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Myron Myron in his Odie bed


Myron is the pioneer of target cat employment. He is mellow and sweet and loves going to new places and attending weekly trainings. He tolerates dogs but doesn't seek out their attention like his co-worker, Cheeto, does. Myron cuddles, whereas Cheeto bites. Myron is innocent and soft, whereas Cheeto is continuously knocking things over and into trouble nearly every waking moment. Myron also enjoys walking on his harness during dog trainings.

Here is how Kat Albrecht describes Myron and her experience in training him to walk in a harness (partial excerpt from The Lost Pet Chronicles):

The kitten room was encased in glass, and as I watched several kitties play and bat at toys, and each other, one little gray and white kitty caught my eye. He was a skinny little boy, with an unusual E.T. alien-shaped face and an exotic look. As soon as I stepped inside the room, he leapt from the towering cat tree that he had conquered down into my arms. I was taken aback: not by his gregarious nature, but by his fleas. He also had a runny nose and was sneezing.

I wanted a healthy, happy kitty and not a flea-bitten, sick, scrawny one. Yet as he nuzzled his cold, wet little burnt-orange colored nose up to my face and with his raspy, sandpaper tongue he licked my own nose, I knew I was in trouble--so I set him down and tried to walk away.

Myron in a harness Kat training Myron to walk in a harness

"I really don't want to take a sick cat home," I said, knowing how highly contagious an upper respiratory infection can be. The last thing I needed was to make Yogi sick or incur more vet bills.

"We’ll send him home with antibiotics," the shelter volunteer answered as she picked him up and thrust him back into my arms.

"I really don't want to have to deal with fleas," I argued.

"All you have to do is treat him with some topical flea medication," she replied. The kitten snuggled his head up under my chin.

"But," I pushed on, as the kitten started to purr, "won't the fleas jump off onto my other pets?"

"Not if you take him straight to your vet," the shelter worker said. She took two steps back so that I couldn’t pass the kitten back to her.

Okay. I said something to the effect of "put a ribbon on him." I watched as the volunteer loaded him in a cardboard cat carrier box (I had left my own cat carrier at home, not intending to make yet another hasty decision about a pet) and carried my new, flea-infested, respiratory-infected precious kitten out the door.

It took just a few hours (post-veterinary visit) for my new kitty to adjust to his new housemates. Rachel nuzzled and licked and became best buddies with the little gray wonder. I named him "Myron" because, well, he just looked like a Myron. He had bright eyes and a cute little scowl expression on his face. His dark gray, striped fur on his body and face contrasted with the white fur on his cheeks and chin, giving him an appearance a bit like a bunny. Myron would cuddle and sleep on my lap, even wrap his warm, soft belly around my neck like a scarf that kept me warm when I was working at my computer.