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Let me introduce myself, for I was a figure of considerable importance. I was Milo, and I was, at the time of this tale, a splendid four year old cat residing in a tidy, spacious room. Was I pampered? I preferred the term well accommodated. I had a comfortable life and, by using the correct, soulful stare, I could acquire whatever my heart desired.
My owner. I called him Hugh, though I suspected he answered to many lesser names. He was a dedicated office worker. Every weekday, precisely when the ancient, iron block on his desk (a clock, humans called it) chimed six times, he would stir. He never failed to call for me. We would attend to our morning ablutions and then move on to breakfast. We ate together, of course. Hugh's worst habit was taking a geological age to eat his dry toast, primarily because he insisted on reading the newspaper simultaneously. It was a thick, rustling stack of fiber, and I swore there was never a single headline concerning my kind. Not one important piece of news about cats. It was all about his world, which made it entirely irrelevant.
After that protracted ritual, I would rush to the windowsill. The morning sun was the only thing I loved as much as myself. It was intensely pleasurable, a luxury worth more than any salmon pate.
Hugh would change into his dull office clothes and prepare to leave. His one saving grace, his daily display of devotion, was leaving my lunch. He never, ever skipped this task, which was why I tolerated him.
"Remember to eat at noon, Milo," he would say, tapping my head.
"I remember, boss. Just leave the provisions, and I shall consume them when the internal hunger mechanism activates," I would think. "And while you are at it, be careful. Traffic is reckless. I heard that frightfully loud tabby near the bins gossiping about her owner, who broke a leg and stayed in a place called 'Hospital' for two months. If something happened to you, Hugh, who would serve my dietary needs? It is a matter of logistics, not sentiment."
When the sharp afternoon light softened and became golden, Hugh would return. His ritual upon entry was immediate, a warm, sometimes too tight embrace, followed by a meal check.
"Boss, do not fret. Your Milo is incapable of leaving sustenance unfinished. And ease up on the grip! It is suffocating my elegance!"
"Does staying here all day make you sad, Milo? Don't worry, I will change clothes and prepare your dinner right away!" he would promise.
Aha. See? That was the payment. Leaving me unattended all day was a harsh crime, and his only acceptable apology was wet food. Dry kibble was for the desperate.
I would sprawl on the sofa, watching the Animal World channel (which was highly educational) and the news about human life (which was confusing). Lately, those ridiculously slow, slimy beasts, snails, were causing quite a fuss, destroying crops and generally not allowing anyone to have peace. Whenever they had free time, they chose mischief. Pathetic creatures.
Then, the doorbell would ring. I knew, with the certainty of a seasoned gourmet, who it would be.
"Go inside and sit down, honey. I am almost done making dinner," Hugh called from the kitchen.
The man, Quinn, entered. He scratched his head, chuckled, and then had the audacity to sit near my chosen spot.
"So obnoxious! I require solitude, not proximity! Relocate immediately!" I wanted to shriek, and my fur bristled in warning.
"Be a good baby, Milo," Quinn murmured, then picked me up.
The shame of it. I wished he would release me, but then, oh no. This guy had powerful, knowing hands. He found my favorite spot, that precise point under the chin that guaranteed instant neural meltdown. I had to reluctantly tilt my head back for him to scratch, my eyes fluttering shut in dreamy surrender.
But the moment Hugh entered, carrying the dinner tray, Quinn instantly betrayed me. He dropped me like a piece of used fluff and went to carry the tray for Hugh. A tragic lack of priorities.
"I would be delighted if you stayed for dinner," Hugh said, his voice softer than usual.
"Yeah, I..."
"It is okay. I made too much. Just sit down," Hugh insisted.
I sat and watched them. They ate and drank and chatted happily, filling the room with silly human words. I felt a secret, bitter jealousy. Hugh, in that moment, seemed to forget all about his sweet Milo. In his eyes, there was only the image of Quinn. Yet, seeing Hugh so unguardedly happy, I could not muster the necessary hatred for the interloper. I was, after all, content as long as Hugh was pleased.
Hugh and Quinn had known each other for a long time. Their relationship was deepening, evolving into something more permanent, something that required too much touching. Many times, they would mindlessly kiss each other right in my presence. Just so everyone is clear, I was not a curious cat. I simply knew the strategic routes to the other side of the apartment to avoid such crude displays.
Late at night, Hugh would hug me and confide in me.
"Milo, my parents died when I was young, remember? My uncle raised me, but his business failed, and he died from a stroke. Then his wife left, and suddenly, I was just alone in this city."
He had told me this often, but I never tired of it. "On the contrary, boss. Your hardship simply proves my loyalty. Please, continue."
"Then I met Quinn. He, he might be everything to me."
Everything? What did that mean for me? Had he forgotten the cat that cleaned his anxiety away?
"Quinn has helped me so much at work. Even though he comes from a wealthy family, the only son and grandson, he has never looked down on me."
"I acknowledge Quinn's adequate characteristics, boss. But could we return to discussing the topic of Milo now, please?" I gave him a large eyed, irresistible stare.
"Quinn wants to tell his family about us, but I cannot let him. He is the heir. How can he belong to me, Milo?"
"Oh, human sentiments are needlessly complex, Hugh. If you love someone, simply love them. Nina, the calico next door, and I flaunt our affections daily, and no one forbids us. Stop being afraid."
"Quinn will have his own family one day, and I will be alone again..."
"Boss, stop that foolish thought. You have your Milo. Always."
"But I still have you. Milo will always be with me, won't you?"
"Of course! Now, stop dwelling on tragedy and scratch my ears. That area is critically itchy. What is this moisture? Why are you crying? Do not cry, Hugh. I will allow you to stop scratching my ears immediately if it helps."
Today was Hugh's rest day. A whole day of devotion, play, and sunbeams.
"Let us devise a game, boss. Oh, that guy is here again! Arggh!! My interest in this day has evaporated."
"Quinn, you stay home. I will go to the market. Please play with Milo for me," Hugh instructed, grabbing his keys.
"Yes, I know. Go ahead and be careful."
"Hey, I do not require his amateur entertainment! I was planning a nap! What an inefficient use of my free time!"
"Hey, come here, fuzzy monster. Where are you running?" Quinn ran after me.
"Release me! Do not touch the merchandise! And certainly do not hold me in that utterly undignified manner!" I glared, showing my entire fur coat in disgust.
"It seems you genuinely despise me, don't you, kitty?" he asked, a shadow crossing his face.
"For sure! Is this information novel? You are the reason my deserved spotlight is diminished!" I meowed loudly, a perfect expression of detestation.
"I am so jealous of you," Quinn sighed, sitting down and watching me. "You get to stay with Hugh all day."
"What can I say? You are the only thing Hugh talks about, day and night. If you are so desperate, why don't you just stay here with him?"
"I have offered to bring Hugh to my home many times, but he always refuses. He maintains this distant attitude. Does he really not love me, Milo?"
"Oh, you are speaking nonsense. If he did not love you, he would not dedicate so much of my nap time to lamenting his loss of you. Regardless, why should I provide counseling?"
"I just want to make up for all the love Hugh missed out on. He lacks so much security." Quinn's eyes reflected a genuine, human grief.
It hit me then. This man was not a rival. He was a competitor, yes, but he was driven by the same profound desire as I was, Hugh's happiness. His sadness made me, a cat, momentarily sad too. If I could speak human, I would have yelled, "Boss! This guy also loves you! Stop being an idiot!" I suddenly felt intensely pitiful for both of them. It was very, very sad.
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