Andrew Fedosky


Today marks one year since the passing of a very dear friend. I wrote this tribute by hand in a journal, and in honor of one of the greatest felines to grace this planet, I felt compelled to share. This is the first longer-form writing that I've done that wasn't related to a job or school.


Originally written on 02.06.23. Published with modifications on

If you don't write it down, it doesn't exist...

But Milo existed. He existed ferociously in life until the end, and he will continue to exist through these words.

From the moment I met him at the humane society, he was a brat. Aloof, only wanted to be touched on his terms, and I respected that. I was drawn to his independence. Little did I realize how much he would come to represent independence in my own life as well.

He was with me through so many transitions. My journeys of moving out, fostering adulthood, grinding through school, dating, starting my career, helping C.F. get settled in Madison, rediscovering hobbies, the list goes on. I always knew no matter what, I was coming back to him.

He always wanted to be as close as possible to people. He would aggressively push himself onto someone's chest and place his face within less than an inch of their face. He wanted to touch and be touched. He was a grade-A attention whore, and everybody was willing to indulge him. How could you not? The way he loafed and squinted his eyes at you was irresistible. Even folks with allergies were not immune to his charms.

He and I were so connected. He was loved by so many people.

His vitality was astounding; he never slowed down or took a break. There were zoomies to be had, birds and critters to chatter at or chase down (though he never actually got the chance to go on the hunt) friends to love on. I always told people that he would keep going and going until one day he would decide it was time, that he had lived all he wanted to live. And that is exactly what he would, ultimately, do.

We had so many cozy routines and habits. Weekend mornings spend in bed while I read or did computer work. He would often watch the computer, put his paws on my hands as I typed, and look up at me with happy, closed eyes. When it was time to relax on the couch, his eyes would light up and widen when I laid down a blanket in my lap, and he would extend his murder mittens to pad the spot before making a nest for himself. It sometimes took forever for him to settle down. Occasionally, I had to give him a gentle but firm push down. But eventually, he would melt. When I was sick, he was attentive and stood watch over me in bed, like a dark guardian angel.

God his eyes were beautiful.

I was fortunate to live in two apartments that offered spaces for him to enjoy surveying the outdoors. At Bayview, he was always on a windowsill. At River Bend, on top of his cat tree or at the screen door. I had to buy a baby gate because he would pounce at the little critters running around outside, could've torn a hole in the screen. At both homes, he had space to zoom, to lounge in the sun, to be stimulated by the outside world. Ample places to nest and nustle[sic]. He was a scratcher and destroyed many a post.

He was so majestic in the sun. The sunbeams revealed the tawneyness[sic] of his coat.

He instilled in me a love for black cats. More precious voids will have homes because of Milo.

His passing was beautiful and traumatic. I believe he waited for me to come home from the day's shenanigans to decide that it was time. He was acting normal, snuggled up in the Star Wars blanket. I petted his head, he slowly looked up at me with happy eyes. Within half an hour, I could tell something was different, and he was becoming weaker.

Once I realized what was happening, I called R. immediately so she could be with him. We sat with him well into the early morning hours. I stroked his paws, told him what a good boy he was, and made him as comfortable as possible. In his last moments of life, even with his sight and most of his strength gone, he responded to my touch and made biscuits in my hands with what little he had left. He never revealed any pain or suffering, only quiet passage from this world. He was as peaceful as could be wished for a loved one.

In the time that I've taken to write this out, over a wee, there has been such an outpouring of support. He touched so many lives. Friends, exes, partners, entire world of people knew how much he mattered.

I chose to have him cremated. It's winter. Burial would be difficult. I'll spread his ashes come springtime, with all of the foliage and critters he loved watching.

Milo. You were a special boy. I love you. I will miss the fuck out of you. You will always remain a part of my heart. Goodbye, buddy.