Roxy's Back!
Roxy is back with a new litter for 2010
Tipper’s Big Adventure
June 1, 2010: As previously reported, it was last Labor Day weekend when Tipper was brought to us by our neighbor across the street and we estimated her age at three weeks. A week later she weighed in at 8/10ths of a pound. Now, almost ten months old, she's passed eight pounds and still growing.
When she circumvented a blockade built by Pat to deny her access to the microwave cart that supports our television by climbing on top of the 55" flat panel, it took three weeks of time-outs locked in Pat's bedroom to dissuade her from pawing at the moving figures on the TV screen. Likewise, consistently and unceremoniously removing her from my desk eventually led to her to cease to pawing at my mouse cursor as it tracked across my computer screen.
Eventually she just got too big to stand on the rim of out toilet bowl while we attempted to pee without hitting her. However, she still sits on the bathroom sink while we shave, on the kitchen sink while I wash dishes, and continues to try and catch the drips from the shower head and watches/listens in fascination as the water hits the back of the shower curtain and runs in little rivulets down the bath mat and gurgles down the drain.
Pat & I made a command decision early on that Tipper would be strictly a house cat… no being allowed daytime sunning on the patio chairs like her older sisters (grandmothers?) who go out every day when the sun is shining. Of course with Wheezie and Mouse outside and Pat at work, that leaves only me to provide entertainment for a rambunctious kitten.
She is the first cat we've ever had that loves to play fetch. Her favorite item is a yellow cellophane wrapper from a butterscotch candy that I am expected to toss to various locations around my office. Once she finds it, she prances proudly back with the wrapper in her mouth and drops it at my feet for another round of hide and seek.
When I really need to get work done, I've taken to closing my office door to keep Tipper from constantly demanding attention. It didn't take her long to figure out that when "dad" needs to work, it's best to curl up on the pillow on his other office chair and go to sleep. The compromise is suitable for both of us except on rainy days when the older girls prefer a warm, dry house. While Tipper is elsewhere in the house, Wheezie will commandeer the pillowed chair, curl up and go to sleep.
When Tipper returns to my office she'll jump up on the chair and cuddle up to Wheezie, providing one of those precious mother/daughter moments. But Tipper has grown so big now (only two pounds shy of Wheezie's weight) that two of them on the same pillow has become uncomfortable for both. Ultimately, Wheezie leaves in disgust and Tipper has her chair back.
With the advent of spring and windows left open for fresh air, Tipper discovered the "sun deck," a small table on our back porch whose top is even with the bottom of the 6' x 4' sliding glass window. First it was bugs that she would try to catch, jumping up to get them. Often as not, however, the bugs were on the outside of the screen and after three trips by us into the backyard to put the screen back into its frame, we finally got smart and drilled screws in strategic locations of the window frame to stop the screen from getting bumped out by an increasingly excited and heavier flying kitten.
Next it was the birds, particularly the finches cavorting in the Cecil Bruner rose trellis just to the left of the window. Her fascination with bugs, birds, and plant life fluttering in the breeze grew throughout the spring, but she would remain on the porch whenever we opened the backdoor to allow her older sisters in or out, or to put out food for Blackie, the street cat who comes nearly every day for breakfast and dinner. This self-discipline was particularly reassuring at night when the motion alarm sounded at the back porch steps indicating the arrival of the neighborhood raccoons for whom we always put out a bowl of food and go to say hello when we know that they're there.
It started about two weeks ago when we heard Blackie singing for her supper from our backyard. We opened the backdoor to allow Wheezie & Mouse inside for their dinner and Tipper flew out the door, down the steps, and right up to Blackie who, until that moment, had never met Tipper nose-to-nose. Fortunately Wheezie & Mouse have long accepted Blackie's presence in our backyard as non-threatening and ultimately we were able to coax Tipper back into the house without frightening the ever skittish-around-humans Blackie away before we had had a chance to serve her her dinner.
Unfortunately, Tipper's newfound boldness only continued to increase, darting out into the yard nearly every time we opened the backdoor. Not so bad in the daytime when we could follow and retrieve her, but a real concern at night when we say hello to our visiting raccoons and opossums.
