Tired of covering up with Chinese-made, fake surgical masks? My wife and I waited until there was supply of Made-in-the-USA Crosstex ASTM Level 2 face masks before buying two boxes of 50. Something seemed so […]
I have amassed a backlog of photographed but unpublished putty-tats—many of them from months ago, like this Tuxedo seen on Oct. 20, 2020 and no other time since. The shorthair earns nickname Tails, for what I hope is obvious reason.
Our fifth New Years kitty to appear in the series, joining Gem (2020), Storm (2019), Norman (2018), and Chub (2017), is almost certainly the last. My wife and I are plotting to escape California soon as logistically possible. As such, I will rush through the backlog of photographed but unpublished kitties and close down the series, which later may become an ebook—because why not? But that’s a future topic.
For today, let us meet the Calico whom we shall nickname Lovely. My wife and I met her on Dec. 11, 2020, along Maryland near Monroe. That’s a treacherous area because of cars and coyotes—and females will soon leave the nearby canyon searching for prey to feed the pups. Be safe, Lovely!
I can’t speak for my wife, but to me a pair of benefits marshaled my interest in choosing our current apartment: The front windows and what I call the “squirrel tree” majestically before them—as expected, providing plentiful wildlife entertainment for our cats Cali and Neko to watch; for the humans, too. Yesterday, the management company overseeing the property snuffed out magic, and life.
Time is immeasurable this year, thanks to triple-P: pandemic, politics, and protests (e.g., SARS-CoV-2, severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2, also known as COVID-19; Election 2020; and racial riots). As such, I don’t recall how long ago the building manager spoke to me about the tree—two or more months, seems like). He said that the perennial would likely be dramatically trimmed back; being top heavy, the branches pulled the trunk into brickwork before it (see first photo). Some discussion drifted to removal, which I opposed, promising in threatening tone: “The day they cut down that tree is the day I give notice”.
Thanks to Governor Gavin “Gruesome” Newsom’s dictates demanding that citizens stay home, California is now a fine freeloading paradise where taking responsibility for anything is a crime. But that’s okay, because his do-nothing principle is assured to protect us—locked inside our own living-in-paradise prisons—from SARS-CoV-2 (severe acute respiratory syndrome Coronavirus 2), also known as COVID-19.
I have heard some commenters refer to the Gov as Newssolini, but anyone with more than two functioning neurons should see such insinuation insults the dictator. (Say, Mr. Mussolini, how’s the temperature in Hell these days?)
How surprising: I am seeing some new kitties along North, where it intersects Madison, or in the alley between Campus. Four appeared today, but two vanished before I could close the distance for photos (you’ll see them soon). I encountered the series‘ newest addition, nicknamed Puss, for no particular reason, on Oct. 30, 2020. The Featured Image comes from iPhone XS. Vitals: f/2.4, ISO 40, 1/122 sec, 52mm (film equivalent); 9:16 a.m. PDT.
Somebody’s outdoor space is luxury. Look at the cat trees and surrounding plants. In perennially sunny San Diego, the cat can have indoor furniture outside for much of the year. What a habitat! My question: Does he (or she) spend time within the caretaker’s residence, too?
I can’t express which surprises me more: That I saw some trick-or-treaters last night, that there were any at all, or that local grocery stores sold bags of candy like this year’s holiday is like […]
Like Spirit, this fine feline appeared in the alley between Cleveland and Maryland on one side of Meade—not far from our old apartment, actually. Our long, lost Maine Coon-mix Kuma hung out in the same area, favoring his ledge. Real name unknown, I dub the shorthair Prowler, for its cunning, slinky movements.
Unfortunately, I carried along iPhone XS and not trusty Leica Q2. The Featured Image, which is cropped a little more than 100-percent, is good enough from the smartphone but would be great from the camera. Vitals: f/2.4, ISO 16, 1/489 sec, 52mm (film equivalent); 9:15 a.m. PDT; Oct. 5, 2020.
For cultural reasons that I don’t understand, Halloween is a big holiday in San Diego. Decorations are everywhere adorning homes and lawns. That’s not enough for some people, as this grim ghoulmobile demonstrates.
The thing spooked from the space adjacent to mine in the Mission Valley Costco parking lot. Proximity made no good way to photograph the entire machine. So I fumbled for composition and ambience, using iPhone XS.
The main intersection on the neighborhood’s west side is a four-way with stop-signs at Cleveland and Meade. I meandered upon this kitty and the next one profiled on either side of Meade in the alley between Cleveland and Maryland—directions south and north, respectively.
I used iPhone XS to capture the Featured Image on Oct. 17, 2020. Vitals: f/2.4, ISO 16, 1/213 sec, 52mm (film equivalent); 10:21 a.m. PDT. Coincidentally, the day marked the series‘ fourth anniversary.
About a month ago, I observed something odd while waiting in line at the pharmacy. The gentlemen standing at the counter, who looked worse for wear, had come to pick up a prescription. But he met an obstacle. The druggist asked for identification, which the customer didn’t have and he was confused why any would be needed. “It’s a controlled substance”, the pharmacist explained. But in a sad and naively poignant regard, the gent didn’t understand. The medicine had been prescribed for him, but he didn’t possess any kind of identity card. Please, could he have his medicine?
Unkempt, and likely a recovering addict who belonged to San Diego’s ever-growing homeless population, the guy was plaintive rather than abusive—as someone else might have been. “Come back when you have ID”, the druggist informed. The fellow stepped back from the window and approached me, waiting next in line: “Do you have ID I can borrow?”
Among the 355 other profiles in this series, seven were seen or live beyond the neighborhood’s designated boundaries. Mona—and that’s her real name—makes eight. She joins special members: Buddies, Chill, Envy, Moophie, Ninja, Promise, and Sammy. My wife and I met the kitty and her owner while walking home from Smart and Final on Sept. 22, 2020—along Mississippi, before Lincoln leaves behind North Park.