Sunday, November 30

And We Thought The Prep Was Bad

The Sunday after Thanksgiving is THE worst day to travel south from Las Vegas. You read it here first.

And particularly south. To California. The signs said so.

"Heavy Traffic To California, Long Delays". Yeah. Understatement of the year.

All. The. Way. To. San. Bernardino.

Friday night - yes, night - we didn't leave home until noon. Stopped for gas in Cedar City, made it into Sin City at about 6pm.

We left Vegas today at noon - yes, much later than we had planned, especially after waking up at 5am to prepare for this next leg of the trip. But Marilee had just turned $20 on a nickel poker machine into $85; we begrudgingly left the casino with our winnings. Then the fun began.

Exactly 33 miles from the California border is the sign mentioned above. But why? What was the cause of the delay?

Simple. California drivers. No construction, no accidents, no hits, no runs, no errors.

Except maybe the error of leaving so late.

Friday, November 28

Now THESE Are Thin Mints

Or a basket of Easter eggs, not sure which.

It's obvious someone's cracked.

Worst Day To Prepare For A Trip

OK, so maybe not THE worst day, but right near the top. Up there with the day after Christmas.
Yes, we're making our final preparations for our trip on Black Friday.

I'd had some shipping to do this morning for work, when suddenly I was presented with a call for Saratoga Springs. If you're not familiar with Saratoga Springs, it's a little burg in Utah County near somewhere in Egypt. And the place I was going is on Redwood Road. Highway 68 as far as Jill is concerned.

She had me go straight down Bangerter, which I really don't care to do during any part of the day, but realized it was a perfect opportunity to take care of some last-minute shopping; I needed to get some cat food for Molly and Sherman at Petsmart, and buy a couple memory cards at Best Buy for the two cameras we're taking. As Jordan Landing is on the way, I got off Bangerter and ran into THE worst traffic jam.

Jeebus! What is this, the day after Thanksgiving?

Oh, wait...

Thursday, November 27

Whirlwind Vacation

Next week - starting Saturday, actually - Marilee and I are off on a vacation mainly to California, with a stop in Las Vegas on the way down and on the way back. Marilee has a work-related conference to attend in San Diego, Marilee's parents to visit in Dana Point, and I'll be visiting relatives in Northern San Diego County. And a few other places along the way, mostly for the tourist value.

Our basic itinerary is as follows:

Saturday - Las Vegas
Sunday - San Diego
Monday - San Diego
Tuesday - San Diego
Wednesday - San Diego
Thursday - Dana Point
Friday - Dana Point
Saturday - Solvang
Sunday - Solvang/Santa Barbara
Monday - Las Vegas
Tuesday - Return home

2,000 miles-plus.

I'll be blogging from the road with pictures along the way.

Stay tuned!

Monday, November 24

BabyDoll, The Baker

[Eighteenth in a series]

Having already said that BabyDoll never scratched me, while true, she did quite frequently poke the hell out of my stomach. Sharp needle points. Thankful I didn't wear knits much back then.

Ah, the things you miss. Memory-wise and the physical too. It has been several years since BabyDoll and I came out of bachelorhood and into my current life - married, with children, bipeds and quadripeds alike. And sadly, several years without BabyDoll on my chest making bread. Other than the sweetest purr in the world, she also had a knack for meowing while purring. Mwarw-purr. Mwarw-purr.

And since it had been so long since we'd taken a nap together, I'd truly forgotten about the sharpness of her claws. And those quiet afternoons.

Of sweet agony.

Saturday, November 22

Get It? Got It.


So said my Dad, many years ago.

He'd say "Get it?"

I'd say "Got it."

He'd say "Good."

Short, simple, and to the point.

Any kind of explanation - Get it? Got it. Good.

I've tried to get Marilee to say the phrase, in the correct order, for the last couple years. And usually she'll start off the exchange, but with "Got it?" "No, you say 'Get it?'" "I say..." And I eventually give up.

So today we were watching the Dallas Cheerleader show on CMT. Yes, we with an emphasis on she - Marilee records it on the Tivo. No, really. And an ad comes on for Prestone antifreeze. An alter-ego representation of the guy in the ad tries to explain that he shouldn't buy the off-brand antifreeze, he should buy Prestone instead.

And starts the phrase correctly.

Marilee doesn't notice. I have to rewind the Tivo.

She turns to me and just smiles.

Get it?

Got it.


The 2 Bobs

It's official. I'm tired of Bob. Call me Fred. Paul. Anything but Bob.