Rita has been coming to our backyard after dark for dinner nearly three years now. Last year she brought her first litter of raccoon cubs with her but it appears that this year she has avoided pregnancy. Typically she shows up between nine and ten in the evening after garden lights have gone on in our backyard, but with the advent of daylight savings time she has taken to coming around seven… while it's still quite light outside.
Shortly thereafter a newcomer arrived whom we've named Randy, who started showing up at six, presumably to beat Rita to the buffet. Clearly less than a year old, Randy is a gangly, nearly full-grown raccoon who shows no fear or threatening behavior towards us and, in fact, has allowed us to get as close as a foot away from him.
On the night we first met Randy, I had opened the backdoor to go fill Rita's bowl in anticipation of her early daylight arrival. Randy was at the bottom of our back porch steps and, on seeing the door open, ascended the steps and started to cross the threshold into the house when I gently encouraged him to turn around. Ever since, Randy has been coming for dinner earlier and earlier, now showing up around five o'clock. Which, of course, means I have to fill the raccoon bowl earlier & earlier.
Typically we call Wheezie & Mouse in for dinner at 5:30, hence they're still out on the patio chairs when Randy or Rita shows up. But neither the cats nor the raccoons are bothered by each other's presence. Of course, how urban raccoons would react to a rambunctious kitten darting out the back door towards them as opposed to two senior cats on patio chairs who have learned to ignore them was an unanswered question… until last night!
From the back porch window I spotted Randy coming across the patio for his dinner. I opened the door to say hello when Tipper suddenly appeared out of nowhere and flew down the steps. She was in the middle of her quick left turn towards the backyard when her eye caught Randy just two feet to her right at the feed bowl. Randy was startled but held his position, I went into panic mode, and Tipper did an about face to go investigate the newcomer.
They actually nosed each other, Randy went back to eating, and eventually Tipper came back into the house. If only I knew the secret language animals use between themselves to determine friend or foe!
New command decision: anytime we need (or want) to open the backdoor during the "raccoon hour," both of us go to the porch: one to open the door and the other to hold Tipper.
Enough Already!
February 6, 2010: A flyer came in the mail today addressed to "Dear Fellow Oakland Voter" from Don Perata, our former California Senate President Pro-Tempore asking us to sign a ballot petition that, if voted into law, would fund cancer research in our state by putting an additional $1 tax on each pack of cigarettes sold in this state. The flyer contained a web address for the proponents of the petition and I went there looking for an email address that I could write to to express my opposition to such a proposal. Unfortunately, the website is structured to accommodate only supportive views. However, there was a "Supporter Wall" and I took the time to write my opinion there, knowing full well it will never see the light of day.
Fortunately, Pat & I have our own website and can post it here:
ENOUGH ALREADY!!!!
My partner & I are both smokers and both in our 60s. We grew up in a era when smoking was all around us. We've both tried to quit numerous times to no avail. We agree that smoking is an unhealthy habit and applaud those that have managed to quit. We restrict our smoking to our own home and our own vehicles. We no longer go out to restaurants, bars, or entertainment venues due to the restrictions. We can no longer smoke on public beaches or in state parks.
We honestly believed that the huge tobacco tax increase last year would finally force us to quit. Instead we've cut back on other things despite a failed six-month effort to give up the nicotine.
The bottom line here is that we have accommodated the new laws and smoking restrictions as best we can, even not smoking in our own home when non-smoking guests visit.
If your intent is to eradicate smoking by taxing it beyond affordability for the average person, it simply won't work. But we suspect there is something else afoot here: piling on a "sin tax" as a way of procuring funding for your cause.
Smoking is slowly, but surely going away and I'm sure that with the eventual passing of our generation it will become a curious anachronism. Although we understand the public restrictions placed on our habit, we're weary of being the whipping boy for those who deign to reform us.
Samantha Ann Daniélle
 Samantha in our motorhome at Port Townsend, Washington. May 30, 2007 |
September 14, 1995 - November 28, 2009
Sammy came to me two weeks before Halloween in 1995. Harvey, our cat who died in 2003, had spotted her while sitting in the front porch window and vocally got my attention. I took her to the vet wrapped in a towel on my lap fully expecting to give her up, but $65 later, decided to bring her home. When I started the car after leaving the vet's office, my lap got very warm. She had peed on me. I looked down at her, she looked up at me, and I said, “I guess you're mine.”
