A Cat’s Life

My wonderful –yet crazily evil– cat and I met almost 8 years ago.  Back then, he was named Max and I had absolutely no clue what becoming a cat owner would involve.  Max was frightfully afraid of his environment in the shelter.  He caught my eye because he sat shivering with fear in the corner, hissing at all the playing kittens who would leap past him.  It broke my heart, and he just seemed to desperately want to disappear.  When I was able to get him alone in the meet-and-greet room, he was wonderfully affectionate and I adored how he explored every corner of the room.  He and I adopted each other that day.  I renamed him Philo, meaning “love”.  As loving as he can be, Philo tends to be a little aloof and quite the mischievous little devil.  He’s renowned in our family for biting toes, pouncing legs hanging over the side of the bed, sticking his nose into your yoghurt cup even if you’re still eating it, and sleep-typing on Mark’s laptop keyboard.

Philo is a pretty well-traveled cat, moving from Illinois to Wisconsin back to Illinois to North Carolina and (finally) to Oregon.  As with most cats, he enjoys watching the world.  Since moving to Portland, Philo has spent more time on the windowsill than any of our previous homes.  He watches cars zoom along the freeway, cyclists fly down the roads, and birds perch on tree branches.  All from the safety of a 5th floor apartment.  Today, we opened up the windows to let in the fresh spring air, and Philo immediately claimed his space.  Though a bit frustrated at the window screen, he eventually relaxed to enjoy the sounds and smells that accompanied the normal sights.  It just seemed like a perfect moment in time for our cat.