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My little rescued kitten, Calypso, is now a happy, healthy eleven-week-old bundle of love and fun. She is just beautiful! Her big jade-green eyes are so unusual, and she has the softest fur. She runs to me every night when I get home, rubbing her little nose into my neck, purring loudly. I have never seen any cat so ecstatic to see me.

Well, except maybe her brothers and sister....

Calypso is one of a litter of four born to one of the feral cats who were residing in the sump area next door to my office. When they were three days old, the mother decided to move the kittens. But she forgot one, and hence, I adopted the tiny baby, and I named her Calypso. I bottle-fed her, took her nearly everywhere I went, and watched with joy as she thrived. But I always felt sad that I had been unable to do anything to help the three other kittens. Weeks passed with no sign of them, and I despaired that chances for their survival were bleak. I have had to dispose of dead kitties before; such is life in a feral colony. And then one day, I went outside to feed the ferals, and I was greeted by a tiny black-and-white fluffball stuck to the chainlink fence out back. The poor baby was terrified; she had climbed up the fence but did not know how to get back down, and she was mewing pitifully. When I approached her, she spat at me in fear, sounding more cute than threatening. I recognized her as one of Calypso's three litter-mates. After I helped her get four paws safely on the ground, I watched as she ran for the relative safety of the hedges, where the mother and other two kittens joined her, a white one and a coal black one. I noticed that the kittens were pitifully thin, and I resolved to rescue them. A friend helped me catch the kittens the next day, and I took them home to be reunited with their pampered sister.

Upon closer inspection of the kittens, I discovered that they were horribly infested with fleas, and the black one had a bad eye infection. They were all much too thin, and I was surprised to see that Calypso was notably larger than her siblings. They were otherwise healthy, though, and each possessed of a ravenous appetite. It took a week to dispel the flea infestation and infection before I could bring them in the house, but upon reintroducing them to Calypso, it was as though they had never been separated.

Now, it is as though they were different kittens. Whereas they were terrified when I first brought them home, they are now loving, playful little things who take great joy in tearing all over our bedroom and bathroom. Upon my arrival home from work, I am greeted by four little racers crashing into one another in an effort to get to me first. Excited meows drift through the house as soon as I open the back door. I find I cannot wait to get home. It is wonderful to be loved!

We had four cats already before they joined our household. There is no question of my keeping Calypso; I know without doubt that I can never give her up. But the others are up for adoption: Comet, a little cream-colored boy with Siamese-like markings; Cody, the jet-black boy who is still a bit shy; and little Lily, the smallest of the litter, the fluffy little girl whom I first saw stuck to a fence. Alas, I cannot keep all of them. That doesn't mean, however, that I won't lose a piece of my heart when they go.

I just read a letter to the editor in which the writer calls for tougher insurance laws. He thinks that if tougher laws were passed, many vehicles involved in accidents would not even be on the road. How could the laws get tougher? Already, if you can't afford insurance and are stopped, they fine you two months' rent and your left arm. As with so many other things these days, those who can afford it least are charged the most.

There are many people who drive sans insurance, and raising the penalties will not change that. Unfortunately, many families are forced to choose between car insurance or medication, utilities, food, etc. They cannot, however, refrain from driving because they must drive to get to work and earn the paycheck that allows them to live. It is a catch-22 situation, and the current price of gasoline only makes matters worse. Contrary to popular belief, many people have no choice. Public transportation in Kern county is inadequate and substandard, to say the very least, and many people live in areas that are either too far from their job or too far from the nearest bus stop. The cost of a taxi is astronomical, so that is out of the question.

The problem is that when our illustrious lawmakers signed the insurance law into effect, they gave insurance companies a free hand. They can charge whatever they want. I am sure I could hear the cheering from insurance brokers everywhere when the news was passed that people MUST have auto insurance. But when they pass laws like this, they should think of the feasibility of enforcing such laws, not just the revenue it will bring in for the county, and in this case, for insurance brokers.

