Daytime Star-Gazing

Ok good people. Back from the dead. I know I promised a bountiful Fall, and I still intend to, but due to a technical issue, my access to my blog is not quite as often as before (read: work now blocks the site).





Anyway, my dear sister Beth (aka, "Bef") was in town this week, en route to San Diego. So Bubba and I decided to splurge, and take her to the Ivy. The Ivy is located on swanky Roberston St., on the Hollywood, Beverly Hills border. It is a tabloid mecca. Literally, lining the streets are the good folks from Us, People, the Enquirer, TMZ and so on. To the point where Bubba and Bef made sure to look extra snappy, should they find themselves in the background of an US Weekly Photo in the, "They're Just Like Us" section.





As usual, it was a typical beautiful day out here, and after I greased the host a ten-ski, we got ourselves a piece of prime Ivy real estate, front and center on the boulevard, outside under an umbrella. The ACTUAL celeb sightings were marginal, (I DID spot and introduce myself to Lamar Odom of the Lakers. "Lamar Odom! Big fan!" like Stuttering John back in his prime) but EVERYONE there was either someone LOOKING for celebrities, or WANTING to look LIKE a celebrity. And no one epitomized the experience better than one Phoebe Price.



"Who is Phoebe Price" you ask? Good question. We sure as hell didn't. Alls we knew was, this woman two tables over was CLEARLY trying to be seen by somebody. Anybody. We polled ourselves. Not a clue. We polled the tables on either side of us. Zilch. When she left, we saw the TMZ cameras descend upon her. Why? Who IS this woman? Well, thanks to Bef's painstaking research, we now know:



http://www.tmz.com/2007/09/28/phoebe-shows-her-cupcakes/

R.I.P.

It is with great sadness that I report to my public, that one of our little gems has passed away. "Shirley," as named at the vet's office, even though we never actually called her that, was taken from us this past Saturday.

In a bizarre turn of events, this spitfire, who was the one who'd fallen the deepest into the wall, who was the one who was the tiniest of tiny, not even tipping the scales at a solid pound, turned ill and passed in a matter of about 36 hours.

We'd been trying to figure out the fate of the dynamic duo. We'd lined up a theoretical taker for one, but we'd said we'd keep them together for a month or so while they got stronger. Spotty, as she was tentatively called, attributing to the white splotch on her back that looked like spilled White-Out, had taken the early lead in the "race" to attach to our hearts. Absolutely wee, she nonetheless was lion-hearted. Every day, when we'd pass by their box with our milk bottle, she'd jump with all her might to try and vault out of the box to get her grub on. I'd ALWAYS pick her first, if for no other reason than she looked like she'd explode if she had to wait any longer. She'd wrap her kitten lips around the nipple, and pull the bottle with her paws, as if they actually had any genuine strength. Then she'd just guzzle.

Of her .8 pounds, I'd say that .75 of the weight was located in her eyes. Just giant saucers on this TINY frame. Wide-eyed at all times, when she took ill, it was obvious. First, she wouldn't eat. Then, the ferocity in the eyes started to diminish. Almost instantly, this sprite took on the persona of an old soul. When Saturday came around, and she still wouldn't eat, I rushed her over to the vet. He didn't see anything obviously wrong, and all of her vitals checked out okay. So I took her home, and we began to force feed her. But by the minute, she grew weaker and weaker until that very night, she died in my lap as quickly as she came to us. No final gasp. Nothing. Just here, then gone.

I was flabbergasted at the impact this cat made on us/me in a mere month's time. I was (am) so saddened to see her go. This little engine that could, just like that, couldn't. Allow me to indulge my inner seer, but I can't help but notice that RIGHT as we were losing her, her sister's spirit has risen in direct proportion. It's as if Spotty's spirit was transferred into her sister, leaving us with but one dynamo. In the days since Spotty passed, "Blackie" has been unstoppable. Bouncing off the walls, swatting aggressively at her bigger new pet siblings (Jack and Orville), and serving notice that she is here, and will take no crap.

Bubba and I are very thankful to have gotten to experience Spotty, if only for a month. For in this blip of a body was a lifetime of spirit.

"And the Lord Said, Give Me Two of Every Creature...

Time to get back down to bidness. Summer's over (though it's been about 95 here all week). Labor Day has come and gone. Time to get back to school as it were. I've been on a lazy, beachcomber pace, as far as the writing goes, but it's time to get back to work. Lots o'things to tell.

First of all, my life took a turn for the bizarre a few weeks ago. We live in a four-apartment house here in W. Hollywood. We represent the lower left-hand quadrant of the house. Between 6 and 9 on the clock, if you will. Our shower is in the back, "overlooking" the garage. So a couple of weeks ago, Bubba's taking a shower, and here's this faint, high-pitched alleged cry. Sounded like it was coming for the wal, so logically, when she was done with the shower, she went outside to check it out. Nothing. Couldn't hear anything. So, she went back to business. But whenever she went to the bathroom, there it was again. I come home, and I hear the same thing. "I think it's a cat," she says. "Ehhh, I don't know." The musician in me took over. "See, the pitch and the meter are way too constant for that to be any type of creature. No being communicates that consistently. No, I think it's the pipes." I even said explicitly, "Mary, I don't know WHAT that sound is, but I can say without a doubt, it's NOT an animal." (foreshadowing alert)

That night, around 4 a.m., we were awakened by the most mournful howling we've ever heard. This cat was outside our place just WAILING. This gave more creedence to the "maybe it's a cat" theory. So, come the next day, Bubba and our neighbor Jules, set out to get this creature out of wherever it was.

Cutting through the minutiae of the fruitless calls to various animal institutions, when I came home from work that day, there were two fire trucks and about 8 firemen and my landlord in my back yard. West Hollywood's Bravest were busy hacking up the back wall. By the time I got to the back of the house, there was already a TINY lil' black and white cat in a shoebox. Great! Miller Time. 'Ceptin' that there was ANOTHER cat still in peril. Not only that, but this bad boy was STUCK. Really stuck. Our working theory is, Moms found this crawl space in the back of the house where she went to birth this litter in private. Problem was, these two cats gell down a ways, and momma couldn't get 'em out, and had to leave them ultimately for the sake of the others.

So, after a few hours of hacking away, my landlord CRINGING with each swing of the pick-axe, they finally got #2 out. Somehow, and there was no discussion by anyone on the topic at all, by virtue of our phonecall, these became OUR de-facto cats. Technically speaking, they weren't ultimately outside of OUR apartment. They were more upstairs. As a result, they last two weeks have seen me bottle-feeding these little souls. I've never been around cats this small before. Both about 7 inches long, less than a pound. The second of the two is REALLY small, but fiesty as all get out.

To complete the absurdity, it was kind of taken for granted that these were both male cats. I don't know why, but no one ever questioned it. I took them to the vet the other day, armed with a slew of male duos to name them after, when it was time to do their charts. Kramden and Norton. Cheech and Chong. Itchy and Scratchy. Bird and Dizzy. And so on. Of course, I get to the vet and they're like, "No, they're BOTH girls." So, in need of girl names, I panicked and gave them Laverne and Shirley. I think I'm now leaning towards Lucy and Ethel though. Lucy is the small one. She's mad cap, wide-eyed and zany. Ethel lays back more, willing to go along with Lucy's antics, but never the instigator.

At press time, we're leaning towards keeping one, Lucy, and giving Ethel to this fella who's expressed a great interest in one. We'll see. This pair had some intro into life, and we'll see if we can break 'em up. Problem is, Scuba's getting Ark is getting a mite crowded over here.