#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “C” AND “D” - CATS!!!! AND A DOG

I'm cheating here. I should have posted letter “C” on Friday, but I had a little run-in with the SSA and then the IRS over this whole “incentive check” nonsense, and after sitting on hold, listening to horrible hold music and being hung up on by two different alphabet agencies in these here Untied (sic) States, I was in no mood to write or think about #a-to-z-challenge. Quarantining is bad enough and then, trying to deal with our Federal Gubmint for ANYTHING, just raises my blood pressure. But, I REALLY want to finish this challenge this year AND I digress.

At last count, in my household, we have four cats, one dog and three birds. The cats don't really seem to know what the birds are, as the cats weren't raised by their mothers and never learned to hunt. They do like to watch them fly around in their cages. We have two finches and a cockatiel. The finches finch around, making that little beeping noise, and the cockatiel has a variety of sounds that she lets loose on the regular. It sounds like a zoo in here. The cats are more likely to eat the birdseed that I scatter on the floor, when I'm feeding the birds, for some reason.

Ripley, wallowing on my bed, after I spent twenty minutes making it. 

When we first brought the two kittens in the house, we already had Ripley, our husky-hound mix. Two things about Ripley, besides the fact that he's an absolute sweetheart of a dog and is really easy with the kittens. First, being part husky, he loves to run, and if there's an open door anywhere in the house, he will run. RUN and will not come back until he's good and ready. This wouldn't be a problem, except someone put some buckshot in him once. He came limping home. We got him healed up, and we thought that would cure him, but nope. He still loves to run. Luckily, we're good at keeping him fenced up. The other thing is, he yodels.

I believe I read somewhere that dogs are only capable of ten types of sounds. Well, you sure wouldn't know it by Ripley. He'll be outside on his lead, yodeling, in just about every key. He's doing dog karaoke and hollering to his imaginary friends out there in the forest that abuts our land. It's hilarious.

Eddie was barely two months old when we brought him home, as a foster. We ended up keeping him. We're kinda like the "Hotel California". You can come here, but you never leave. 

Anyway, when we first introduced each kitten to Ripley, they all had pretty much the same reaction. Puff up, dance sideways, and hiss. I don't know about you all, but tiny kittens getting all fierce is the funniest thing ever. Poor Eddie, or Eddifer, as I call him, when I'm not calling him “son”; he was so brand-new when we brought him home – he was a foster – that he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself. He danced backward into his little kitty house and circled around about three times, before he got it all figured out. For about two weeks, he was scared of Ripley. Of all my cats, he is the least adventurous and the one most likely to be found under the bed at the introduction of ANYTHING new, including toys.

Glenn Wallace – named by my husband, after my late father – is the smartest and most adventurous, and he loves any new-fangled thing that comes his way. We got this ridiculous toy that is battery-operated, and it writhes around on the floor and sparkles and snaps, and Glenn loves it! He also loves the Chitter toy, that makes a chittering sound when played with, unlike Eddie, who just ran under the bed when these toys were first introduced. Eddie doesn't hide so much any more from them, but he just sort of tolerates them.

Glenn, sleeping. He always looks like he's come in after a really rough night at the bar. He's also the longest cat I've ever seen. He has long legs and whiskers. I'm devoting the letter "G" to him and will have a lot more to say later. Just revel in the length of this animal!

Allie, or KittenMcGrabbyPaws is probably the funniest with her balls and tiny painting spool. She has these little wool balls, and she will fling them around, or bring them to me and have me throw them for her. It's so funny when she brings it back. I don't know if it's possible, but she always carries the ball on the right side of her mouth, so if that's a thing with cats – left-mouthed, or right-mouthed – it's the first time I've ever observed it. My old Russian Blue, Trotsky would play fetch, but as I recall he was ambidextrous, when it came to carrying shit around in his mouth; tin foil, wool balls, whatever we were playing.

The other thing with Allie, or any of the kittens and Misty is when they play with the spool, they make one HELL of a racket! It sounds like they're playing hockey; the wool in the spool gets caught in their claws, and they fling the spool around. It hits the wall, cabinets, and floor and it sounds just like a hockey game. All we lack is a fight.

My doofy husband, whom I adore completely, took this Alexa picture of Allie when we were out to dinner one night. "I wonder what the kids are doing?", he asked. Apparently, they were re-enacting "The Lion King".

The dog and the cats all get along; Ripley has discovered that he cannot go leaping about on the furniture, and he can't play “The Floor Is Lava”, but he's good for a cuddle! Letter “E” coming up; no more calls to the IRS or the SSA. It is what it is.

One last thing, I'm going to be posting a special post for a self-published author, a friend of mine, Andy Toppin, Jr., whose book “Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1” is on Amazon. He's really a good friend and a special person. I love this book, and hope you all will enjoy reading about him! I'm enjoying this #a-to-z-challenge. I hope you all are too!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE 2020 – LETTER “A” ALLIE

Letter “A” is for “Allie”. Short for Allie Cat; a tuxedo rescue, we acquired at two months. My kitten Allie, aka “Kitten McGrabbyPaws” is something else. She's going to be one year old on the 29^th of this month, and she's not the tiny kitten she was when we first brought her home, but she's the squirmiest, grabbiest kitten I've ever had. She's really the sweetest thing on earth, but not the brightest cat around. But that's okay. She knows what she needs to know to be a cat. She does try to be a person, on occasion however and this is when she's at her funniest.

