Miller

In all my years, I’ve never had a cat, petted a cat, or wanted a cat.

Turns out, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

One of Sam’s friends got evicted and suddenly there were four cats living in one of our spare bedrooms.

Day one, two of the cats were adopted. So, we’re down to two. I didn’t see them. The litter box was clean, and Sam was on the water and food detail.

Cat #3 disappeared before the end of the first week.

I finally caught on to something:

Sam was pretty happy with the one cat that remained.

I almost stepped on it one day when it left the back room.

“What’s it’s name?” I asked.

“Corona,” Jake answered.

“Really?”

“No, it was Meatball, but we’re changing it to Miller?”

I have a buddy named Miller and my kids are comfortable in busting on him. 

“Partly,” Sam said. “It’s for Mac Miller too.”

“Okay, keep Miller away from me.”

For a month all was well, but Sam headed off to North Carolina to visit his cousins. Miller was off to one of his friend’s house.

Two days later we got a call:

“Come and get the damn cat!”

Miller wasn’t playing well with the other cats and was reportedly, ‘acting like an asshole.’

Guess who had to pick him up.

“We can’t lock him in the room alone,” I said. “We have to see if the dogs will get along with him.”

Paris is the best. She doesn’t have a problem with anyone, but Melky is old, tired and has always hated cats.

Last night, Melky and Miller met up near the water bowl. Miller showed zero fear. Melky had no interest.

Cut to Sunday morning:

I got out of the shower and saw that my bedroom door was wide open.

All three of them were on my bed.

Miller snuggled between Melky and Paris.

“Oh boy.”

I laughed.

I have a cat, and it’s named after my buddy.

Miller the cat.