El Jefe Cat Lounge

 

Getting our cat "fix."

Carl's Garden - Hanksville, Utah

I hear Carl and his garden are putting Hanksville on the map. Likely there are many photos and videos, but we were dissatisfied with all but a few of the ones we took. Here's a video and a couple of pix of the splendid cats.

Indiana Jones B & B - Antonito, Colorado

The house was used in one of the movies so is called The Indiana Jones Bed & Breakfast. Antonito is also famous as the Northern Terminus of the Cumbres-Toltec Railroad. It took us four and a half hours to go the 174 miles from Albuquerque. There were/are FIVE cats!

Furb

Slinky

Baxter

Lando

Sabra, the owner, was once an Executive Chef. The breakfast she made included some KILLER blue corn pancakes.

Pilling the Cat - A Psuedo Fb Post

This post is the kind that were I on Fb I might post there. I was on Fb when it first started, but once I saw where it was headed, I got off. I suppose if I had grandchildren, watched tv, had other interests besides women, I might be on Fb. But I don't. Plus, it's not searchable.  

You Can't Make Me

One of the challenges of cat-sitting is giving meds.

Michelle took a hit yesterday

which prompted me to see what else was out there. Obviously, a long history of contention...

Jörg Petel - 1625-30

Ivory, height 28 cm
Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich

Peter Paul Rubens - Hercules and the Nemean Lion

                      Paul Manship - gilded bronze

When the Kittyman Come - Trailer Park Boys

Rie! Bless your heart! This is JUST what was needed!!

Iz Time To Danz!!

 

Cat Vibing

Traditional

Counting Sheep - Rerun

I just noticed we passed into a new year. I picked up some shooting muffs the other day so missed out on the transitional festivities. 

The authorities HAVE managed to reduce the BLAMMING. This IS The West and back in the days of yore (the 1970s) it was quite the fest. Perhaps it was the photo of the bullet stuck, point first, in the roof of the police car that gave them pause for thought. (Thought? Who am I kidding?)

But there's not much happening here. The elder-cat adoption folks have a donor in the wings who's willing to pay cash for a facility. They want 4,000 to 6,000 square feet; enough to have the thrift shop next door. 

The Archery Shoppe only charges $4.00 for half an hour use of the range. What with other archers shooting nearby and folks browsing the stuff, the noise runs me off after about that long.

But about those sheep. A look back at the year's musings prompted this repost. Something about the way things went this last year felt like we shifted dangerously close to forced homogenization.

So, anyway, Happy New Year! (better eventually than never, eh?)

https://newmexnomad.blogspot.com/2019/10/to-sheep-or-not-to-sheep.html

Accordion Concentration

A picture can be worth even MORE than a thousand words.

Hero Midget

Several years in a row Ms. Cook gave me Hero Midgets for Solstice (diff colors!). Once, in an effort at finding instruction, I attended the local gathering of accordionists; a bunch of elders it turned out, playing, at the time, Christmas carols. They derisively dismissed the Midget as a child's toy, not EVEN an instrument. Unperturbed, I practiced while driving, mostly at red lights, but often when traffic was sparse, while steering with my knees. Eventually I worked out Ms. Cook's ovarial ode to cats -- C.O.R. (Cat Odor Review). 

The song's title warrants an explanation: Early in our relationship, Ms. Cook's bias inspired me to compose songs to her cat and mine, Sophie, a tabby that moved in with me after my Mom died. (Having co-signed her 2nd mortgage to enable her to buy out her roommate, I inherited the house when, three days later, she died of a heart attack.) 

In her inimitable and discerning way, Ms. Cook had noticed that cats use pee-mail instead of email. And as you've no doubt noticed, the first thing a cat does when it steps outside is sniff at nearby plants...checking their pee-mail. 

Gary Larson (artist)

Of course, cat communiques are FAR more than Facebook-esque trivia. Since most are mergers-and-acquisitions specialists well-versed in hostile takeovers and similar entertainments, their pee-mails contain exclusive content similar to that found in peer-reviewed publications such as The Yale Law Journal, Bloomsbury Review and The Oxford Review of Economic Policy. But it's all conveyed in the ODORS. Thus, the name.

Suitable For ALL Occasions

(That's me on the HERO at the end)

After years of searching for a small instrument that would travel well, I found this full-size one on Craigslist for $300.00. It being in better condition than any other I've seen for the price, I figure I'll jettison something in order to fit it into Phoebe.

Concentrating

And check out the snazzy cap-toe Kenneth Coles I picked up for 10 bucks at a local thrift.