Just kidding. Besides - that cool bsbs in my domain name looks cool. Wouldn't work without the bs.

So I was looking at IMDB this morning for the actors in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. Marilee, Jenn, and I watched it last night.

A preview on the DVD was for He's Not That Into You. Not that I wanted to know anything about it, mind you, but both Marilee and Jenn commented about it. So it came as no surprise that while perusing IMDB for TSOTTP2, I figured I'd check out the page for HNTIY.

Hey! The actor who portrays Brian McBrian in Sisterhood is also in He's Not.

And he has an upcoming movie in '09. And I'm not gonna see it. Because. Just because.

Upon mentioning to Marilee that it's a comedy, she replied "It better be".

The movie's called The 2 Bobs.

I rest my case.

Friday, November 21

Uh There And... There

On the particular shopping site where I find these crappy stylish rings, there's an overabundance of randomly-spaced gems baubles of glass that, at first glance, look like they were designed by someone off their meds. I can relate, though I'd never attempt ring design.

How difficult it is to get a symmetrical design?

Tuesday, November 18


[Seventeenth in a series]

Last week, Monday afternoon, I took my BabyDoll for her last visit to the vet. But this wasn't a vet visit for the living BabyDoll; rather, this was for the memorial of BabyDoll.

And I wasn't looking at all forward to that vet visit. I was taking BabyDoll for her cremation.

Yesterday had me again at the vet for another reason; this visit was for Princess. She's had some sort of infection down "there", near her groin, for the last few days. Yeast infection it was. Just some oral meds and she should be fine in a week or so.

Since we didn't have a set appointment, I had to leave her for the day. And since she's a Shar Pei mix, she doesn't get along well with strangers. So to keep her calm, I walked back to the kennel area with the vet tech - on the way, I ran into Dr. Wilson, our veterinarian.

"I'm so sorry to hear about BabyDoll" was all he said, but what he said, just those simple seven words, spoke volumes. Sure, over the ten years I'd been going up there either alone or with Susan (the lady who runs CAWS), he knew me well enough. But amid all the barking dogs and hissing cats yesterday, and trying to keep up with whatever task was at hand, he took the time for a calming voice, if only for a moment.

Everyone's been that way for the last two weeks. Even Taylor. I didn't tell him about BabyDoll, Marilee did. And he's been really great lately. Wish he could have that same behavior all the time. Just not for this reason.

Back on August 9th, I wrote about three fears I had, in response to a "tag" by Jenn. One fear was losing BabyDoll. Said I'd be a miserable wreck. That I've written so much about her in the last two weeks bears out the miserable part, but a wreck? Not really.

Because something else I mentioned to Dr. Wilson yesterday was that I was blogging about BabyDoll; he said that sometimes that's what it takes to move beyond the initial shock. And it helps in the healing process.

I'm still healing. And there's more to tell. . .

Best Buddies

[Sixteenth in a series]

Above is a picture of Sherman and BabyDoll. Sherman's on the left. And in the middle. Pushed off to the right is BabyDoll.

Of all the cats I brought into the mix, it was Sherman who spent the most time with BabyDoll. And other than Molly, there was (in approximate order):

Quincy (Queen C)
Lenny (aka Lenore)

...and of course Molly and Sherman. Quite a mix. At one point, due to an overnight stay of Lenny and Squiggy, I had five mouths to feed. And of course, no-one got along.

Except BabyDoll and Sherman.

Friday, November 14

She Would Never Kiss Me

[Fifteenth in a series]

BabyDoll would never:

Scratch me
Bite me
Lay on my side while sleeping
Get under the covers

...or lick my nose.

Sure, she'd lick my hands and fingers. Once she licked my toes. But never my nose.

(That last part was not intended to rhyme.)

Don't get the wrong impression from the picture above - no, I never licked her nose. But I'd rub her nose with mine.

Then she would lick her nose.

THAT was a BabyDoll kiss.

Oh how I miss my BabyDoll's kiss. . . .

There's A Ring In There?

How, exactly, does one wear a ring with all these dangly things hanging off the edges? If you look closely, there is a band in there. Yes, it really is a ring, not a bracelet.

Seems to me not much would get done wearing one of these; rings are meant to be seen and not fiddled with. Seems to me they'd be terribly uncomfortable and annoying.

But maybe that's the point.

Thursday, November 13

That Sixth Sense

[Fourteenth in a series]

BabyDoll had one of those sixth sense behaviors - face it, of all God's creatures, cats seem to have more than their fair share of senses - where she'd know that I was on my way home. Because she was always waiting for me by the front door.

