Orlando, Milton, and the Couch

The story of Milton

 

I drove into an unpaved alley and parked in a gravel parking lot behind Denise's office on a cold October morning in Albuquerque.  While getting out of the van, I noticed a white cat in the bed of a yellow pickup truck.  As I walked by, the cat strutted towards me in the fashion of a dog.  I petted the cat and walked through the back door of the office.

I told the staff about the peculiar cat that was acting like a dog in the yellow pickup truck.  They said that they had thought it was Milton's cat.  But, upon calling Milton (Milton was the owner of the yellow little pickup) they were informed that Milton's cat was still at home. 

 

The "dog acting" cat was gone when I left Denise’s office.  Thinking no more about the cat, I hopped into the van and drove out of the parking lot, down the alley, and onto the road.  As I crossed over the railroad tracks, I heard a horrible scream that sounded very much like a cat.  I immediately pulled the van over to the side of the road and got out.  I slowly opened the hood, half expecting to find splattered cat guts all over the engine.  To my relief, I found a very frightened young adolescent cat tightly hanging onto the radiator protective cover.  I took the poor thing home.  Since I had first seen him in Milton's truck, I decided to name my newly acquired pet, MILTON.

 

Milton grew very large.  He was so big that he could be heard walking on the roof or across the kitchen floor.  When Orlando was a baby he used to lie on the cat.  Milton was Orlando's constant companion.  However, we had to protect Milton from our son on certain occasions.  When we had Milton neutered, we turned Orlando's playpen upside down and put Milton inside.  Orlando often played roughly with Milton.  But, Milton never scratched Orlando.  Had I been a cat I certainly would have.  I think it is awesome, in a shamanic sense, that cats know that children are special, and put up with apparent abuse from them.

 

Once upon an Easter, a very long time ago, I had quite a bit of green Easter egg dye left over after I had finished coloring warm hard-boiled eggs in the prettiest of designs and shades. As I was wondering what to do with the leftover dye, Milton hopped onto my lap.  I smiled at him and put my hand in the green dye and began to stroke Milton's white fur.  He purred.  I continued to dip my hand into the dye and stroke him.  He continued to purr.  He purred and I stroked until he was all green.  "Far out!" I thought to myself.  We're the only family in the whole world to have such a groovy-looking GREEN cat.  As I was admiring my handiwork, the doorbell rang.  When I answered the door, my artwork ran out past the building manager.  (Pets were not allowed.)  The manager's eyes grew wide as he saw the cat run out.  He shook his head and grinned.  He mumbled to himself, "Did I just see a green cat?”

I put my palms up, in apology. The manager shook his head, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry about it. No one would believe me if I tell them you have a GREEN cat".

 

 ***

Death disguised itself as a little puppy.  Jeremy found it with its head stuck in a can and brought it home.  Milton looked at it as if he knew who it was.  He didn't hiss or growl, as is his normal fashion, at this strange little dog in his house.  He just stood there as the dog walked up to him.  When the puppy left the room, Milton went to the front door and, in his peculiar little way, asked to be let out.  That was the last time we saw Milton alive.  Denise gave Death a bath.

He was dirty and he stunk.  The next morning the motherless child, Death, disguised as a puppy, disappeared.  That puppy bothered me the whole time it was in the house.  I didn't want it in the house, and I didn't know why.  I just wanted it to go away. 

 

Milton had been missing for about two weeks when I brought his huge frozen body home.  Denise got a ride to work from the neighbors.  As they drove along the highway talking about Milton, and wondering where he had run off to, Lillian saw a large white cat's body lying on a corner off Coors Blvd.  She gasped and the car stayed silent all the way to work. Denise called me to tell me what she and Lillian saw.  I drove to the vacant lot and saw a great big cat lying on the ground.  It was gray, I told myself.  It couldn't be Milton.  But something made me get closer and push the hair back.  It was white.  White under the dust and dirt and grease which covered Milton's body.  A tear flowed down my face as I put him in the van.  I brought Milton home that evening with a lump in my throat.  I dug a large hole at the foot of the poplar tree.  And I put Milton in.  I pulled him out and dug the hole wider and deeper.  I was only able to hold back the tears until I covered his face with the soil. 

 

Even now my heart aches for our big white cat.  His bowls of water and food sat under the dresser filled with water and food for a long time.   I couldn't bring myself to put them away.  Someone else had to do that.  I will say," goodnight" before any more tears rolled down my cheeks and make my beard soggy.  I miss our gato.

Sometimes, the stories in our lives set the stage for shamanic understanding.  My relationship with Milton reinforced my understanding of my connectedness with the universe.  I realize that Spirit moves through ALL of us, even our pets.

 

P.S.  Milton left the way he came: covered with oil and grease.

We were living in Married Student Housing, a little more than a mile from the University of New Mexico when Denise finished making this couch. Orlando was born a few weeks later. It was so comfortable that many people fell asleep on it while visiting.
Milton was amazingly tolerant of Orlando, who used to pull Milton's hair. After we moved into our house on the West side of the Rio Grande, I heard Milton scream. I ran from the kitchen into the front room to find Milton's back legs wrapped around baby Orlando's neck and his front paws beating Orlando's head. When Milton saw me, he stopped screaming, stopped beating Orlando's head, and ran off. I fully expected to find blood all over Orlando's head. But there wasn't a scratch.
Orlando used to crawl to Milton, roll over onto his back and pound his head on Milton. I guess Milton's tolerance had been greatly exceeded when I found him "admonishing" Orlando. I miss Milton. He was my favorite cat.