And then there's this....from The Accordionists Forum

Lorna Anderson - Dark Eyes

1957 Miss America Pageant

Lorna Anderson - Penny Lane Tribute

June 5, 2010  (age 71)

Sam of Sam & Serena

For the past two months, Michelle has been the primary caretaker of Sam & Serena. Serena is a plump, no-nonsense Tabby who prefers to lie on her chaise until dinner is served, then return there to watch Sam at his entertainments.

Michelle introduced Sam to "Stick under the towel" a self-explanatory game. It's brought out Sam's inner tiger and is now a beloved obsession. He can hardly WAIT! Teeth & Claws! HAH!!!

Provoked by grief over several recent losses and one major impending (yerz trooly), she'd gone on a sugar-binge the day before. The resultant anger with herself, the culture (she's always been "too fat") and the depression had brought her to despondence.

So it was a complete shock when Michelle lay down on the floor to begin the game and Sam ignored the stick and towel and, stepping onto her stomach, he climbed onto her back and began rubbing his head against the back of hers. He then lay down on her shoulder.

And the look of tenderness in his eye...

It didn't relieve her mood, but it helped.

And then they played!!

The Cats of Copenhagen

Like many otherwise sensible people, James Joyce detested, even loathed, dogs; but he thought the world of cats. In the first chapter of Ulysses in which Leopold Bloom appears, the very first conversation is between a hungry feline and a kind-hearted Bloom.

Brainpickings is a blog by Maria Popova.

The link below is to one about James Joyce's childrens' story.


https://www.brainpickings.org/2012/11/02/the-cats-of-copenhagen-james-joyce/

Cats!

They bring it on themselves...

Carrots & Cats

In my youth I attended a school in Boulder, Colorado for high-school dropouts. One of my classmates, the son of Vivian Mercier, a scholar of Waiting For Godot, introduced me to the play.

There are many interpretations of the scene in which Estragon asks Vladamir for a carrot. After Vladamir gives it to him Estragon takes a bite. Then, while dangling it by its greens, he comments, "I'll never forget this carrot."  When Estragon asks, "How is it?" Vladimir replies, "It's a carrot."

For the next 25 years (I was 16 when I first read it) Vladimir's answer served as the existential answer; it is what it is. (Much has been made of the homosexual inferences which, blatant as it is, had to be an expression of Beckett cynically proffering a titillation factor.)

Regardless, my next iteration was to the carrot-and-the-stick. As THE PRIME MOTIVATOR, the idea contributed to the naming of my art dealership: IAC Contemporary Art. IAC stands for It's A Carrot. The carrot in this case being: Contemporary Art. It was, for nearly ten years, my raison d'etre and livelihood. It still serves as a major source of delight.

Later I did away with the stick and just saw the carrot as floating in the cerulean.

So you can imagine my response when I pulled into an RV park and saw this vehicle.

And on the back...

They said they had some orange paint and somehow the idea came to them. They also have five cats that roam free when they're camped.

It's a Jungian thing....perhaps?

It Ain't Kansas - Los Padres National Forest

It ain''t Kansas. They drive like they gots sumwharz tuh go and they wants YOU tuh git outa the way. If you get outa line it may take uh halfn hour for yuh tuh git an opening so as tuh git back in. Yessir, there's peoples end-tuh-end. And no end in sight.

But we're be'un watched out for. (I guess since I ain't no drunk thet meenz ah mus be uh phool.) 

As preface to what follows, please take a moment to read An Average Life's blogpost of 10/25/16; it lends fine context to my tale.

At a remote campground that was empty I got out to read the regs & fees. I then went up the road where I stopped to look over the walk-in tent sites, remembering to roll up the window so the cat couldn't get out. A little further I came to the main campground and toodled about, stopping to compliment a young woman on her beautiful, full length, aubergine gown. It was nice to see someone dressed in something more original than the grey t-shirt 'n' khaki shorts uniform. I returned to the remote place, filled out the form, paid the fee and discovered, upon unloading the car, that I didn't have a cat.

I suffer from loss issues. Thus, my first reaction was, "Oh well, it was inevitable. I'll get over it." But then, after about ten minutes, years of therapy kicked in and I began thinking of where she might've gotten out. I began calling as I walked back to the C.G. pay station. Circling the area and continuing to call, I practically fell over when she came trotting across an open area heading for the nearby woods. She stopped to sniff the leg of a picnic table (she enjoys making fun of dogs) before jumping onto a low limb of a tree and and (are you watching?) pantomiming checking the tie-downs on her packboard before heading off into the wilds. I called and she paused, letting me get near enough (sssoOOO beneficent) to grab her. Cuddling her in my arms, I asked if she wanted to leave, if she was unhappy with me. Her quick glance with frightened eyes reassured me it wasn't about me. She's just a kitten and wanted to get out. 