Except one day.

I didn't think about it at first; like any other day, it was drop everything on the floor as I came in (yes, this was in my bachelor/pre-Marilee days), into the kitchen, pop open a beer (not doing on-call either), and plant myself in front of the computer (not much different from today, ask Marilee) in my office (read living room).

I always kept one of my desk drawers open, with a kitty bed therein. And BabyDoll would often sleep in the drawer. Cute? You better believe it was cute.

But she wasn't in the kitty bed, either. So she must be in the bedroom curled up on the bed, fast asleep.


Not quite frantic yet; maybe she was getting a drink, something to eat, or in the litter box.

NOW I was getting frantic, and started calling her name. "BabyDoll! BabyDoll!"

"Where'd the Baby go?" Getting frustrated that I couldn't find her, that call morphed into "BabyGO?!?!"

Under stuff in the bedroom closet? No.

Under the bed? No. Under some furniture? No!

OK, sit down on the bed, relax.

I thought through the possibility the maintenance people had been by, but they usually would leave a note on the door. No note.

Over the course of two hours, when I thought I'd lost her, I called one last time "BABYGO!!!"



WHERE did the sound come from?



From the closet?

A sprint into the closet had me looking around, then I saw it. Something had been knocked off a shelf. And paw prints in the dust. And my gaze went up, up, and higher still.


And I started saying "BabyGo?" whenever I'd come home from work.


And thereafter, kept the closet door shut.

Wednesday, November 12

A Tongue Lashing

[Thirteenth in a series]

I'd heard that there's an affliction that occurs in cats and dogs where they involuntarily leave their tongues sticking out.

This wasn't the case for BabyDoll.

She'd just, uh, forget that it was out.

Simply, she'd be grooming herself and her tongue would forget to retract.

But most of the time, I'm sure, she was just content to let it hang.


Sunday, November 9

Sounds Of Silence

[Twelfth in a series]


I can still hear her silent meow.

She'd open her mouth as if to utter a meow, but nothing would come out.

Either from a whistle on my part, or from an "I love you". Or any number of question/answer sessions between the two of us.


She's still there.

Saturday, November 8

The Full Tuck

[Eleventh in a series]

If there's one thing that BabyDoll knew how to do was sleep. She wasn't sedentary by any stretch; Molly and Sherman - and Bambi to a lesser extent - kept her spry. But when it came time to nap, she was all for it.

Oft times when I'd take a weekend nap in my bachelor days, I'd lay prone on the bed, hands behind my head, and up on the bed would jump BabyDoll. She was so quiet when she'd jump up; nary a movement of the bed springs. Graceful and calm. Once, when I'd just gotten new mattresses, an inch or two higher than the last set, she misjudged her landing and jumped into the mattress. With an "I meant to do that" expression on her face, thereafter, she was back to graceful.

Quietly, she'd walk casually up to and onto my chest. Still not a movement of the bed. And she'd lay on top of me, facing me, never looking away. But she wasn't quite ready to nap yet. Stare at me she would. Waiting for something I never quite knew what, but eventually, she'd fold one leg under her. And a pause of sometimes just a few seconds, sometimes minutes. She wasn't quite settled at those times. Maybe a noise is what she heard. Maybe I wasn't quite settled yet.

And finally, the other leg was folded under as well.

She was now set for the duration.

And she'd start purring. This cat knew purring. Sweetest sound God ever made. Rhythmic, the greatest way to take a nap.

I'd fall asleep, content, with BabyDoll in her full tuck, napping with me.

All the other cats I ever had, fosters and overnight guests alike, would try sleeping on my chest. But if they didn't full tuck, they weren't staying for long.

Next time you see a cat napping, look to see if they're in a full tuck - chances are, they've been there for a long, long time.

Coming Full Circle

[Tenth in a series]

It was just the two of us around 2000 when my final two foster kittens found their way into our lives. From the same litter, they were brother and sister, though again obviously from separate fathers, just like BabyDoll's kittens had been.

Sherman and Molly were semi-feral, which meant they needed time apart from BabyDoll most of the time in a cage. And needed some serious taming. For the most part, they tamed well, though Molly needed much more work. She was more of a loner; and BabyDoll didn't like her much if at all.

Sherman, however, was always trying to cuddle with BabyDoll, but she wanted nothing to do with it, at least at first. In a kitty bed with barely enough room for her, Sherman would try to fit in there as well. It was a tight fit.

