I do hope that you like felines. My “Cats of University Heights” series languishes, and the backlog of photographed but unpublished kitties goes back a couple of years. That’s in part because my posting overall is in a lull that needs to be culled.
So, I make a half-promise to pick up the pace, which must include more furballs than you could ever want to see. If fulfilled, overall posting should uptick significantly. Get ready!
Cue the music. I had a Twilight Zone moment today. While walking into PetSmart, I heard the cashier tell a customer about weekend festivities. The store will welcome self-described pet parents to celebrate Halloween. There will be “treat stations set up throughout the store”, the checker said. Oh, and of course, humans are encouraged to bring their animal(s) dressed in costume. Seriously? What alternate universe have I unexpectedly entered?
Trick or treat will be Sunday, that’s Oct. 26, 2025, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Don’t have a costume for fido or frisky? No problem, PetSmart sells them. Treats are free (I presume), assuming your animal is smart enough to find any. The trick is for those beasts unable to sniff out any, I guess.
The many bargains of Costco are sometimes perplexing; the item carried and what someone would pay for it. Look no further than the Featured Image. Who pays $600—on sale—for a cat litter box? You tell me. If that’s you, no offense intended, but I would really like to know why?
This post’s title tells you what I wouldn’t do. There’s no robotic in the Wilcox household. Plastic bag and a pooper scooper, and either my wife or I keeps our kitties’ litter box nice and tidy. Someone else will pay big for convenience and because their animal is more than a pet. It’s a member of the family, and he, she, or they is (or are) the parent(s).
This series started exactly nine years ago—Oct. 17, 2016, with a kitty nicknamed Scruffy. Living in a dog neighborhood, I expected to wrap up in about a month. How many cats could there be? Nearly a decade later, there are 613 profiles, including this one, and a backlog of photographed but unpublished kitties.
The problem with procrastinating posting putties: I don’t recall shooting some of their portraits, and I must look closely to ensure the animal hasn’t already been published. Oh, my aching aged memory.
On this date, in 2007, the Wilcox family arrived in San Diego. We had left the Washington, DC-metro area to be close to my aged father-in-law, who luckily found us an apartment one block from his place. Our presence meant that in January 2017 he could pass way at age 95 in his own bed, rather than in some sterile institution.
The city is hardly recognizable from the one we moved to. San Diego seemed sleepy, small town-like for the size. Communities were tight knit, even with the massive number of renters; congestion was a rare occurrence on the roadways; neighborhood streets were wide; housing architecture was surprisingly varied and charming; and homeowners kept attractive green spaces, among many other attractive attributes, with the three-summer season weather being among them.
According to Sperling’s Best Places, San Diego “has a mild and pleasant Mediterranean climate…The summers are warm and dry, with temperatures usually reaching the mid-70s Fahrenheit (25 Celsius)”. Rainfall: About 12 inches annually. Such an environment practically preserves Volkswagen cars and minivans, which are spared the otherwise audacious expansion of rust.
Hence, old Volkswagen Beetle and minivan sightings are not uncommon. But black ragtop and red body? With two aged mutts that look like they could be as old or older than the vehicle?
I stepped out of the ophthalmologist’s office into cloud covered defused light that passed pain through my dilated pupils. Squinting, I stumbled down the stairs to the sidewalk, where a smiling gent walked up and asked for a “favor”. My apologetic tone conveyed clear response: No cash. I meant to bring a five-dollar bill, in case somebody asked, but left it behind when rushing out the door to walk to the doctor’s office.
But he didn’t ask for money. He wanted me to bless him. To wish him happy birthday. He is 37 years-old today. I did both. We separated, and I regretted not asking to take his photo. How often does something so straightforward occur? He wasn’t grifting or panhandling. The fellow simply sought birthday wishes.
Another Caturday night and I ain’t got nobody—but a tabby tat from the series‘ enormous backlog. I used Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra to capture the Featured Image on April 28, 2024. That wasn’t the first time I saw the tabby or anytime sense. I merely present the best portrait from the selection. Vitals: f/3.4, ISO 32, 1/250 sec, (synthetic) 230mm (digital and optical zoom); 2:03 p.m. PDT.
The putty-tat, nicknamed Buster for no particular reason, is the one-hundred-thirty-ninth feline found behind door or window among the 612 profiles, including this one.
A few weeks ago, we restocked the bulk beef burger patties we typically buy from Costco Business Center. Near the end of August, the foodstuff was sold out (it never is), so I suspected that the warehouse store no longer carried the item. Today, the patties are back—and for shockingly higher sale price.
Backtracking, when we started buying the 10-pound burger pack during the last decade, Business Costco charged $29.99, which was a good deal compared to competing choices. Fat content was higher (78 percent lean), but savings mattered more to the Wilcoxes. During the SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2)/COVID-19 mandates era, price rose to $31.99 and then to $33.99. During 2025, the price continuously crept up—reaching $39.99 a few weeks ago. Currently: $49.99! Ten bucks more than in August!
The majority of political email automatically goes to the junk folder. I never designated the status, choosing instead to let Gmail haul the messages away by default. But one from Amy Reichert of Restore San Diego plopped into my inbox this morning. “Stand with us as we call on Governor Newsom to reject AB 495”, she wrote. A rally was scheduled for 10 a.m. PDT at San Diego Unified School District offices about 10 minutes’ walk (thanks to traffic lights) from my apartment. I had to go.
Depending on who you speak to, AB 495 either protects immigrant kids threatened by ICE raids or puts them at risk because the law would let seemingly anyone intercede and grab your children. The thinking there is that California is about to enable anyone to legally snatch kids—ah, for their protection. They could belong to non-immigrant families and be taken using other justifications.
The city’s obsession with adding more housing shocks by the day. Cute, historic homes are leveled and replaced by multi-level residential buildings that are typically rentals (no condos for you, Bud) and explicitly turn out to be so-called micro-units (tiny space, big monthly payment). These new builds tower over single-family homes and/or two-story apartments/condos, dramatically obliterating local character and robbing existing homes of airflow and sunlight.
Justification: Housing shortage. That’s a lie. According to Zillow, there are currently 18,499 rentals available across San Diego County. For sale: 8,101 homes. That sure looks like plenty of inventory to me. According to Point2Homes, which business is helping people find places to rent, there are 6,142 “housing units” in my community of University Heights. Zillow says 279 of them are currently for rent; but not all list on the service, so the number should be higher.
Around the village of University Heights, one can see logos, murals, paintings, signs, and statues all depicting ostriches. At the turn of the last century, Bentley Ostrich Farm relocated to the neighborhood—and it brought visitors from across Southern California.
But the place closed in 1929. The feathers were less in demand as a luxury, and economic crisis began its grip on the nation. Many, but not all, of the birds were relocated to San Diego Zoo.