Missing Miles

This post is hard to write while I sit at work, but I don't want to wait, lest I end up not blogging at all. While the title could be interpreted as my 10 day absence from running, that's not the 'miles' i'm writing about.

This is:


Miles McCool Harris.

Todd adopted Miles from a rescue shelter about 4 years ago. They were constant companions, and when Todd decided to make the big leap and move to Seattle, Miles went along too. I first met Miles via ichat when Todd and I started dating long distance. We would wave at each other, and then he'd dart off into his favorite paper bag like a bolt of lightning. We finally met feet-to-whiskers 2 years ago and I like to think that he immediately took a liking to me. (perhaps he just was glad to have a female around)

I knew how much Miles meant to Todd, so when I eventually moved to Seattle and spent a couple of unemployed months staying with them, I learned to put aside my dislike of cat hair everywhere and the occasional vomit cleanup. They welcomed me with open arms (and paws) and we became a family. Miles and I spent every day together. He'd welcome me home from a run and lick the salty sweat off my forehead. He gladly helped me job search, perching on my shoulder like a parrot.

And he even did pilates with me...he liked it so much that he felt the need to use my mat as his own mat/bed/scratch pad. I knew we'd be buddies for life when I woke up in the middle of the night and found him sitting on my chest, watching me sleep. It became a comforting nightly ritual.


This past December, Miles started showing signs of sickness and the vet diagnosed him with kidney failure and feline AIDS. And to our surprise, apparently he was much older than we'd thought. For the past six months, Miles was on a strict kidney food diet, several medications, and we (eventually just Todd) gave him a subcutaneous electrolyte drip several times a week.

Despite these setbacks, his health seemed to improve and he was living out his ninth life to the fullest. This cat had more toys and blankets than I have shoes and purses. He had full run of the apartment.

But it’s so quiet there now.

Yesterday, we took Miles to the vet, knowing that we wouldn't be bringing him back home. I've never had to watch a family pet put to sleep. Growing up, our pets got ran over by tractors, trucks, disappeared into the night or ran off to another farm. Yesterday was just plain awful. You try telling yourself its for the best, don't be selfish and keep him around if he's in pain. We did the right thing. But it's hard.

No more Miles sitting on the window sill staring out at the Space Needle. No Miles to come greet us when we walk in the door, with his meowing that seemed to say "i've missed you, i'm so glad you're here, pet me." No Miles to sit on my face while I sleep at night, or sprawl out on my legs as if they're his own territory. No Miles to whisper secrets into my ears or hold a semi-intelligent conversation with (believe me, he could talk). No Miles to tear around the apartment at the speed of light. No more games of hide-n-seek. No Miles to get his head stuck in a water glass and make a sloppy mess.

It's cleaner in the apartment now. But I don't like it one bit.

I miss Miles.