BabyDoll was never a large cat. That was Sherman's job. She had to have been the runt of her litter. In fact, she was so little that at a vet visit, another customer at the vet's office remarked "What an adorable kitten!"

"She's eight" was my reply.



And Molly and Sherman? In the photo above, they're both about three months old.

And they still have me.

Friday, November 7

A Ripe Old Age

[Ninth in a series]

That BabyDoll lived to the ripe old age of 19 shouldn't suggest she never saw a veterinarian. Oh, she had her share of vet visits, not counting those times when I went on "trips".

She had a recurring problem with her fanny - this is, after all, a pseudo-family audience I'm shooting for. Her, uh, glands back there were prone to getting compacted, and three times she was in for surgery to take care of that.

And at some point three or four years ago, she was having problems going number one - her vet (now the third one) prescribed prescription cat food for her and that was that. Of course, since BabyDoll, Molly, and Sherman all shared the same bungalow, they all ate the expensive stuff.

But the most heartbreaking of all was one morning some fifteen years ago or so that I awoke to a cat with completely-clouded-over eyes. Overnight this happened. Talk about getting freaked out.

Off to the vet we went. When he saw what the problem was, and realizing he had no experience in this particular arena - that, and not being able to tell if a cat is pregnant (yes, that vet) - he sent me off to our second vet. I had to leave her at the vet and go off to work, but could not keep my mind on the tasks at hand during the day.

Getting back to the vet later that afternoon, I was surprised to see BabyDoll's eyes again crystal clear. Just some drops a few times a day, and she was back to her old self. And unfortunately I have no recollection of the disease she had contracted, but in all those years since, the problem never re-occurred.

BabyDoll's eyes were always a source of wonder for me. They were always SO big and wide. I always wondered just how all that personality could fit in a head with such big eyes. So much so that one assistant vet once asked during an exam "Is she about to bite my head off? I've never seen such wide eyes on a cat!"

But most interesting was that BabyDoll rarely looked at the camera when I'd take her picture; she'd look at me all-the-time otherwise. The picture above was one of the rare occasions she was ready for her close-up.

More On BabyDoll

Just so you know, I haven't completed the BabyDoll story I started earlier this week. I've thankfully been busy at work, which has kept my mind off losing her.

Molly and Sherman are helping me cope; Sherman mostly, since he was the one who cuddled with her most.

As the weekend approaches, I'll have less time to think about work and more time to think about BabyDoll.

And if you're wondering, yes, I miss her terribly.

Which Flavor Would You Like?

Looking a bit like a dessert tray, this ring looks to be one of the more uncomfortable rings available on shopping sites. Are they Thin Mints or Jolly Rancher? Maybe M&M's?

At least they won't melt, what with all that ice.

Monday, November 3

BabyDoll Becomes A Poster Child

[Eighth in a series]

BabyDoll never really understood what I did for a living - I repair computers and printers. At least at the time I did. My job had me going all over the state; on one such service call, I met someone who has had an influence on me (and BabyDoll) for the last ten years.

I became involved with an animal rescue group. Now, how this particular person could tell I had a cat stumps me - OK that's not really true. People who have cats can always tell when someone else has cats. Invariably, it's that contrasting hair color all over your clothes.

It was on that fateful day that this person asked "Do you have a cat?" "Why, yes, I do." "Ever thought about getting it a friend?"

I admitted I had. After all, BabyDoll was alone during the day and would probably welcome the company. I had since moved into a new complex where pets were allowed, so having another wouldn't be too difficult.

It was 1998 - both BabyDoll and the new roommate were of a similar age.

BabyDoll never really warmed up to the intruder, though the interloper tried to make it work.

Over the years for the group, BabyDoll was the big sister to various cats and kittens alike. But never really allowing any of them to get close. Physically or otherwise. But the two of us remained close.

Because BabyDoll was always around, and I needed to keep my photography skills honed, she became an unwilling subject for my photography endeavors. Once, when I needed a model for a claw-clipping article, BabyDoll was the obvious choice. She had always let me clip her claws, and would patiently stay perfectly still for minutes on end. One session lasted an hour - never

The photo at right shows BabyDoll's paw. Not a blur in sight.

At left, I needed a photo for the subject of getting your cat a dental. Again, BabyDoll stepped in for a closeup.

Ten years after becoming part of an animal rescue group, I credit BabyDoll; a good many animals have her to thank for getting me involved.