The government likes to stress that driving is a privilege, but in this society, it is a necessity. Increasing fines for driving without insurance will only make things harder on families who are already struggling. Insurance does not make someone a safe driver. That comes from experience and common sense. Unfortunately, the government has not found a way to outlaw acting (or driving) stupid. However, I am sure they are working on it. 

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I had a request for photos of my little baby kitty, and remembered that I was at work when I posted my last blog, and did not have pics available. So here are a few, and I will post more as she gets bigger, which she seems to do every day.

When I was in my early teens, my mother and I began raising and showing Persian cats. It was something my mom had always wanted to do, and for the most part, that time is one of my most cherished memories. Having been a "cat person" since before my first recollection, I truly enjoyed it, and it gave my mom and me a chance to do something together that we both loved. There was one sad part, however; one of our mother cats died giving birth to her first litter. She had four kittens, but only two survived, and we were suddenly faced with the prospect of raising two newborn kittens. I was twelve years old, and I vividly remember taking turns with Mom for the midnight feedings and general care of the kittens, which entailed two-hour shifts around the clock. I still recall my wonder at their strength and will to live, even though they were so tiny and completely helpless. There were a few sticky situations resulting from our lack of experience, but the tiny orphans survived notwithstanding, and there were never more adored, spoiled kitties than our two "little girls", Tessa and Tish. They remained with us throughout their lives, and were inseparable, even in death; when Tessa died, Tish lingered only a few weeks before following. I was twelve when they were born; when they died, I was nearing my thirty-seventh birthday. They graced and enriched our lives for twenty-four years. To this day, I have a precious photo of them on our living room wall, among the parents, grandparents, siblings and relatives. After all, Tessa and Tish were a part of my family.

Some may remember the blog I wrote a few weeks ago, about a three-day-old abandoned kitten that I had rescued and taken home to raise. Well, I still have her, and she is thriving! Her name is Calypso, and she will be six weeks old this Saturday. It was my experience with Tessa and Tish that gave me the confidence to take on the responsibility of raising her nearly from birth. And I am so glad I did! Little Caly is now six weeks old, and absolutely adorable. She is black and white, and has big jade green eyes and white whiskers. She follows me all over the house now. She is very attached to me, since I've always been her "mom".

A friend of mine said that I have a good heart, and that is is a noble thing to have taken on a three-day-old kitten. But Calypso has done more for me, I think, than I have done for her. I suffer from clinical depression and PTSD, for which I take medication. Even so, there are days when I can bring myself to do nothing but lay on the sofa and stare blankly at the TV. The feeling that life is not worth the trouble and pain, that mine is a worthless existence, becomes overwhelming at times. But this little kitty changed that. After she came, I started getting out of bed before my husband, something that is rare. I began sleeping better at night, the midnight feedings notwithstanding. And now I have another reason to look forward to getting home at night. For five weeks, Caly travelled to my office with me every day, and spent the day in her kitty carrier in the shade on the back patio of our building; I checked on her every hour. I spent my lunch break with her, feeding and holding her. Now, she is eating on her own and is litter-box trained, so I don't bring her to work anymore, which is good since I never could have left her out in the recent heat. This week was her first week home alone. She is so joyfully glad to see me when I come home. Her tiny excited meows and her little paws trying to climb up my leg, her purr against my ear as she rubs her face on my neck, never cease to lift my spirits, regardless of what happened during the course of the day. I feel needed again, and appreciated.

I never thought that, in saving a tiny newborn kitten, I would be doing myself so much good. I like to think that my son somehow put her there for me to find that day, so close to the anniversary of his death, to comfort me and give me a sense of purpose again. It would be so like Jordan to do that. After all, he never wanted his mommy to be sad; he told me that all the time. He often picked flowers or drew pictures for me if I was downhearted about something. And a few months before his accident, Jordan traded one of his toys for a stuffed kitty, which he proudly presented to me when I got home from work one night. It is one of my treasures, and sits on the bookshelf next to the carved box that hold my son's ashes. It is black and white, and Calypso bears it a striking resemblance. But maybe that should come as no surprise.