Sammy was always shy, but I did not realize it until Lee came into our lives a year later and she avoided him for the first few months he was here. Sammy's life was full and she had lots of house mates. First there were my cats Harvey and Amanda. Lee brought his ferrets Snow Ball and Martha. Next came Mouse, another rescued cat, then two more ferrets: Jasper and Vincent. Another two ferrets: Tasha and Allie. Another rescue cat: Wheezie. And most recently, Tipper, a rescued kitten.
Over the years Lee and I have done a bit of traveling, eventually getting a motorhome. Sammy had recently been diagnosed with cancer and had to have pills every day for the rest of her life. So we packed her up along with Mouse, Wheezie, and the ferrets and off on trips we would go. Our veterinarian, Dr. Gandolfi, had given Sammy six months to a year in early 2004. She made it almost six years.
She loved being outside in the garden and wallowing in catnip on the living room carpet. We referred to her catnip-covered fur as Battered Cat Syndrome. She'd lounge on Lee's lap at TV time and eat cheese, popcorn, Doritos, or any other snack Lee was enjoying at the time. She was always first at the dinner table when pork chops, steak, or chicken was being served. It was a piece for her and a bite for me.
We used to call Sammy the ghost cat because she would disappear whenever guests came over. Petite her entire life, she always looked like a kitten. Although she was tiny, she was very much the Lady of the House. She is survived by Mouse, Wheezie and our newest rescue, Tipper, who came to us a few months ago as a lost kitten.
New Addition to the Household
Top center: Tipper asleep on Pat's bed.
Left, bottom, & right: Tipper in the crook of Pat's arm.
September 12, 2009
Driving home from work yesterday, I had a premonition that Lee and I were about to be blessed with yet another four-legged kid. Who would have thought at our age there would be six of us?
We were watching TV around 8:30 when the door bell rang. Our neighbor Doreen, who is allergic to cats, stood there sniffling with a crying kitten in hand that she found in her backyard. A quick check revealed it was a female. She had four white paws and a tiny white tip on her tail, so we quickly named her Tipper. At most, she is three- to four-weeks old.
Starved when she arrived, she has eaten half a can a cat food since last night. At bedtime I put her on my bed where she mewed and slept with me through the night. A rare (for the Bay Area) thunder and lightning storm brought rain showers overnight and were it not for Doreen, Tipper would have been soaked and frightened by a rainy season that appears to be starting two months early.
Our three other cats, Mouse, who turns 12 in two weeks, Samantha, who turns 14 on Monday, and Wheezie who is already 15, are aware of Tipper's presence and have checked her out while keeping their distance. All have hissed and left the room with disdain. The consensus: we WILL punish you for this! As with any introduction of a new one into a well-established household, bringing Tipper into the fold will take time.
Montgomery Street BART Station
Pat Racks up Another Year
July 26, 2009: It started June 28th with Pat sitting at the computer desk in his bedroom on a Sunday afternoon. Me, I’m in the room next door sitting at my own computer desk working on one project or another. The one thing I can count on is that he’ll stay at his computer all afternoon, so I decided it was a good time to order the Beach Blanket Babylon tickets online for his July 25th birthday. As soon as the confirmation letter arrived at my inbox, Pat walked into my office and I had to hide it quickly before he started reading what was on my screen.
This year his birthday landed on a Saturday which made for the perfect going-out-to-do-something opportunity. As usual, he was up before me yesterday morning and as I passed by his bedroom door with my coffee makings, I wished him a happy 59th. Around 10:30, after seeing him still in his bathrobe, I informed him that he needed to get dressed before we left around noon for San Francisco. It was my first hint to him that something was planned for the day.
It was quarter to one by the time we reached the Coliseum BART Station platform and another fifteen minutes before a San Francisco/Daly City train pulled in. The plan was to get to the city, switch over to MUNI, and get out to the Harvey Milk Center where I start a Photoshop teaching job for the San Francisco Photo Center in September. Problem was, MUNI requires $2 in cash for each ride and we had very little cash between the two of us. So we got off BART at the Montgomery Street Station in the middle of the financial district and set out in search of an ATM.