Here is Allie being a ham, telling me I'm doing it wrong. Check out the fur on her hind feet. All the kittens have this fur, which we have dubbed the "tragedy of cat wool" for some idiotic reason.

It's generally when I'm trying to fold clothes, or walking across the floor. When I'm folding clothes, she'll stand up on her hind legs and try to grab at the clothes. She mirrors my actions and it looks hysterical. I really need to get my fiancé to film this, because it does look so ridiculous. She waves those little paws around like they're little hands. She also tries to “hold” my hand when we're walking side-by-side and she'll try to get up on her hind legs. With very little success, I might add.

I fail to see how anyone could be comfortable sleeping in this position, but she does this on the regular. Help. My cat is broken.

All in all, she's a happy creature and she's not that demanding for a cat. We have a hard time finding treats that she'll like. The others will pile into whatever fishy, stinky thing we find for them, but not Allie. She does try to bury her food, though. I thought this was odd, until I looked it up and some cats do have this atavistic trait of trying to bury their food; it's left over from before their domestication, when they had to kill to eat and they would cover the part of the kill they didn't eat for a snack later. Our cats all have their quirks and I'll be telling you about some of the secret things I've found out about cats as we go through our #a-to-z-challenge! I hope everyone is having fun and staying safe!

She has the most bewitching eyes and she looks right at you! <3

#BLOGGING #AMWRITING – CURSES AND CATS, AMONG OTHER OBSERVATIONS

“May you live in interesting times...” is a curse that has been attributed widely, from the Chinese to the Arabs, to Robert F. Kennedy, of all people. Originally thought to be a beneficence to the person it was bestowed upon, when parsed down, that “interesting” was definitely NOT meant for good times ahead. Good times are generally uplifting, giddy, and stamped with a tinge of amorality, if you think of the good ol' roaring 20s, prior to the Depression, but “interesting” is not high on the list of adjectives I would ascribe to that era.

For me, the “interesting” part in the 20^th Century begins in Western Europe in about say, 1933, when Hitler begins his climb to power and the really interesting geo-political things begin to happen. Russia had already been “interesting” when Lenin showed up, and brought a feudal country into the 20^th Century and greatness. Their more “interesting” times were ahead of them, in the form of fighting off the Nazis, which they did in epic style and with their typical heroism and grit.

At any rate, I'm not here to take a trip down memory lane, as much as I adore history and continue to learn new and more salient things about the parties who all participated in WW II. I'm here to talk about this “interesting” time we're in now, and why we all need to ignore the gibbering fool, who appears to be the Ringmaster of this Circus and stay hunkered down, until the CDC and/or Dr. Fauci says it's all okay to come back out from under our rocks.

Trump cares about one thing only: himself. He cares that the stock market is rising, that he appears to be in charge and that he's right about EVERYTHING. COVID19 is like Honey Badger (if you've seen that silly video). COVID don't care about a little cobra biting it in the neck. COVID don't care about a Big Leader of the Free? World telling us that if we go back to work sick with a mask on, it'll be okay (it won't; it'll just add to mortality. That's how disease vectors work, and this is not as bad as measles, but worse than SARS). We could kill 2.2 million Americans, by doing what we're currently doing. WHERE would we bury all these people and what about the sick ones?

They will absolutely overload the currently bad state of our medical system. This means that people with heart conditions, strokes, cancer care, dialysis and diabetes will be pushed back and ever-higher mortality rates will occur. The ability to look at the long picture has completely over-shot this administration and this joke of a President for too long and this really should be his Waterloo.

I had to make the terrible decision to bypass an infusion for the osteoporosis that I have in my right neck and shoulder and my lumbar, from all those many years of playing viola, but both my husband and I are high-risk. This can wait; I'm gonna hurt for a few months, but it's preferable than contracting some illness that I'm pretty sure is gonna take me out.

So, with that said, I truly wouldn't be surprised if the Pinheads of America elect this dolt once again. There seems to be truly nothing that will stop him. Had I been head of the DOJ back in 2016, when the first of the Russian collusion issues came to the fore? I woulda clapped those teeny hands in irons and frog-marched his ass off to gaol. He never had any business being on the GOP ticket. My ASS!

Now that I've vented my spleen, I can move on to much more pleasant topics. My babies. My dear, dear friend sent my an insane video of cats having a fashion show and it's every bit as kooky as it sounds. Let me show you some snaps.

 courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                        

courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                         

courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                       

So, right away, my husband said "N.O. No!" to any hare-brained idea I might have about a feline fashion show, although I think it would be hella fun! I could dress up the little tykes and after 3 hours of them trying to walk backwards and hopping, being entertaining and all and then, lying around like lumps and just being generally awful, they might be persuaded to walk in a straight line for a few seconds. Long enough for me to record them, swap out cute little pope outfits, a nurse outfit, and a John Lennon get-up, edit it all with some stupid music and throw it out there on YouTube. You just can never have enough idiocy on the internet in these trying times and I'm full of it.