If I am lucky, Caly will be with me for a long, happy life, like Tessa and Tish were. Regardless how long she lives, she will always have a safe, loving home with me. I could never give her up. After all, she saved me.

Two guys recently drowned in the Kern River, one of whom apparently left home without his brain that day and decided that a child's plastic inflatable pool toy would keep him afloat; the fact that he could not swim must have slipped his mind. Rescue workers are currently working on finding another two unlucky souls who disappeared over the holiday weekend. In other news, someone put his eye out, and someone else set fire to a home, using illegal fireworks.

What is it going to take for people to wake up and smell their own mortality?! I have lived in this area for twelve years, and every year, the headlines are the same. Every summer, we cry over someone's child who has drowned, or we sympathize with someone who has been permanently maimed by fireworks. Use your head, folks! The people who warn against swimming in the Kern River are not doing so just to have the place all to themselves! The river is an annual deathtrap, pure and simple. Likewise for those fun, illegal fireworks. You don't know where they came from or just how long you have after lighting that fuse before it goes BOOM, taking your hands or eyes with it to the wild blue yonder..

If you want to go swimming, there are plenty of options here in SoCal where there is no undertow just waiting for an unsuspecting idiot or a helpless child. If you want fireworks, the ones that are legally sold every July are just as fun, but if you don't think so, the professionals are still setting off the big ones. Go watch them instead of playing Russian Roulette with your appendages.

PLEEEEEZ, Bakersfield, when you go out to have fun this summer, make sure your brain is with you ALL DAY...and don't forget to use it. No, you are not immune to misfortune, and YES, it can happen to you!

I had planned on this being a happy blog, and in some ways, it is. However, the inherent callousness of some people has once again reared its ugly mug, and I must change the tone of my writing to match the angry grinding of my teeth.

On Monday, I became a mother again. I adopted a three-day-old kitten whose mother had abandoned it. We have a feral cat colony at my office, which lives for the most part in the fenced sump next door. Some of us have been taking turns feeding them; on the sad occasions when we have found one dead, I am the one they count on to take care of that, too. So no one was surprised when I took this little baby in. My boss even understood that it would be necessary to bring the kitty to work with me; as long as I was discreet and it did not interfere with my work, he had no problem.

When some of the women in my office found out about the kitten, they went kazoo. Just the thought of a cat in the office, regardless of its size or age, was repulsive to them. They automatically assumed that I was heating cat food in the microwave, which I was not. But instead of talking to me about it, they went whining to one of the other bosses, who promptly called MY boss on the carpeting for allowing me to do such a sickening thing as keeping a baby kitten in the office. It was suggested that I "just leave it out there and let nature take its course", and someone even had the temerity to tell me I should drown it! I had no choice but to put the kitty in her carrier outside, behind our building, and go out there every two hours to feed her.

One of these "ackstabbing itches" who complained about my heating cat formula in our microwave heats menudo in that same microwave at least once a week. Just the thought of that stuff makes me nauseous, and it ruins my appetite to watch her eat it. Another one of them actually brought in chitlins! The office reeked for the whole day. But warming kitten formula made of milk, egg yolk, yogurt and corn syrup is repulsive, right?

I have had this kitty for five days now, and she is thriving nicely, the "ackstabbing itches" notwithstanding. They can choke on their chitlins, for all I care. I'll just wait until one of them needs my help for something again. Rest assured, my baby and I will just turn our "acks" and walk away.

Today on the msn homepage, there is an article about some teenager who ran up a $1400 cell phone bill. Fourteen hundred Bucks?

That's nothing...I can do better than that.

We got rid of our land line months ago. In light of the fact that, between my husband and myself and three kids, there are five cell phones in our family, we thought we could save money by cutting out the fifty bucks a month it cost for the home phone. We're never home to use it anyway, and that fifty bucks can buy a couple gallons of gas, right? I thought we were doing great until I got my cell phone bill last month. Usually it is between $109 and $120 a month, depending on how many ringtones Alex downloads. I opened the bill and nearly fell over. Glaring at me from the front page was this: $14,624.00.