 East Portal MUNI Station |
They were all over Market Street: Wells Fargo, Citi Bank, Union Bank, Chase.... ah! Bank of America! Neither Pat nor I have a traditional bank account but prefer instead to do all of our banking through our Merrill-Lynch accounts and B of A had just bought Merrill, so perhaps we could get money out of one of their machines without having to pay a $3 fee? Son of a gun, it worked! Got our money out with no fee whatsoever!
And now for a little backtracking. Back in June, when I first started planning this day, I contacted our friend Bill Taylor, the consummate expert on San Francisco dining who, along with his partner Gary Busboom, had moved to Alabama three years ago. I asked him the name of the pizza restaurant he and Gary had taken us to in North Beach a few years back. Unfortunately, Tommaso’s didn’t open until five o’clock. BBB started at 6:30, the doors open at 5:30, and to get a good seat, we needed to be in line at the door around 5:00. Bill recommended several other good Italian restaurants in North Beach, but an online check revealed none of them opened for dinner before four.
Since it was already nearing two o’clock and we had to be in North Beach by five, I suggested we get something to eat as we left the Market Street ATMs and Pat voted for Burger King on Powell. As we walked up Ellis Street towards Union Square, we happened upon John’s Grill which we recognized from an episode of Eye On The Bay, and headed inside for some finer fare than Burger King could provide.
John’s Grill was the setting for Dashell Hammett’s book The Maltese Falcon made famous by the 1941 Humphrey Bogart movie. On the second floor, outside the men’s room, sits a display case containing a replica of the maltese falcon statue used in the movie. The original prop, along with several signed copies of Hammett’s book, were stolen from the restaurant two years ago. I had John’s Omelet which contained more mushrooms and meat than eggs and Pat had the chicken & ham in white sauce platter whose name he can’t remember. $45 including tip, but great food.
After our late lunch, we headed to Powell & Market where we solved the need for lots of single dollar bills by purchasing two MUNI day passes for eleven bucks each. We headed down to the platform and waited nearly twenty minutes for an N-Judah train and got off it at the East Portal Station right in front of the Harvey Milk Recreation Center. There I introduced myself to Clarence Towers who runs the San Francisco Photography Center, told him Laura had hired me to start in September, and he proceeded to give me a tour of the facility.
 Park across from Washington Square in North Beach |
An hour later we were back on MUNI and got off at the Montgomery Street Station to catch a 30 bus up to North Beach. By the time we got off the bus at the intersection of Stockton, Green, & Columbus Avenue, it was ten after four and I told Pat he had forty minutes to explore North Beach before we had to be somewhere else. We walked mostly along Columbus taking in the restaurants, book stores, and even stopped into a garden shop to get advice on getting rid of the algae in our backyard pond. The answer, unfortunately, was what we expected: empty the pond and scrub it out (which turned out to be today’s project). By the time we arrived back at where we got off the bus, it was quarter to five and we headed up Green Street to BBB.
Pat spotted a mortuary on the left and sarcastically asked if that was our destination. Playing off a Star Trek: Next Generation episode we had watched earlier in the week where all the inhabitants of a planet must be put to death upon reaching age 60, I told him, yes, all his friends were waiting for him there and we’d be attending the ritual goodbye party prior to his demise.
There were already five people waiting in line when we arrived at BBB at ten-to-five. Pat saved our place in line while I went to the window to retrieve our tickets. A cold wind was blowing down from the nearby hills in Chinatown, quickly evaporating the fog that was trying to pour over the ridge from the ocean. But I managed to stick it out without putting on a jacket until they finally let us into Club Fugazi at 5:40.
Pat chose a spot in the second row of cabaret tables & chairs from center stage. Waiting another hour for the show to start while sitting on the awful chairs made my leg go to sleep and my ass sore. The ninety minute production was, as always, Broadway quality and we enjoyed the parodies of all the newsmaking politicians and Hollywood personalities immensely. Unfortunately, no photos are allowed inside the club, so we have nothing to show here. Okay, so here's a couple I stole from their website... at least until they catch me and tell me to take them down (each is linked to the BBB website, so you can click on any of them to see even more stills from the show):
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We stepped out onto the street after the show around 8:15 to find the fog had won the day, the wind had stopped, and the night air was quite comfortable. We spent the next hour wandering down Columbus Avenue admiring shop windows and neon signs. The top third of the Transamerica Tower was shrouded in fog as were all the other high-rises in the financial district of the city.