Although, I'd probably have to sew outfits, and I can just about manage a hem and a button, in an emergency. I tried to make a pair of pants once when I was a girl and I sewed the legs together; I ended up with a really messed-up evening gown. My mother thought that was hilarious. 

My mom flying (EGAD) an airplane. Both of my folks flew. I can barely stand to get in the death-traps, but if I had my preference, I'd fly with my father. My mother was an amazing woman, but not so much, a pilot. She'd crab and yaw down a runway. My father was an artist in a plane.

All the kitties and the dog and the birds are thriving; it helps that the cats aren't too sure what the birds are. We got most of them when they were so young, they didn't have mothers to teach them to hunt. Misty is just an enigma. I suspect she was with an animal hoarder and had very little attention as a kitten. She seems frail at six years old, but gets on well with the others. Being toothless, she needs soft food, so the three black-and-white tuxedos have learned that she eats by herself and don't bother her. 

It's hard to tell how small Misty is here; and I take lousy pictures. My essential tremor gets in the way. At least you can tell it's an animal.

Other than that, she's healthy and joins in their little games of "Viet Nam" and mouse hunts. Glenn is the smart one; I caught him getting into my cupboards underneath the sink and I yelled at him. The second time I saw him making a run at them, I shouted "Glenn! No!" He made a sharp right turn and ran head-long into the cabinet that was at a 90° angle to that cabinet, then sat down and licked his paw like "Uh-huh; I meant to do that." Cats. Just great.

Here's Glenn; an entire 3 feet of cat sprawled out on my bed. He's at least 4 feet long. He's got long whiskers, legs, toes, body. I'm not even sure he's all cat.

Eddifer is the supervisor of the kitchen. He very politely comes up and watches everything anyone does in the kitchen, like he's taking notes and will get back to you. He was my 2-month old foster and is just the sweetest, most biddable cat. He's just there for the company and is happy on his own, or sleeping on my chest.

For some reason, Eddifer is resistant to having his picture taken; so here is a picture of a couple of cats, who either got into the catnip, or are re-enacting a scene from "The Purrates of Penzance". All they lack are little tri-corn hats. I laughed like a goon for half-an-hour when I ran across this. God Bless the corners of the innerwebz!

Allie, or "Kitten McGrabbyPaws" is my husband's cat and she waits all day for him to come home and she just loves, loves, loves him. She is by nature, a very, loving and happy cat. She is the one who makes up weird games and invites you along for a Magical, Mystery Tour. She's also frolicsome and just a kick to watch, when she starts some wild game of her own devising in a box. Cats and boxes are the best!

This is Allie, with the most bewitching eyes ever! Still, she is a whole lot of fun and she loves my husband to death. She is a good and happy kitty, who will try to hold your hand!

I have to say that I never expected my life to take this turn and I am immensely grateful for the quality of my life. I was doing okay before and had the things I needed, but it's certainly ramped up in my opinion. Gratitude is something we can never express too frequently, nor is love. I want to know how all of your Apocalypses are going, as a friend asked me last night. Yes, we all still play Runescape. I'm leading a clan, with two others, (SpiritZ) that is now 15 years old and I've been there for 14 of those years, as have most of the members. To say, we're richly bonded, is to paint that faintly indeed. We're another branch of the family. Stay safe, stay happy, and remember, this too, shall pass. All my love to (almost) anyone reading! 

P. S. Don't forget! The #a-to-z-challenge starts 4.1.2020! This is going to be a great year!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE THEME REVEAL KIND OF

Well... shit. Here I was going along, having survived stupid mopes invading my home. Beating up two muggers, getting past essential tremors and burying a companion who was one of the best people I ever knew. I had generally just stopped writing, because my viola playing had more or less taken off again, and I was getting to play challenging things in orchestras like the Tampa Bay Symphony. I was also getting out and about again; I'd recently become an Inspector for the Clerk of Elections of Hillsborough County and was working all of the General, Primary and Special elections, when one of my online viola students, whom I'd been teaching for several years, thought we'd make a pretty good team in life together. I wasn't averse to this idea; I'm not someone who wants to spend the rest of my life alone, but I'm not looking for just any old body either; we share much of the same outlooks and values and have the same quirky sense of humor. Since irl match-ups have been so horrible, I thought this might worth a shot.

"Wolf" was the unwitting matchmaker

Since we were very familiar with one another and talked several times a week, I thought “why the hell not”; I packed up my computers and my viola, “Wolf” and headed to South Carolina, to live with a man, I'd never met irl. Being legally blind, I was having trouble getting rides to the TBSO, and fed up with all of that, I quit. My newly-minted fiancé assured me that all the rides I ever could need would be provided happily and he's been great with that. We set up house in the country, filled it full of cats, with a dog for security and three birds, just for the hell of it. We run a sort of half-assed cat rescue for tuxedos, in memory of my poor Bootsie, ("Bootsie's Retreat") who was so cruelly treated by my ex-husband, that he died of starvation, less than a month after I got him out of the house that I was forbidden to enter, when we divorced.

