Meet Milko: the family cat. I would never say that I hate cats, but Milko is not helping the species' case for making me like them more. My relationship with Milko includes shooing him out of the bathroom, shooing him away from his cat food bag (which unfortunately means picking him up most the time), and listening to him meow outside my window. Milko loves, loves to meow outside my window when he wants let into the house. He used to do it in the morning to wake me up, but now he's move on to about 4:25 in the afternoon. Sometimes when I'm feeling very Christian I open the window to let him in, but he still likes to play games with me. He'll just stand there like opening the window was my idea and that the three-foot drop is too much after all. I keep reminding him that cats always land on their feet, but he still takes his sweet time to make the jump. Silly cat.
But yesterday we actually had a bonding moment. I was reading out on the patio enjoying the sun and Milko rubbed up against me purring. This really took me back. I thought he hated me because he's a cat, but I went with mood and actually petted him. It was certainly a precious moment in our relationship.
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