She Wasn't The Cheapest Roommate

[Seventh in a series]

To call BabyDoll a "pet" wasn't fair to her. She was simply my roommate. But oh how expensive she was.

Remember, she was still contraband. And since I was living in an apartment, as usually happens, maintenance happens at the most inopportune times. Thankfully, this particular complex always gave advance warning. Those Banker's Boxes became a common appearance; I even started leaving them in my car so as to keep up appearances.

So whenever the maintenance crew needed to come by, off BabyDoll went for a night or two for vacations. I just always told the boarding place I was going on a trip.

One thing that wasn't expensive as far as BabyDoll was concerned is that she never played with toys. Sure, I bought them for her, but she was never interested in them. Throw a toy that any other cat would love batting around, she'd give me that look that said "Are you serious?"

So I was mightily surprised when, after wadding up a piece of printer paper, and just lobbing it into the middle of the room, that I suddenly heard it hit the floor again and again and again.

BabyDoll did know how to play!

Little pieces of wadded up paper were soon the norm, and BabyDoll had more than enough things to play with.

And one other thing she loved - Q-Tips. With no opposable thumbs, I never had to worry about her putting the swabs in her ears; rather, she would trap them between her paws and rub her face with them. I even caught her once cleaning the goobers from her eyes.

This wasn't a cat.

This was BabyDoll.

The World Traveller

[Sixth in a series]

Since BabyDoll was no longer a street cat, she never went anywhere. That is, until a friend invited me out to Oklahoma one Christmas. And I took BabyDoll with me. Back in those days - 1995 - taking your cat along on a plane trip was really no big deal; she got to ride in the cabin with me.

I bought her a top-of-the-line mesh carrier, so she could see out, but no one could see in. Other than the security people, no one ever knew there was a cat in their midst. And while waiting for our flight, with the carrier on my lap, I unzipped the top only far enough so she could stick her head out. Amazing what people choose to see if they see anything at all - the only person in a group of about fifty people was a little girl of about seven. "Look, Mommy! A Kitty!"

"Yes, dear".

"No, Mommy, look over there!"

Then everyone saw BabyDoll.

I did that, too, on the plane. And she was soooo good! Never made a sound, and what really amazed me, never had any accidents, though I wouldn't have been surprised.

That's just the kind of cat BabyDoll was. No surprises. She never once scratched me or bit me in eighteen years. She'd sleep on my chest, never making a sound. Other times she'd sleep right next to me, never nudging or squirming to get out of the way. She was always just there.

And now she's not.

Days Weeks and Tears

[Fifth in a series]

Not long after good homes were found for each kitten, BabyDoll had her surgery. No more of that, thank you very much.

I did learn something from the whole kitten ordeal. Never pass up an opportunity to take a nap. Ever. Even now, almost twenty years later, I still hold to that theory. And as anyone who has ever had little ones around, you learn to sleep when they do.

I just realized I typed Tears and not Years in the title to this post. Obviously I left it alone. Maybe it was a mental slip of sorts, but that's what I've been feeling the last couple days.

Life went along as it does once BabyDoll and I became fast friends. And damn she was smart. Hell, she liked me, didn't she?

One afternoon - don't know if it was a day, a week, or a year after the kittens - I was watching old reruns on TV. Andy Griffith was on. Yes, I know. And I started whistling the theme song.

Mwarw. Simple and to the point. Still don't know if that means "Stop it you're making me sick" or something else.

Whistled again. Mwarw. Again. Mwarw. That got to be a tradition between us.

And later, on days where she'd sit on the couch watching me at the computer, I'd say "I love you" over and over. And over. And over. If you were to hear it yourself, you'd be saying Mwarw.

And one night when I came in from work, instead of Mwarw (which at times meant "Clean the litter box"), she said "Rowr Roo". With a bit of a higher tone at the end of the "Roo".

Stopped me dead in my tracks.

I immediately knew what "Rowr Roo" meant. And said it back to her.

"Rowr Roo".

And the tears went by.

Sunday, November 2

Tom And Tom

[Fourth in a series]

Having been raised as a city boy and not spending much time in the country, I wasn't particularly privy to animal husbandry, even less so than the vet who didn't realize that BabyDoll was full of kittens.

One evening in late winter, I knew that whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. I'd just come in from the laundry room with a basket-load of clothes, when out the corner of my eye I saw BabyDoll at the end of the hall. Hunkering down and ready to pounce, she started her run. At the speed she was running, I had to act fast. Using the basket of clothes to add to my spinning force, I spun and kicked to door closed just in time. In the process, she ran headlong into the door, shook it off, and had that classic feline look of "I planned on doing that."