My ridiculous dog, Ripley, wallowing on the bed, I just spent 20 minutes making. He's also a riot.

The cats are a hoot; tuxedos HAVE to be the clowns of the cat world. We fostered one tiny two-month old kitten, named “Eddie”, or “Eddifur” as I call him. The night we brought him home, he was introduced to our husky-hound mix, “Ripley”. Eddie looked at Ripley and did the puff-up-walk-sideways and backed into his little kitten house. He was so tiny, he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself, so he circled around backward about three times, before he figured that shit out. Later on that night, after James had fallen asleep, this tiny creature proceeded to cavort all over James and turn somersaults, when his itty-bitty claws got caught in the blankets. James slept on, and I cackled much like Muttley in delight, as quietly as I could; it was so funny.

Eddifur, in front, photo-bombing Allie. Eddie is the sweetest boy and I call him "son". He's really a gentle cat. His favorite pastime is to "supervise" in the kitchen.

A week later, we adopted another tuxedo, named Allie, for “Allie Cat”. She too, puffed up and walked sideways when she saw Ripley. The most notable thing that she and Eddie did together, other than multiply exponentially in the mischief department, is they showed me the meaning of good housekeeping, and by that, I mean, unplugging appliances, when you are through using them. One calm evening, when all was quiet, James, Ripley and I were all tucked up nice and snug in the bed, snoozing away, when HOLYMOSESONACRACKER! SOMEONE DROPPED A 747 ENGINE IN MY HALLWAY!

"Allie", alias "KittenMcGrabbyPaws". This is the squirmiest, grabbiest kitten I've ever had. She tries to stand up and walk on her hind legs like a little person, and she made up this game one day, where she grabbed my hand, walked me over to a box (sorta on her hind legs), sit down, and then grabbed my hand and led me away from it, only to repeat said action. I know not what the object of the "game" was. She looks like she has wool on her hind legs, so naturally, all of our little darlings suffer terribly from "catwool", whatever that is...

Nope; it was just two tiny kittens assing around the vacuum cleaner and they turned it on. This is one of those big ones, that will suck up the entire living room, if you're not careful. The kittens, of course became ghosts. My hilarious friend, Alex, asked, “Did you turn the kittens into ghosts for that, or did they just evaporate?” Ha ha. “They just evaporated”, I answered. James observed “At least this is different than them Singing The Song Of Their People at 3 am!” Sort of, I guess?

A short time after that, James came home from work, and as he opened the front door, he says “Mary! How did the kitten get out of the house?”, and he was bent down picking up a tuxedo kitten, about the same size and configuration of our two. I hadn't been outside the house all day, so I at first thought “Hmmm, this is James' sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!” I said, “Look behind me, here are our two chuckleheads!” and he looked. He was probably thinking, “Hmmm, this is Mary's sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!”, but he brought this kitten in, who was about the same age as the other two. The kitten was in distress; hot and frazzled. James gave him a bath and we called our county's ASPCA. Both of our kittens had been vaccinated, but this one had not, so we weren't worried that this new kitten would make them sick. When it was apparent that the shelter had no room for him, we figured we were in for a penny; in for a pound and added him to our brood. James named him after my father, “Glenn Wallace”. The exponential quality of mischief-like behavior continued, only instead of four, we now had nine little busy-bodies and boy, are they something.

"Glenn Wallace" or just "Glenn" or "Chucklehead" or "Asshat" (which applies to all 3). Smarter than hell. He knows his name and he bonded quickly with me. His idea of a good time is to snooze in my lap all afternoon, even if I'm practicing.

About this time, I thought up the idea of a “Tuxedo Rescue” and mentioned it to James as we were driving off to the Walmart. He smartly returned with, “Hey, we're really close to the Harris Psychiatric Hospital! Would you like a short stay there?” After a good laugh, he said (being the compassionate soul he is)
“Maybe there's something to this idea....”

We started looking at all the shelters in our area for tuxedos. We found a blue-and-white one recently. Her name is “Misty” and she was in a situation where the people hoarded animals. She has no teeth, and must eat soft food. She's just the sweetest thing and will play if she thinks no one is looking. She and Glenn are the smartest, with Glenn being scary-smart. He knows hand commands and they all know their names. I guess this is my dotage. Not bad, coming from the 'hood and a horrid situation. We look constantly; they are few and far between...

Misty is tiny, tiny, tiny. I'm not sure if she was malnourished when she was young. I do know that she was only spayed a year ago -- she's six years old -- and has had at least one litter of kittens. She's really a good cat, and sneaky fun. You have to catch her at playing. 