The next evening, after driving for too long, we were forced into a campground where many of the sites, although empty, were reserved. With nowhere else to go, I chose the first one, fortuitously separated from the others, and unloaded the absolute minimum. I figured we'd keep it warm for them and when they showed up it'd take mere minutes to get packed and out of the way. I hoped to get a few hours sleep, enough to be able to drive on to somewhere. The ranger, who was kind enough to have waited until we finished our repast, was having none of it. "Move on, buddy. And be quick about it." I know I'd have been grateful if I'd been the reservee.

In my haste I forgot to close the back door. I'd looped the end of Smith's lead over the gearshift lever but, about 500 feet from the campsite, looked down and noticed it wasn't there. As I braked to a stop, the back door slammed shut. I soon realized, I was, once again, catless.

It was pitch dark and the woods were dense. A steep ravine, a fav exploratorium of hers, loomed its depths next to the road. I walked about with my flashlight, hoping no one else would show up and scare her. I scanned the campsite, calling into the night. I imagined her entangled lead, preventing her from responding. Existentialist correlaries and Waiting for Godot played about my (alleged) psyche. 

She came trotting down the boulevard with her lead trailing, "Thanks for waiting. You left the door open so I figured it was okay to get out. Ha, ha!" When I stooped to intercept her, she veered and quickened her pace, but my foot, always chancey with one eye (the left is blind), found its mark and I was able to reel her in.  An hour later, crispy-crittered to the hilt, we checked into the aforementioned remote C.G.  

The next day was better. After 12 miles of steep, narrow and winding up to the Figueroa Recreation Area (Hah! No muttering of generators up here!), we found a little knoll. There, between the steepyer (like pointyer but slantyer) slopes of the Sierra Madre mountains in the Los Padres National Forest, amongst the oaks, where much of the land is either up or down, I noticed a faint track of tires. Walking it, they soon disappeared. But upon turning to return, and with the light now behind me, I could see a vague suggestion. And we didn't even need 4WD. With all the trees (uhg!) Smith was in heaven!

Her exuberance is wonderful. It brought a full-on laugh when she came racing out of the forest, leaped in through the bathroom window and, with zuchinni tail in full-fluff (mock anger/terror), exited, still at fullspeed, stage right, through the front passenger door. My hair, blown by the afterdraft, streamed out beside my head and I reeled back expecting a herd of jackals to be hot on her heels.

The next day A few miles down the road the gods had left this little hidey-hole (see photo) open. It's atop the mountain overlooking Santa Barbara about 1,000 feet before the gun club (BLAM!! BLAM!! BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!!). We surmised they'd forgotten their night vision stuff cuz it got quiet after dark.

The weather's fyne. Upper 70s to low 80s during the day. Nights in the 60s and, at these elevations, no fog.


NOTE: The local Nat'l Forest cop gave hard time cuz yer sposedly only ''llowed tuh be one car length fum duh pavement. Everything I've read said 300 feet, but, of course, I didn't have it to hand. As per his authority, he took umbrage at the suggestion he didn't know the law.

Evolution

It was announced today that Dr. Sophie de Los Arboles, who has done extensive research into the lives and habits of the spadefoot toad, irrefutably posits that the phenomenon of the toad's pupils contracting to a vertical slit is a survival technique prompted by generations of spadefoots being threatened by predatory cats.  

Dr. de Los Arboles's extensive research proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is a form of camouflage: the vertical pupil enables the otherwise endangered reptile to pass as a helpless kitten which the erstwhile predator will want to nurture and protect rather than maul and eat.*

* The Origin of the Species: the Heretofore Unpublished Edition, discovered by Sophie while cleaning out her storage locker.

I've been in town for a little over two weeks now. I'm not sure how much longer I can last.

Jollility

It was sometime around '94, soon after I took up with the artist and social critic Michelle D. Cook, that I began studying the accordion (the two were NOT coincidental). Perhaps it stems from her love of cats, but  Michelle's sardonic perspective imagined me, a morose German, hopping & skipping in lederhosen while squeezing something. 

She's always been the idea person in our relationship and being well-trained I immediately began my studies. To help me along she purchased a Hero Midget 

and presented it to me on the Solstice. 





As a busy art dealer, I made time to practice while waiting at red lights.  As incentive, Michelle composed a new national anthem. I spent several months learning it. (As you're aware, literary folks are drawn to magazines and journals with the word REVIEW in their title; Bloomsbury Review, The New York Review of Books and The Yale Law & Policy Review are popular. Cats, being the olfactory creatures that they are, get their news via the Cat Odor Review -- which comes via pee-mail.)

NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM

I never progressed beyond C. O. R., but our enthusiasm led us, in 2008,  to attend the Cotati Accordion Festival in Cotati, California. The festival was curated by Renee de la Prade and included the great Duckmandu. 

THE GREAT DUCKMANDU

While surfing the web the other day I stumbled upon Renee's 2015 calendar

 that comes with a music CD. I ordered, paid and went on my way.

Now, a month later, while perusing emails I noticed a paypal receipt. One thing led to another and the following email soon arrived.

I'm sorry for the delay Michael!

I'm very disorganized this year because I moved to Europe and my regular mail-order-filler was on extended vacation, so it's a bit of a scramble. When I publish future editions, (the next will be 2017,) I plan to sign up with either CD Baby or Amazon or both, so that it's easy to fill orders in a timely manner, even when I'm travelling.

Thanks for your patience, thanks for contacting me. I'm sending you a special present along with your original order; you should get a shipping confirmation email with a tracking number within the next few days.

Best wishes,

Renee de la Prade

Renee is in Hamburg, Germany, where she resides with her new (as of August) husband, Ingo. That's Ingo on drums in the first video.


So that brings us to today. I'm in Albuquerque, the armpit of the SW, where Michelle's mother is dying of olde age. And although the sun is shining, it's cold and I felt the need of a bit of jollility. 

I hope you too got a chuckle.










UPDATE:

Susie slid into the otherworld at 11:43 p.m. on Nov 12, mere minutes before what is known as ALL SMIRKETS DAY (Friday the 13th). Smirket, for those unfamiliar, is the proper term for a black cat.

Berieselt mit Katzenminze

I take pride in having few principles, but was forced to compromise when Roscoe had to be put to sleep. Though I've lost friends and lovers over the years, I've only attended the cats' funerals. Like most, he had his proclivities....like his love of vaseline. We'd proffer it as dessert; a delicacy he enjoyed to the last. Thus, the bottle in the left. 

His penchant for pens got him dubbed a Pentab. With it between his teeth his eyes would glaze over with ferality and he'd remove to his lair; he was partial to Papermates.

Our tears flow as we escort a family member to his final resting place after 16 years.

He brought so much joy into our lives and helped us unravel Christmas ribbons in some fights. He was a great protector against intruders trying to pee in our yard and would often remind me to turn off the stove if I forgot. He was a feather lover and kept his temper even under the heaviest caresses. (Translated by Judith Herrmann at Bad Kreuznach .)

The tears flow as we lay to rest a family member after 16 years. He brought much joy to our lives and helped us through many struggles with Christmas ribbon. He was a great protector from interlopers who wanted to pee in our yard and often reminded me when I had forgotten to turn off the stove. He was a fine leaper at feathers, and always maintained his cool even in the face of severe cuddling.

David Buchanan, one of Michelle's cat-sitting clients, expressed it perfectly, "They are our friends, our playmates, our companions, our comfort, our alarm-clocks, our angst, our joy."

December 2013 - 13 yrs
                                                                                                    December 1998

                                      He was quite primm, but a superb combatant more than willing to trounce tresspassers.

Roscoe at eight weeks. I was almost 47. He gave us a reason to love.

Cathead Figurehead

Eggbert returned from the shop feeling better than James Brown. In celebration I affixed this mini-sculpture to his prow.

Port side....

We are Churmin if you pleez. We are Churmin if you DON't pleeze.

Stahrb'rd view...

The juandiced wink...or wince

See THIS blogpost for more info on Mabel's (the cathead) origin's.

Whispering Pines Motel & Market

One of the great things about aimless wandering is having all the time in the world. So when Sheila began telling me about her transition from corporate consultant to Motel Proprietress, I got out the half-a-beer I'd saved from the evening before and settled in.

Her folks were business turnaround specialists; thus, when she found herself job hunting in Portland she decided to follow the family tradition.

At the corner of highway 138 and 97, Whispering Pines Motel & Market is bounded by National Forest and is the nearest accommodations (and store) to the north entrance to Crater Lake National Park. It's also a great staging site for the snow parks (snowmobiling) between Klamath Falls and Bend. 

Can opener!!!

And there's Cat. As gracious as any host you'd ever want to meet, his fur's as soft as a powerpuff! I'll warn yuh tho', he's a tough negotiator when it comes to photo royalties.

The New York strip steaks are superb! And don't forget the Zotz!!!

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