At Market Street, Pat spotted the Palace Hotel and wanted to go inside to check out the restoration of the glass-domed ceiling in the dining room. Along with the glass chandeliers, it was a spectacular sight. By 9:20, we headed down into the Montgomery Street BART station to catch our train home. There we bumped into two fellows who wanted to know how to get to the CalTrain Station. We told them to catch any MUNI train heading east as they all turn around at the CalTrain Station and gave them our MUNI day passes to use for a free ride since we were done with them. During the BART ride back to Oakland, we mused about how the cats were going to attack us when we entered the house because they had missed their traditional 5:30 p.m. meal time.
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Above: the dining room in the Palace Hotel |
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Arriving back at the house, we suddenly realized we had neglected to leave any lights on, making it difficult to insert housekeys into their respective locks. The girls were happy to see us, though not overly so, and were even less enthusiast about the dinner Pat promptly prepared for them.
Ten minutes later, I was in my chair, Pat was on the sofa, the cats were in our laps, and we all settled down for a little TV viewing before bedtime. All in all, a pretty fun, albeit tiring day!
Even the Cats Are Sick of Staying Home!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Summer is here and we have yet to go anywhere in the Bounder this year. Our baby still sits down at storage in San Lorenzo awaiting an additional $1,200 brake job on the rear wheels. The front wheels got their brake job back in November before Carlos broke his wrist and my investment income plummeted in December. More important right now is my car which is sitting dead in the driveway for the second time in a month. The first time was in mid-May when I had it towed to the sole remaining Chrysler dealer in downtown Oakland. They declared that its original 1999 battery had a dead short and replaced it for $281.63 in addition to the twenty bucks I had to pay AAA for towing to a dealer that was one mile beyond their five-mile limit. As of June 9th, Bay Bridge Chrysler-Jeep in Oakland is no longer a Chrysler dealer (they got the dreaded letter from Detroit), however they are still in business and agreed to take another look when it died in the driveway again this past week. Since I rarely drive my car more than twice or three times a month, the repairs can wait until the end of the month when the new dividends show up in my checking account.
The irony of life is that when income decreases, part-time jobs also seem to go away. We are, however, still keeping our heads above water, though just barely. My portfolio is starting to come back but that has yet to be reflected in the dividends. Perhaps by the end of the year? Halfway through next year?
I hesitate to complain as we haven't even come close to defaulting on our mortgage and Pat, unlike many across the country, still has his job with JC Penney. When other retailers gave up the ghost in the past several months we held our breath, but so far Penney's appears stable. Given our current Northern California drought and our local utility East Bay MUD's imposed fine for excessive water usage, we've left the garden watering system turned off this year. In the process we've learned that the majority of our garden needs far less water that we first believed as everything is doing just fine so far. Then again, it's a long time to the next expected rain in November.
So, as Pat plays endless games of Solitaire on his bed and I keep working my way through a library full of software manuals, like us, the cats are going stir-crazy. This morning Pat caught Wheezie up on the roof of our garage looking for somewhere to go and something to do to break the boredom. Samantha has found a new napping spot on the lap of our kitchen nook mannequin (whose knees double as a scratching post). And Mouse has taken to hiding out in the Bat Cave (aka the linen closet).
Spring Has Sprung
Sammy (foreground) cuddles up on the old faded patio seat cushion while
Mouse is content with a bath towel on Pat’s bed.
April 20, 2009: Okay, so Pat thinks it’s time to remove Christmas in San Francisco from our website. I mean, it’s only late April, so what’s the rush? And why remove a story if you don’t have a new story to replace it?
And therein lies your first clue to what’s happened. Four months
and no weekend Bounder trips? Correct. So, we got tired of weekend camping
trips? Hardly! So, what’s the deal with that? As Bill Clinton
famously said to George H.W. Bush back in 1992, “It’s the
economy, STUPID!”