My health is better than it's ever been; I've put on fifteen pounds and I feel great. I'm playing well (I'll get to why I'm writing now in a moment), after I fell and cracked my elbow. But, I fell and cracked a rib and I broke my hip and had it replaced in October of 2018. I had the fastest recovery and rehab EVER then, as I lived alone and you cannot show weakness in the jungle of Nebraska Avenue. I can still kick the shit out of people, but have no reason to do that anymore.

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever had; he's a full four feet, when stretched out. He has really long whiskers, so I sing to him, "Scaramouch! Scaramouch!... CanyoudotheFandango?, in a high voice and he looks at me like I'm an idiot.

Anyway, I joined a new orchestra, here in the Carolinas; the Foothills Philharmonic, conducted by the wonderful Kory Vrieze. we were practicing “Scheherazade”, much to my delight. We did such an awesome job with it in 2015, with Mark Sforzini and the Tampa Bay Symphony, and we were going to do just as fine a job here.

Alas, a thing called a pandemic intervened. Coronavirus shut down the orchestra, along with the rest of the country. I've worked at a tertiary care facility, and did so for four years. Virology always fascinated me and I understand disease vectors. I knew six weeks ago, that I would be in a quarantine of my own making. I'm at high-risk, and I've survived too much awful shit; had so much good luck, that I cannot continue to bank on that happening indefinitely, so I ran right to my doc's office and we did our shorthand discussion: “triage”, “shortages of supplies”, “out-of-date infrastructure”, “lack of leadership” and so on. I was supposed to take a trip out-of-state to meet my fiancé's parents, later on in the summer. Since they are elderly and since I am high-risk, none of this is happening. It's no one's fault; it just is.

However, now that I am blogging again, I can also freely express my total dismay and contempt for what I see happening; not only in our own government, but around the world. I do feel that our so-called President has finally found himself in a position that he cannot possibly lie or backpedal his way out of and his actions, even before his taking of office have been treasonous, illegal and immoral. I will never accept what he has done to our Supreme Court, and his minions within the Senate and Congress, should all be held liable. This is the kind of thing that in times past, would bring about Revolution; line 'em up against the wall, shoot 'em and start over. Lenin had it right.

Anyway, I'm back, and while I'm happy in my life and having a great time, I fear for our WAY of life. Looking forward to #a-to-z-challenge!

#A­TO­Z CHALLENGE ­- LETTER "K" ­- KITTEHS

This is the first of my last batch of posts that will be written and produced on my old, old friend, and IBM Thinkpad, that I salvaged from my landlord, who works best with a hammer and is 80 years old. Out of nostalgia, after I repaired the thing, I offered him 50 bucks. He took 10. Okay, I'm a hell of a negotiator.

courtesy:oldcomputer.net   

My landlord salvaged this out of some junk heap. All I did was load an OS onto it, and tried to give it back to him. He looked around at my "computer lab". I said, I'll give ya 50.00 bucks for it." He said, "10.00. okies?" Okies. You can't kill these things.

Anyway, (like you're in the edge of your seat for this riveting story), I'm trying something with C++ on my souped-up septa-core. Corrupted heap at fal-de-rol blah blah blah. Blargle. I overclocked the CPU, which is no sweat for this puppy, but I have to back up, and go step-by-step to fix. All of this is for a gaming site, which I am apparently going to have a real job doing, so this requires Knowledge (which would actually work for #AtoZ and got a "K" letter out of it, but is dry as sand for no one who gives two farts for heaps, corruption, stack overflows, and sector). Since I'm batting 1.0000 in these types of things, it will be fixed.

courtesy:synapsessynergygroup.com   

I wish Miguel would find these in some junkyard. Introducing the IBM Glue gene Mainframe; puts the Cray to shame. I stood up against the side of one of similar style once, and the power flowing through them is amazing!

The other reason I'm doing this, is I'm going to be splitting Tampa, Nebraska and my environs for a week or so, and want to take this puppy on the road, thus want to make sure it's serviceable and that I'll be able to post something besides colorful crap that I can create and upload all day in PAINT. No one wants to see my horrible drawing; it's worse than my photography, which Lee McAulay over at #ROW80 insisted would get me hired for Paranormal TV. It's THAT bad and apparently genetic. 

I have not clue one as to what I was taking pictures of, why or when, but it was probably at night, because I am up mostly at night. Suffice it to say, they exist, and they were in my camera, so I must have taken them. The fool camera is one of these little cheap knock-offs that says it does everything. It does, but not well and it's a bitch to figure out. I couldn't find the really good one that I took of the stove in the dead of night, with no lights on and no flash. That one there is one hum-dinger of a photo!

I don't believe that I ever saw my dad pick up a camera, but my mother had no qualms about picking up a camera and taking a picutre of any old damn thing. Her favorites were meaningless pictures of the sky, with no landscape, so you didn't know if it was sunrisee or sunset and you were left with that timeless quality of just . . . clouds, in varying shades, close-ups of just. . . rocks because they were "interesting"; they weren't. Pretty much every rock is just like another, and people from the neck down, so she was either finding friends in Witness Protection Programs, or she was just too damn short to realize she was beheading all of her subjects. 