And in the ensuing almost-two-decades she never once tried to get out again.

BabyDoll was mostly tabby with a bit of calico mixed in for good measure. A Domestic Shorthair if ever there was one. That winter she had just three kittens; it was her first and only litter. And judging by their markings, it became apparent that BabyDoll had been in the company of not one but two Toms. In fact, I later saw a jet-black tom and a Siamese tom a few weeks later. She had two Siamese-tabby mixes and one tabby mix that can only be described as a black tabby. Beautiful kittens.

And a beautiful BabyDoll.

More Monday evening...

Did She Eat This Morning?

[Third in a series]

In the ensuing days after my new roommate moved in, I was careful to not let on that there was a cat in my apartment. After all, there was that no pets clause in my apartment lease.

After seeing her on the window sill one evening after getting home, I moved my bed away from the window so as to not allow her access. And for the foreseeable future, always kept the mini-blinds closed. The sill wasn't terribly wide, but as cats will do, she was quite agile enough to land gracefully on the sill from the floor.

The front door was another problem. Coming home during the day at one point, she wasn't in the front room, but after a short inspection tour later, found her sleeping peacefully on the bed. But always wary of her darting for the door.

It was a couple of weeks later that I figured I should make sure she was healthy enough to hang around; after all, she had been living on the "streets" and there was no telling what she might be "carrying". So an appointment was made at a local pet clinic in a strip mall far enough away from my apartment to make sure I didn't run into any neighbors.

The day came and came the inevitable question of just how you ferry something you're not supposed to have out and back in?

"Bankers Boxes" became my makeshift pet carriers, but not before putting a towel in the bottom.

The vet I took her to was an older gent who ran the little clinic by himself - no staff, and, as it turned out, not much experience in animal husbandry. After the necessary inoculations for her species, and during the poking and prodding phase of the examination, he asked if she had eaten that morning. A guess that she had in fact eaten that day I said yes.

"She seems to be really full."

Of what, would become apparent in 57-69 days.

Never went back to that vet.

The Stray

[Second in a series]

I was never really supposed to have had a cat. It just worked out that way.

I was living in an apartment complex in Midvale that didn't allow pets. Of any sort as I recall. But there were always stray cats around. BabyDoll was one of them.

I'd seen this youngish cat around my building since the summer of 1989; it was always friendly enough to not run when I'd walk by. Sitting on the curb around the parked cars, even meowing a hello whenever I was near.

I'd see her mostly in the daytime. I wasn't working standby back then; when I got home in the evening, I was there to stay until morning. I didn't go out much after dark so I never knew she was there. I guessed in the times that I saw her that she was being "kept"; maybe being let out in the mornings and again let in, in the evenings.

That summer was hot. Really hot. And so as to get out of the oppressive heat, she'd lay on the landing a flight below my apartment. One such day I left a bowl of water for her and the bowl would be dry by morning. I bought some cat food at one point and left it out for her, but that didn't last long; the bowl was removed one day and that was that. But I still offered water from time to time.

Through late summer and into early fall, there were times she would follow me. Right into my apartment at one point. She was a great conversationalist, always listening to everything I said. And interjecting a well-placed mrawr when appropriate. And when she'd had her fill of my commentary, she'd go to the door and wait to be left out.

Late fall became winter and as oppressive as summer was, winter was just as bad. Temperatures were going down. Way down. By early January temps were approaching the twenties, and on one fateful night, it was in the low teens.

At the time, the complex was in a quiet strip of Midvale on the east side of the valley. Really quiet, the building was far enough off 13th East that there was virtually no road noise. So when something went bump in the night, you actually heard it. So when a screeching sound started from downstairs and reaching a crescendo, it seemed that much more amplified. The word caterwauling was made for this sound.

It was fairly obvious what the ruckus was about, but just to be sure, I opened my door.

At warp speed, and a blur later, she rocketed up three flights of stairs and into my life for the last eighteen years.

Saturday, November 1


[First in a series]

The photo above is one of the earliest digital photos I have of my cat BabyDoll. It was taken in April 1998. She was about eight or nine years old.

BabyDoll died sometime Friday. She was 19.

Can't write any more just now.

No Sailor's Delight In This

Yesterday morning, while readying the truck before going to work, this was the view over the neighbor's house. Had to hurry off to work, but couldn't pass up the shot.

Just minutes after the shot, the moment was gone.

Storm's a-brewin'...
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