The value of our house has dropped by 44%. Okay, so that’s on
paper and we’re not trying to sell it anyway. No big deal. My
stock portfolio has lost 51% of its value. Again, it’s on paper,
so no big deal (as long as it comes back!). But starting in January
of this year, my old reliable investment income suddenly dropped by
an astounding 71%. And that has left us scrambling to keep our heads
above water, looking for anywhere we can cut back on expenses.
You
may recall that we limped back into town from our trip to the Grand
Canyon last August and needed some major repairs to the motorhome.
Half were completed when our mechanic broke his hand and the rest were
put on hold for a few months while he healed. The Bounder still needs
an additional $1,200 to $1,500 to complete the repairs before it is
safe to take out on the road again. And we simply don’t have the money!
The weekend camping trips with Rainbow RV, which typically cost $500
by the time everything is added up, are now beyond our budget.
But even those cut-backs are not enough and the only other optional
expense we could find was our cigarette smoking. In Pat’s case
it was running $140 a month; $40 a month for me (I roll my own). The
new tobacco taxes that went into effect April 1st increase those figures
significantly. We haven’t quit, but we’ve both cut our nicotine
intake by 75%. Yeah, I know all you health nuts out there are applauding;
this finger’s for you!
So, there you have it: we’re stuck in the house and irritable from nicotine
withdrawal!
As for me, I took on a volunteer project with the Rossmoor Writers Group
who recently put together a collection of stories by their members on
how they survived World War II and needed someone to do the layout files
for the printing company. Kept me busy for a couple of months, but now
the book is published and my work is done.
The winter rainy season ended a few weeks back, so it was time to uncover
the backyard patio furniture. I quickly discovered that our seven-year-old
patio table umbrella did not survive its winter storage. There were
a few tears in the fabric when we put it away last fall. Opening it
up this spring revealed separation from the frame in several places.
Sick and tired of cruising along these past four months on the Good
Ship Frugal, I authorized Pat to get us a new patio table umbrella which,
with his hefty JC Penney employee discount, he brought home for under
$60.
Friday
night we decided to have dinner out on the patio for the first time
this year. We had a wonderful evening, but Saturday morning Pat announced
he could no longer stand the faded ugly patio chair cushions and headed
out to a fabric store in Berkeley while I headed to Home Depot to find
an electric, single-string weed whacker. It’s a four-mile trip to Home
Depot and when I got there the guy told me (yes! I actually got an employee
to talk to me!!!) they no longer make single-string weed whackers.
Inspired by the one my next-door neighbor had bought just a few weeks
ago, this didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I headed to
Ace Hardware, just four blocks from our house and found exactly what
I wanted... for $27! The cheapest whacker at Home Depot was $49. By
the way, Ace Hardware had an even cheaper model than the one I bought:
$23. Back home, I attached the shield and handle grip in less than ten
minutes, grabbed an extension cord from the garage, and commenced to
whack out all the tufts of grass and weeds growing between the flagstone
in the backyard patio. Half an hour later, Pat returned from Berkeley
with a tale of woe on Saturday afternoon traffic, innumerable red lights,
and a huge shopping bag filled with outdoor fabric and cushion stuffing
which he promptly spread out across his bed in preparation for his project.
The
cats, still looking for a quiet refuge from my weed-whacking in the
backyard earlier, spotted the cushion bunting, jumped up on his bed,
made themselves comfortable on the material, and went to sleep. After
a few trips to his sewing machine in the attic, Pat realized he had
not bought enough material to make four seat cushions, so Sunday morning
he headed back to the fabric store in Berkeley and was back home in
less than an hour. “No lights, no traffic today,” he proclaimed!
I spent Sunday afternoon at my computer making a new video
tutorial for a friend back in New Jersey while Pat went back and
forth between his queen bed work table and his attic sewing machine.
By late afternoon, he was done, I was done, the new patio seat cushions
were in place, and Wheezie (who turned fifteen on April 15th) had already
commandeered one of them. Although the new cushions looked great to
us, the ultimate compliment is given when one of your cats has to be
carried into the house after dark because she doesn’t want to
give up the new seat cushion!