Of course, we all waited with baited breath, everytime she came home with a new batch of abominations, so that we all had something to have a good howl and screech over. She wasn't exactly thrilled when I went to Japan and came home with 11 rolls of film, that were just. . . bridges. I got a few people in shots, by accident, but I told her, "Well, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree." She thought a moment, when went "True. . ." Just because we knew our limitations was no reason to put down the camera.

courtesly:mymom   

I have seventy-billion pictures of stuff like this in my mom's effects. Cats doing various amounts of nothing. The ginger cat, named "Dwayne" actually looked like a stoner and sat like that all the time. I'm not sure who the other cat is, but he/she looks to be in mid-stroke; I'm guessing it's some form of playing. I am equally bad, if not worse when it comes to taking pictures of felines.

Of course, we always had cats, kittens, or kittehs. I have some of the most random shots ever of cats that she photographed. They always look drunk. I'm not sure how one pulls that off, but she was damn good at it. I can't get my cat, Mama, to do all those cute little things that she does and get any kind of decent picture. I must have 147 pictures of the back of her head. Most of the time she wants to lie on my mouse hand and grab my arm and go to sleep. This is all fine; I put a towel over my arms, because she does grab on.

Alex and I speculated about the kitteh population in and around Nebraska Ave. Before I moved here, I had never seen cats with the types of markings that these cats have. It's like they were all designed by a committee of exterior decorators. They're all part calico-tortoise-shell-tabby, with patches of solid color and/or white thrown in and there are about a zillion of them.

I do think that Mama is the Matriarch, or at least one of them. She has been spayed. We saw to that after we adopted her and her very last kitten was killed by a motorcycle, but she has two sons from previous litters who show up to visit and they have very similar marking akin to hers. 

A picture of Mama when she's actually looking at ME. I've since taken 83,749 pictures of her ass, her feet, the back of her head, but I've yet to get another head shot.

If you go on an evening stroll on some of the more secluded streets in V. M. Ybor, there are entire streets, where mini-Mamas are just lolling about on the streets. If you try to approach them, they run off to their owners' houses. The people have made a very good effort at controlling the cat population and adopting the strays, but the gene pool here is singular.

A bit farther to the east, in Ybor City, there is a lovely breed of cat that originated there, called the Havana Brown. These cats are so, so dark chocolate, that you cannot tell they are brown unless they are in direct sunlight. They are rather small and the few that I have known are feisty little cats, but wonderful to behold.

These are some of my more recent attempts. We're either getting ready to pass into an alternate universe, ala "Fringe", or I was having a really bad day with my essential tremor. In truth, she just KNOWS when that damn camera is coming out!

Mama kind of rules the places around here, and she can be a little con artist. For several weeks, she was letting me know that she didn't care for her dry food and that she really wasn't all that crazy about the wet food I was feeding her. I was pulling my hair out, trying to find something this elderly, cranky cat would eat. I would give her some bits of rotisserie turkey that I got from the deli; bits of cheese from my sandwich. I made some home-made meatballs; she liked those. Then, last Sunday, I walked into the kitchen, and caught her chowing down on her dry food. She looked up at me, with a look that said "I am sooooo busted!" As my friend Jeremy says, "That's cats for ya!" Indeed.

#ROW80 2ND QTR 2014 – THOUGHTS AND OBSERVATIONS

It's been a long time since I've written ANYTHING for #ROW80, or really tried to start any kind of schedule, since the A-to-Z challenge, and it's really time I did. Without any kind of schedule or balance, I tend to zone for days, or just react to whatever is going on around me. Not much there to think about, and certainly not much of a way to live, when someone has gone through the hell I have. I could say I'm merely coasting, but that's not my style; now that JC has started to feel better and we seem to have put that behind us, and I've recovered from the “shock and awe” of A-to-Z, I feel it's time to start putting out some effort in the writerly part of my life once again. The viola part of it is never a problem, now that I have my e.t. (essential tremor) under control, but I do feel another chance has been tossed my way and I'd be stupid not to grab that brass ring, along with a mixed metaphor or two.

So, it's back to the beginning of “Music of the Spheres”, to untangle what is surely (or, maybe not) one of the more fucked-up ideas for a speculative-fiction, or sci-fi book in a long while and see if I can possibly straighten it out, do some editing mo-jo and make it something that people will want to read. To that end, I might try writing a few short stories, or something along the way, as I've never written fiction, so I might want to think “baby steps, baby steps” before attempting the Boston Marathon. Or not. Anybody who has ever told me “no” has had cause to regret it, although in this case, I might take the advice of much more seasoned authors than myself. I have a cute idea for #StoryDam; if nothing else, I get to hang with them on Twitter and they always throw a good party!

The only other thing(s) of note here recently, were these:

I do a butt-ton of work for SETI@home as a volunteer and Dan Werthimer lets us know what is going on with the project run at Cal Berkeley. He is Director of the SETI Research Center and he and Seth Shostak of SETI, along with countless and nameless others, have created open-source programming that have created spinoffs of the original SETI project. The full text of his speech to Congress last week can be found here.