I grabbed my cell and dialled the Sprint customer service faster than you can say OMG. A sweet-voiced lady answered and asked if she could help me. I should hope to shout! I explained that Sprint had sent me the bill for the entire block instead of just my own. She laughed. "Oh, yes, ma'am. We've had many calls about that. It was a computer glitch; just disregard it."

Thank dog for that; it was the answer I was looking forward to. Either that, or Alex is done downloading ringtones for a long time.

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 My Jordan was not a soldier, and he did not die in battle. But he was a Boy Scout, and he wanted to be a Marine when he grew up. That information got around to our local VFW, and I was honored that many of the retired Marines in our town graced Jordan's funeral with their attendance. They played the Battle Hymn, and Taps, for Jordan, and they honored him; he would have been so proud.

I wrote this for Jordan, a few years ago. I thought it would be a fitting post for today. Jordan would be fifteen now; he was nearly eleven when he was killed.

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I was unfortunate enough on Monday to be on the freeway when that horrific wreck happened, the one involving a big rig, a pickup truck and two dead passengers. The freeway was a parking lot; we sat basically in the same place for twenty-five minutes. When we finally passed the actual wreck, the big rig was pulled over, the pickup truck looked like it had just been through an F5 tornado, and the two dead men were safely covered with yellow tarps and being removed from the twisted wreckage. I must admit it was one of the most horrible accidents I have ever seen, and I have seen many. But while I was less than thrilled at being stuck in a traffic jam, I was apalled and infuriated by the actions of so many people around the scene. Drivers were standing on their stopped vehicles, trying to get a better look. Three girls were trying to sneak past the cops and EMS personnel to get a little closer to the bodies. People were taking pictures with their cell phones!! As I watched, a firefighter chased away a guy standing over the wreckage on the embankment. His vantage point was perfect for his intention; he had a video camera and was taking movies of the carnage!

What is it these ghouls are trying to see? Are they bloodthirsty violence fanatics who don't get enough gore from watching Friday the 13th reruns? Or is the nightly news not enough to satisfy their lust for blood? Maybe they are voyeurs who are hoping to catch a glimpse of someone whose clothes have been cut off them by paramedics. I guess some people are kind of kinky that way. I don't know about anyone else, but having blood smeared everywhere kind of ruins any erotic idea of a naked person for me. And just who in blazes are they planning on sending cell phone pictures of dead bodies to? Does Aunt Edna in Hometown, USA hope for pictures that show the details of what can happen to a human being when it is caught in a flying pickup truck? Or are they going to use the pictures for their latest iPhone screensaver? What kind of people are these?

I become absolutely livid when there is a collision on the road and traffic is backed up to Pismo because everyone and their dog just HAS to stick their brainless heads out the car window and catch a glimpse of destruction. Looky-loos only make the EMS jobs more difficult, not to mention making a frightening, painful situation even worse for those involved in the crash. I wonder how many of those staring would like to be the woman laying there topless as paramedics try to restart her heart and breathing, or the guy without pants having a bandage and tourniquet applied to his bleeding femoral artery? How would they like to be part of the show instead of the spectator?

I think the next time I see some moron taking cell phone pictures at a wreck, I'll break out my own cell, and take his picture. Then I will post it on my blog so everyone can see that person being a peeping Tom. Maybe someone they know will see it, like their boss, who probably still thinks there was a good reason that person was late for work that day. Now that, I think, would be worth seeing.

Today in the BC in the Letters to the Editor, there is a letter written by someone who recently patronized a local restaurant and discovered at the conclusion of their meal that the place tacks on an 18% "service fee" to their customers' check. This fee has nothing to do with gratuity; in fact, after the waiter's tip, the bill for the writer's dinner was over 30% more than the actual check.

This is outrageous! Unfortunately, the letter failed to mention the name of this rip-off restaurant. Does anyone know the name of this place? If I can find out, I will make sure to tell everyone I know to avoid this rip-off. This is the kind of thing that really chaps my hide!