Juliet

In daddy's favorite chair.

All grown up now, the six tiny kittens who graced our lives a little over two years ago have brought an immeasurable amount of joy into our lives. Here is the beginning of six updates, one for each kitten (now cat), beginning with the littlest one, Juliet.

Waiting patiently for dad.

Juliet was always tiny, and probably the runt of one of the two suspected litters. She was extraordinarily shy, and resisted our touch (but not our food) for a few months. But she was feisty, and determined to make her own way.

So, when you live with humans, you have to show them who's boss...

Once we were able to get her to the vet's to get her shots and spay, we took her into the house and nevermore would she be a garage kitty. She quickly became accustomed to the good life, and worked her charms on dad. She soon became his favorite, his baby.

I wish dad would get home already...

So, she picked up a few more nicknames: Julie, Quarter-Pint (because, at a mere six pounds, she's not even as big as a half-pint), Q.P., Baby, Squirt, Littlest One. She has become the tiniest full-grown cat I've ever seen, but marked beautifully with Tabby stripes of brown and red.

The most beautiful Juliet you will ever see!

She is now ever so docile, and loves nothing better than to be held by dad. If dad even so much as goes away for a day, she will wander throughout the house, crying for him. And as small as she is, she has a giant meow, all the better to be noticed. Especially when she wants supper and treats. 

Is it my suppertime yet?

Oh Joy! It is!

She loves playing with string and fuzzy mice toys, and enjoys the occasional catnip binge.

Somebody say "Catnip"?

Juliet has become as lovely and as petite as her name implies. And, of course, the next blog will be all about her Romeo. You can't have one without the other!

Starting Over

So there's that rainbow!

After all the anger, the subterfuge, the pain, and finally, the sadness of watching the demise of a once-fine newspaper, and having to learn to let go, I can finally see the touch of grey clearing around those clouds and giving way to a beautiful, colorful, bright day.

I can now see the big picture and the most important thing I come away with from all of this is the enduring, wonderful friendships with people I would have never crossed paths with otherwise. I have been inspired, uplifted, tickled, and warmed by these folks who have become such a part of my life I cannot imagine being without them. And that is the rainbow after the storm of mourning the downward spiral of an entity that became, over the years, almost like a family member. I can understand the pain and grief of those who grew up with the Victoria Advocate, watching the transformation and eventual rotting of their hometown newspaper. When the Houston Post folded, I felt the same way, although its end wasn't reached by a similar, tasteless deterioration - the end result was the same. I abhored its death, but celebrated its once having been. The Victoria Advocate may still have lungs, but they are not really breathing, taking in the oxygen so desperately needed for this area. No, they are just existing now, not really a functioning member of the community any longer.

But, instead, now we have a fresh, new collective of bloggers, writers, jokesters, pundits and other assorted interesing characters that have gone beyond the constraints of a dying publication and found a home from which to share their thoughts, wisdom, sarcasm, and imagination.

It is a new day, with the most beautiful rainbow imaginable. Finally, peace is guiding the planets and love is steering the stars. Let the sun shine in!

Letting Go

I often wondered what I would write in my final Victoria Advocate blog, because I knew there would come the time for goodbyes. Would I be eloquent? Would I be angry? Would I be sad?

And, in the end, there is nothing left in me for this website. That's all there is. Nothingness. If there are any of you out there that are wondering why I am leaving, then you haven't been paying attention to the changes afoot at the VicAd. They have finally chosen a path which I cannot abide. I would be remiss if I didn't thank all my loyal readers and commenters over the years. You know who you are. Even if my words infuriated you, enlightened you, aggravated you, tickled you - you know who you are. So thank you.

And for the VicAd, this is all I have left. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's knowing when to let the music do the talking. So, here is my final missive. Goodbye.

Say Hello to the Universe For Me, Mr. Bradbury

The world is a little less beautiful now, a little less creative. Ray Bradbury was the last of the "old guard", one of a rarefied cadre of writers the likes of which this world will never see again.

What is your favorite Bradbury story? Farenheit 451? Something Wicked This Way Comes? The Martian Chronicles? The Illustrated Man? I Sing the Body Electric!? My favorite is a short story from one of his books, S Is For Space, entitled "Pillar of Fire". I remember many times going to the library and pulling that book from the shelf (I knew its location by heart) and sitting down just to read that story. It fascinated me to enter this utopian world with clean minds, clean environment, and sterile imaginations. I always knew I wouldn't want to live in such a world with no fear, no darkness, no evil, no hate; for then how could one appreciate the opposites? I recommend this story highly. If you ever get the chance, read it. I now own a copy of S Is For Space, and will once again revisit my favorite story shortly.

So here we are, in a world without the great masters - Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, H.P. Lovecraft, Philip K. Dick, Edgar Allan Poe, H.G. Wells, Robert Heinlein, Gene Rodenberry. I gaze upon my shelves and see tomes by all these and more. And I treasure them, for it is all we have left now. Their bindings, their pages, their treatises on the nature of mankind, their stories. OH! Their stories! There has been no author to come along in the last century to fill their huge shoes. We have now witnessed the end of a unique intelligence.

If there is an afterlife, I hope Ray Bradbury travels many light-years away from here to experience  things even he could never dream of. I hope he meets up with Asimov, Wells, Poe, etal and explores a million ideas all at once. I hope he dines with the Martians, converses with the Andromedans, soars with the Alpha Centaurians, and watches over us Earthlings. I hope his vision of a dystopian society ala Farenheit 451 never comes to pass.

I hope.

Pick 'Em Up!

OK. The elections are over. All is done except for the runoffs. So....candidates, you or your volunteers (or relatives, or friends, I don't really care who) need to PICK UP YOUR CAMPAIGN SIGNS! Unless you will be in a runoff, then there is no excuse to continue littering our roadways with your campaign signs. If the people whose land your signs are on don't have sense enough to pull them up, then it falls to you (and I'm talking to YOU, Farenthold and Marr!) to relieve the populace of this eyesore! So.....PICK 'EM UP!!!