, learning to dodge her attention.
My daughter would say sadly, “Don’t you love me anymore?” I would reply, “He’s growing up now, he doesn’t want to be treated like a little baby. My love for you is just as deep as your love for him. The more you love him, the more you’ll understand how much I love you. But sometimes, you might even dislike me, right? That’s because I don’t always understand your needs and love you the way I think is best. But I’ve learned that as you grow, you need space, and I respect that. I’ve learned to let go, and as a result, we’ve become even closer. Maybe you can try giving him the space he needs as well.”
Through Milo, we came to understand the true meaning of love. Love requires mutual understanding, not possession or control. In a way, Milo has become the bridge between my daughter and me, strengthening our bond.
I had always thought about installing a special cat door for Milo. After purchasing one online, I procrastinated for a while, only deciding to act when he was nearly two years old. At that point, his rebellious streak became more evident, so we ended up with a less-than-perfect plan. I started by working with my daughter to create the door out of thick cardboard. We measured, drew lines, and I did the cutting while my daughter assisted. After a few attempts, we finally installed the cat door on the window of the basement.
We tested it with Milo, enticing him to jump up the stacked cardboard boxes step by step. First, he grabbed the treat from the first step, “Okay, no more treats until you climb up to the second step.” He jumped up, ate, and jumped back down. “Well done, keep going,” my daughter cheered. At the top, there were two tables stacked up to form a platform, just below the window sill, about 1.59 meters high. Milo paused for a moment, then backed up, lowered his body, and leaped directly to the second step, almost without stopping, before reaching the top. He quickly ate the treat and came back down.
On the second and third tries, I pushed him slightly to encourage him, and he finally made it through the cat door on his own. We were proud of our success and thrilled by his cleverness. We didn’t know, though, what Milo was thinking outside. “Maybe he’s as happy as we are,” I thought.
When my daughter went outside to find him, Milo hadn’t gone far. When she tried to grab him, he ran away, and the more she called him, the further he ran. That’s when I realized that he didn’t like being forced into anything. Perhaps he was still mad at me for pushing him earlier.
Later, my daughter came up with a great idea. She stayed outside while I stayed inside, teaching him how to enter and exit. He quickly learned and soon became proficient at using the cat door. However, he didn’t like being forced, so whenever I guided him to use the door, he would jump in and then quickly run back out again—seemingly enjoying the freedom to come and go as he pleased. I think he maybe a little rebellious.
A few months later, when my son came back, he took down the cardboard and replaced it with a wooden cat door he had crafted. He even made a cute little house outside the door. Initially, Milo went in and stayed there for a few days, but after my daughter visited a few times, Milo stopped using it, and the little house unintentionally became the home of the neighborhood’s little tabby cat.
After returning from Montreal, Milo proudly showed me that he could use the cat door without any help. It was as if he was saying, “Look, I’ve been doing this for a while. I just didn’t want to follow your instructions every time. I want to do things my way.” Through his actions, Milo proved that he was capable of more than we thought.
I often compare Milo to my daughter. Watching them both enter their teenage years, I see the same mixture of rebellion and wisdom emerging. They are both trying to find their independent space. Though they express it in different ways, they share the same cleverness and challenging spirit. Just like Milo never shows weakness in front of us, my daughter also began expressing her needs in her own way, becoming more independent and self-aware. Whenever we had minor conflicts or when she got overly emotional, I would step back and use Milo’s rebellious behavior as an example. She would laugh, realizing that rebellion isn’t always a bad thing. After all, every act of rebellion has the potential to shine brightly.
Although Milo loves making friends, he is tough on smaller animals. He’s an expert at catching mice and birds, and sometimes in the mornings, we’d find several small animals piled together—clear evidence of his “work.” Whenever my daughter saw this, she would scold him, “Please don’t kill those cute little birds.” However, Milo never realized he was being a “criminal.” He saw himself as a little hero protecting his home.
Whenever we walked him outside in the summer, the birds would scatter nervously, chirping anxiously. I didn’t understand bird language, but I knew they were urgently warning, “The black cat is here! Watch out!” Birds would sit on the power lines and in the trees, squawking and moving closer. Occasionally, one would swoop down, and I’d be a little scared. Milo would raise his front leg and let out a loud “woof.” Sometimes, he’d stop and arch his back, his tail raised, assuming an attack posture. Without me beside him, I’d be worried he might be surrounded by angry birds. I understand now why he likes being around people—it seems he finds safety in it.
Milo’s behavior towards the dogs also changed over time. He would often stay with my daughter and me, while my son and the dogs were in their new cottage or RV, away from the old house. After being apart for a few months, when they returned, Milo was both fearful and eager to see them again. He was cautious of their excessive enthusiasm after being apart for so long, trying to avoid their playful onslaughts, but eventually, he would settle down and see that they had missed each other. Seeing him lying with the dogs, looking like they were all camping out together, it was clear they had formed their own little family. After playing, they all fell asleep in different positions, with occasional low purring and high-pitched breathing, a scene that felt both warm and natural.
Now, after nearly five years, Milo has become an inseparable part of our family. He has a close and respectful relationship with my daughter. She no longer chases after him as she once did, and he no longer retaliates. He often sleeps quietly on her bed and no longer fears the dogs. He now shares endless stories with us, and no matter how mischievous or troublesome he gets, we love him unconditionally. The most important thing is that he has become an essential member of our family. He understands how to communicate with us, sense our emotions, and has learned to live independently. Milo has truly become our closest companion.
20 Years in Canada: ...
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