I work on several different projects, but my primary team is located some 70 miles north of me, and is called “The ********”. I kid and tell everyone that my team are a bunch of retired Navy SEALS, spooks and people from the NSA, CIA and whatnot. Most of them aren't around and a 65-member team has 7 active members. But, between the 7 of us, we can crunch some numbers. Being a total numbers wonk, I go and look at our world-standings. We've been as high as number 462 on the charts globally; this week, in the U.S., we're number 71, ahead of U.C. Berkeley. We seem to be in a vicious winner-take-all war with the Iowa Hawkeyes, as we routinely swap 70^th and 71^st positions with them daily. This volunteer work is a stone-cold bitch! And this is just the USA! I haven't even mentioned the Russians!

I still can't believe we trounced MIT; they must have had finals. . .

Teams slap down challenges; I feel like they're holding Royal Flushes, and I'm stuck with a pair of 8s; the air is fraught with 18^th century-style duels. Statistics are king and we have MIT huffing along in our rear-view mirror! Now, if only our errant spooks would return from their missions and do some heavy lifting, we could leave MIT in the dust; we've already buried “Get Off My Lawn”; it's time for us to take on “DigitalDingusBoinc” and sweep the field!

Is There Anybody Out There? Not just a cool Pink Floyd tune from "The Wall" but an existential and philosophical question. Math and Metaphysics are mapping the Milky Way.

But this is all in the BOINC realm of volunteers and people who believe that using their computers and their smarts to try and detect E. T. The spinoff from the original software is being used for everything from Breast Cancer research to mining Bitcoins. Metaphysically speaking, we have run the gamut from attempting to discover the origin of the universe to running what appears to be the selling of current-day Amway products, or possible Ponzi schemes. I may be misinformed, but at least it's misinformation I've parsed myself. Leave my shibboleths alone!

But that isn't even what sent me into an uproar last week. What happened last week was Dan Werthimer went and gave a nice little speech before Congress. I found out about it in the usual manner, which is a nag screen from my BOINC software, so I read the speech and thought, "Gee, wonderful things are happening up in the skies and all, and we're parsing and analyzing the data received from Areceibo just as fast as we can. Dan thinks it'd be a swell idea if Congress went along and helped on the funding". This isn't the first time in recent months that Congress has held a hearing on aliens. In December, the Science House Committee held a two-hour meeting about the ongoing search for extraterrestrial life. The publication, The Wire said at the time that the hearing was the “best thing Congress had done in months.” I tend to agree.

"Congress Debates the Finer Points of Aliens" I suggest each member just look across the aisle; or better yet, in a mirror. Here is the HuffPo article.

What I got a bit pissed off about was HuffPo's coverage of Dan's speech. Understand that I exist in a culture where the idea of E.T. being here is taken for granted, and even though that is the text of Dan's speech boiled down, it's not that simple, and the wording of HuffPo's Headline sounds as though this is not a serious undertaking. We operate under the assumption that E. T. and friends have been here, (wherever “here” is; it doesn't necessarily have to be boots on the ground) for some time, and this is nothing new for us. We're crunching numbers fed to us from satellite arrays like crazy to prove uncategorically, that YES, THERE IS INTELLIGENT LIFE THAT DID NOT ARISE FROM THE PLANET EARTH. I have a scientist uncle who based a whole set of mathematical equations on his observations of flying unidentified craft and their motions that defied E=MC² and the math works; you can't get much more truthier than that. He, for reasons obvious to anyone who's been around the naysayers for any length of time, disappeared off the grid several decades ago, not because he felt he was in any danger, but because he was tired of having his bona fides questioned. Who can blame him? If I had to play a four-octave scale and 50 etudes before every concert I ever performed in, I would have packed it in early, too.

But, as long as knowledge is used as a form of currency and it matters so in certain circles and in politics and in the establishment of world hegemony, there will never be a reckoning about many ideas and past events. Black helicopters and men in black will be talked about in whispers. It doesn't matter whether they exist or they don't; the IDEA of them does, because we see these things as a symbol of power and manipulators of populations, with the ability to either sway or silence us via covert means, and they are powerful indeed. So, when HuffPo (who should know better) posts an idiotic headline like the one above, I get a bit. . . cra-zy. Not in the sense of haul-off-to-the-Loony-Bin-Baker-Act cra-zy. Been there, done that. But cra-zy in the sense that, the journalism is irresponsible, and to me, that is unconscionable.

Although people who read HuffPo, are by and large, much better informed than the eejits who watch any type of broadcast or cable news, with the exception of BBC or Al-Jazeera, there are still a goodly number of people who are not well-informed and do not think critically at all who read the HuffPo. Just try reading the comments on a story that is not all that complex, and you'll see what I mean. Without any kind of epistemological imperative to seek the truth, they are more than willing to swallow any old guff handed to them. Maybe I am the one who is lacking here. I ferret out facts and snuffle up data to buttress my arguments, because I believe in the truth and I have no platform or agenda of any kind that I am trying to push onto someone else. I expected better of HuffPo. They're not Politico, nor are they WaPo; they usually try to gather news from many different sources, as well as using their own journalists, rather than rely on stringers, or feeds from other news agencies.

