Misty

My cat Misty died on Saturday.  She was a beautiful dilute tortoiseshell and very sweet but also very cautious.  She was one of the feral kittens from the late 90s and never tamed into the kind of cat who would snuggle or allow herself to be picked up or handled...until the end when she was too weak to argue and could allow herself to accept more love.

But if you sat on the floor for a while, she'd appear and want love.  I don't have any photos of her because mostly she liked to stay out of the limelight.

She died after living with cancer for I don't know how long.  She was 15 and I think, and hope, that she had a happy life.

At the vet hospital I went to in California - which I loved and always will - there was one thing that always bothered me.  Probably me just being sensitive.  They are a funny bunch there, so there are always funny posters and sayings and lists on the walls of the treatment room.  One of these funny lists was the lamest pet names. Like "Rover" and "Spot." The name "Misty" was on that list and it always bothered me. Of course I never said anything because how stupid to care that your cat's name is considered lame by your veterinary friends.  Especially a cat they'd never seen.

But it always hurt my feelings a little bit.  I would always look at that list and feel a little bad.  Because she was a very special cat and if anyone had ever seen her (not many people did, since she mostly hid) they would know why she was named Misty.  She looked like mist and it was the right name for that sweet girl.  And it wasn't lame.

Dear NRA. I think you suck.

But there is really only one fact that makes such violence comprehensible: This man woke up in a country in which virtually anyone can purchase weapons -- with little more effort than is required to put gasoline in the tank of their car -- that give them the power to murder people.

Dogs need PT too

Milton Junior

Milton died today.  My special cat.  A female orange tabby (only 1 in 50 orange tabbies are female) I was fortunate enough to bottle raise with a litter of kittens 14 years ago.

For her entire 14 years, Miltie was the sweetest most loving cat on the planet and only tipped the scales at 6 lbs, kind of like an eternal kitten.  

She loved everyone and everything equally and always had a purr and a head bump and a snuggle for anyone or anything who came close to her.  I will miss her terribly and I wish I could cancel Thanksgiving because even though I give thanks to have spent 14 years with her I am not feeling much like celebrating this week.

This is Milton.  

There are some more nice words about and photos of Miltie here.

If you ever want a tangible reminder of your current age, dig out a 22-year-old photo of you and your horse when he was just a few days old.

He's still as cute as ever.  Good boy, Intrepid!

New goat

This is Fiona. She's Lucky, Trinket & Chloe's new pal. Her pal died and she was lonely so she came to live with us.

Wyatt Earp

Sadler

On the Oregon coast

Lola

Are they peas in a pod?

Bye bye summer

Bullet enjoying one of the last warm days at Echo.  We're now enjoying a hail storm at home.

It might be getting a little bit ghetto around here.

A predatory insect

This little mantis is sitting outside.  Coolest thing I have seen in a while.

Incorrigible.

New plates for the Mustang

Family Crest

Turns out that Fausto is a crested Cayuga. As his neck feathers grew in, so did his tuft. Or crest. Quite a bonnet he's got going on.

CX-25

This is the Bellman CX-25 stovetop espresso purveyor.  Perhaps a bit labor intensive but a wonderful little machine and completely worth the labor when you want a latte and all you have is a stove (and coffee and milk, or in my case, soy milk). 

The duck wasn't missing after all.

She was just in her private nest.  With her nine eggs.

Recently, I stumbled across a listing for a bike for sale in Foster City, about an hour away from where I live.  There was no price listed for this 1996 Masi Gran Corsa fully equipped with Campy Record components, but after a few email exchanges with the seller we settled on a thoroughly fair (for me, maybe not for him but he didn't seem to mind) price.

As we discussed when and where to complete this transaction, he said he'd never used Craigslist before and had heard about scary things happening to people buying and selling on CL.  I said I'd heard those things too.  So he asked if I'd feel safe meeting in the parking lot of the police department in Foster City.  I said that sounded like a safe place.

When we arrived at the address he'd given me for the PD on Tuesday morning, it turned out to be the parking lot of a community center.  Not a police car or officer in sight.  But there was a little car with a red Masi strapped to the back, so we knew we were in the right place.  "It's not the police department!" I exclaimed.  "So what, there's the bike right there," said Jon.  As we pulled in, I noticed the little car was empty.  "He's not here!" I yelled.  "He's right there," Jon said, gesturing toward a cute little man walking toward us.

"You sometimes act like everything is an emergency," observed Jon. I remained silent, because he is right.

The little man selling the bike turned out to be a sweet older gentleman who said he had too many bikes and his wife had given him some sort of ultimatum, so the Masi had to go.  I wondered what other bikes he had, if this was the one he decided to sell.  I should've asked him if he had a spare De Rosa laying around.  Perhaps I'll email him.

The one minor tragedy of this bike is that the sweet older gentleman decided, at some point, to "upgrade" to a carbon fork.   I inquired as to the whereabouts of the original fork, and sadly, he said he left it at the bike shop when he had the new fork put on.

Maybe I'll call all the bike shops in Foster City.  There can't be that many, can there? 

Shelter chicken, new duck

There are many, but this one caught my eye.  She is in Modesto.


In other news, a new duck moved in shortly after Cowboy passed away.  We named him Fausto.  The girls seem to like him.  That's him on the left.