Or, maybe because the story comes out of Washington D. C.'s hallowed grounds, HuffPo just can't help themselves and they're caught up in the Never-Never Land world of Brobdingnagian shenanigans, or may have contracted the peculiar disease that seems to afflict all and sundry who end up in Foggy Bottom, although my Twitter pal, Jason Linkins, who writes for HuffPo and is a cracker-jack political analyst seems to have no trouble discerning the make-believe and wish-it-was from the slap-in-your face reality. But, I have really, really digressed. Color me pissed.

No doubt, SETI@home will survive on a shoestring and we'll all cobble together some wild financing and up our donations. I understand Bitcoin is in on this; oh, yay! A brand name that is better-associated with drug-trafficking and probably arms-dealing will bail out the SETI@home while taking a hefty chunk of BITCOINage for themselves. But that's alright; we're all one in this together on this big, enormous project that involves the entire world. Right?

About the only other thing that is newsworthy on this here home front is that no one has died here on Nebraska Avenue in a while. That's a good thing. That's not to say, we haven't had to run out in the middle of the street to make sure Señor Cerveza didn't get run over, when he fell down, but he'll live to annoy us another day. And that's all right.

Mama has a new thing. For those following along at home, Mama is the stray cat that adopted JC a few years ago, when she was pregnant and had been thrown away. We lost the kitten, and JC had Mama spayed and she's been with us ever since. When JC had his heart attack in February, he was in the hospital for several days. Mama is used to having the front door left open and coming and going as she pleases, but with JC gone, I couldn't take the risk of leaving it open, at all; day or night, so Mama had to become an indoor kitty, while he was gone.

Sweet Moses on a buttered cracker, I hope to never go through that again. It's supposed to be, if not easy, at least do-able, to turn an outdoor cat into an indoor one. Not so with Mama. She didn't tear anything up, or do anything bad, or not use her litter box. She's very clean, in all aspects. But, she became depressed, when she couldn't find a way out of the house. Oh. My. God. I took this sweet, little animal, who was already missing JC (at one point, she thought I'd stuffed him in the cupboards, I think) and made her become something sad and miserable. It was awful and it broke my heart. As soon as JC came home, I let her out and she ran off; I went in the backyard and cried and cried. She had run off and I was sure we had lost her. I cried more for the harm I had done this sweet animal, who had never done anything to anyone, than for what I thought was her loss, although it would have broken JC's heart.

Well, she came back, within half a day as if nothing had happened. She was so happy to see JC and is back to her normal self. She's pretty spoiled, but she deserves it. She'd been abused before, and bears the scars of either a beating, or a horrible cat fight and is blind in her right eye. The only thing that has changed from her sojourn inside the house, is that she comes inside to use her litter box. No more pooping out in the backyard for her. There's one other thing she does, that I have never had any other cat in my life do and this is really something.

The other evening, I was on my computer and Mama had been running in and out of the house all day. Generally, she's a stealth cat; you don't know she's around, unless she's hungry, and I usually feed her between 7 and 8 pm. JC feeds her in the morning, and I feed her in the evening. Cats are hardwired and if you mess with their routine it really confuses them. Mama is so hardwired, that for a long time, I had to sit in my chair on the porch; it was the only way she'd approach me. Now, she expects me to be in my computer chair. If I'm sitting on the couch, she's not too sure who I am, I suspect, until she gets close enough to smell me, then she's fine.

Anyway, this particular evening, I didn't have my headphones on, for a change, so I was conscious of the ambient sounds around me. My hearing began to register from a distance, a small “eeeeeeeeee” that was coming closer, but there was no cessation in the “eeeeeeeeee”, it just kept coming closer and getting louder. Now, it was “EEEEEE” but wasn't stopping, it just kept coming closer, and still, getting louder. Now, it was “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!” and Mama came through the room at a brisk trot, on her way to the kitchen, where JC was making tea, or Ramen Noodles, or brownies; I can't remember. I was just astounded; I had never heard a cat do that. As she passed by, the “EEEEEE!!” gained it's apex, much like a Doppler effect, and then began to retreat in the distance, now “eeeeeeeeeee” once again, and then fainter, “eeeeeeeee”, as she arrived in the kitchen to beg from JC. A drive-by MEOW, without the M and the OW. Cats are a wonder; as da Vinci said, “The smallest of the felines is a Masterpiece!”

Mama, beside my leg, enjoying a siesta on the porch.

Sorry for the length of the post, and my apologies for my lengthy absence, between Mother's Day and now. This week is #IWSG, along with #ROW80 check in for Wednesday. I hope to have something to report regarding editing of both “Music of the Spheres” and the material I have planned for my e-book on my life. I have enough material that covers my early life and school, careers in music and computers, my days in the homeless shelter, up to the present.