New Feline

Mittens

As most of you know, our big tomcat Batman has been gone for about a month.  Although we still have two other cats, our house still felt sort of empty.  So we got ourselves another rescue.  Her name is "Mittens." 

She, along with her five kittens, were rescued from the Merced city pound the night before they were all to be euthanized.  The organization that rescued them is "New Beginnings for Animals."  My wife does a lot of volunteer work for them and I'm pretty darn proud of her for it.

Even though she's a female, Mittens is really a lot like Batman, in that she's loud, large, likes head butting, and loves attention.  She's huge for a female, weighing in at 15 pounds.  She's also polydactyl (two extra toes and claws on each foot).

New Beginnings named her Mittens.  I thought they did so because she has white paws, but I just found out that the "lay term" for polydactyl, is "Mitten Foot." That was a new one on me.  Anyway, we're getting back to normal and it's nice to have three of them running around.

Mittens has a particular toy she likes. It looks like a toy fishing rod with a mouse on the end instead of a fish. The "rod" is made of plastic and is about 3 feet long. This morning, she carried the whole thing upsairs, dropped it next to our bed, and started meowing loudly. She wanted to play!  I guess she's pretty smart as well.

Did I forget to mention that I'M ALLERGIC TO CATS?

"James and his poor heart"

I'm not one to do something like this out of the blue.  I apologize in advance for taking up your time.
I also understand if you don't want to go there.  If you like bitter sweet, you might like it.  But only if your tear ducts are in working order...

http://ashleydking.blogspot.com/2010/03/james-and-his-poor-heart.html

I've Been Had...

I have a seven year old granddaughter. She burps out loud, a lot.  I talked to her about it a few times, with little effect. One day, I came up with a plan. I challenged her to a contest. Whenever one of us burps out loud, we must put a quarter in a plastic container.  At the end of the school year, winner take all.  It's okay, she's got money in her piggy bank.

I’ve been known to burp once in a while myself. So she may have gotten into the habit because of me. She burps all the time and thinks its so funny. I figured she’s gonna be bankrupt in no time at all. Of course, I’ll give her the money back when she finally breaks the habit.  You  see, a seven year old has no chance.

It’s been a several months and she hasn’t burped yet!

Yes, it is all my money in there! I've been had...

Precocious: "exhibiting mature qualities at an unusually early age. Ability to take advantage of old people easily"

Smuggler's Cove

One hot summer day in the 70’s a few years ago, several friends and I were relaxing after a mid-day BBQ. We had been eating, drinking, and partaking of the local "green stuff," while passing the time.  Somebody had just commented on how hot it was, when my friend, Cliff suggested we go to the beach, where it was cooler. Although getting up out of my chair seemed like a major hassle, it sounded like a good idea.

Hell, at that point as long as we took Fritos, other interesting snacks, and something to drink, I’d go anywhere. The seven of us (three couples and another female) climbed into Cliff’s Ford Econoline van. I’m sure you know the type; tie-dyed curtains, pillows, and probably “Ten Years After” or "Crosby, Stills, and Nash, playing on the 8-track.

Instead of driving straight to the beach, we were surprised when Cliff jumped on the freeway. We asked him where he was going and he said he wanted us to go to his favorite beach, at Smuggler's Cove.  A few of us knew that “Smuggler’s cove," was in the Portuguese Bend area of Rancho Palos Verdes. A few of us also knew that it was a "clothing optional" beach. Cliff always talked about how much he liked it there, so he was totally geeked and as happy as could be, that we were all going there.

Once we finally got there, Cliff parked the van on the street and we climbed down the trail to the beach.  When we got close to the bottom, everybody in our group saw what kind of place it was.  A couple of the girls were saying things like “oh, hell no!” and "don't expect me to be taking my clothes off!"

When we got to the end of the trail and got fairly close to the water, Cliff started ripping off his clothes and yelled, “last one in is a rotten egg!” Everybody except one of the girls started stripping down.  But Cliff had a head start. He tore his clothes off as fast as he could and started racing for the water. He was far ahead of the rest of us.  He wasn't alone though, he had company...

It was his tail! He had several sheets of toilet paper trailing out behind him, fluttering in the breeze from his butt crack!

Only because a few of you asked me...

I wouldn't have posted this at all, but some folks been asking...

It's pretty stock looking, a real sleeper.
For those of you who don't habla sleeper.  It is a car or truck that looks stock, but hauls ass!
This one sure does that. In fact, it's kind of scary fast. Especially with no power steering, stock suspension, and a steering wheel the size of a wading pool.

1953 Ford F100
Big Block 390 Engine
Street/Strip Cam
Huge Holley 4 bbl carb
Beefed C6 auto trans

How Do I Remember All That Stuff

I am not this guy

"How in the (you fill in the blank) do you remember all that dialogue, from so many years ago?" That's a question I've heard more than a few times.  I don't want people thinking that I make this stuff up, so I'm going to tell you!

If you've read my blog for a while, you know that I break up a lot of my stories into parts, or chapters, because they are just too darn long. There were 38 consecutive entries relating to some of my experiences in Vietnam. Before that there was a 15 entry series on USMC Boot Camp.

So how do I remember so much? How can I possibly remember dialogue that old?

I cheated!

In boot camp we were usually given a short period of time in the evening, to clean our gear and write letters. While most recruits were writing their loved ones, I was sending letters to myself.  Well, not exactly letters, I was sending myself notes relating to what took place that day.

While in Vietnam, I did the same. The other guys were writing to their loved ones, while I was sending myself journal pages. If nothing happened on a particular day, I didn’t send anything home. I even did this as a kid. Of course I wasn’t sending myself letters, but I did take notes. I took notes and hid them.

For most of my life I could remember everything. If I was involved with it, I remembered it. If I heard it, I remembered it. So anyway, that’s how I do it…

Felony Arrest #2 Part 2

I’d just about had it with this guy. I can understand the rough treatment from the cops who arrested me. If they truly thought I’d done an armed robbery, then they must have thought I was armed. Okay, “armed and dangerous,” I get that.  But this guy? I was pretty sure this guy was a loser. He was much older than the cops I saw on the street, and I was betting that he was “disabled,” or not worth a crap at being a policeman. So there he was, working the weekend at the jail, and being a total jerk while he was doing it.

He just isn’t letting up on me. It was pretty easy to see that there wasn’t much chemistry between him and the guy checking me in. He even sort of spoke up for me, when he told the other guy that I gave them no problem at all, when I was taken into custody. It didn’t have any impact though. The guy was a real jerk.

The guy I came in with took his handcuffs off of me and replaced them with another pair. The guy behind the counter pushed a button and my guy walked me into a connecting room, and told me to have a seat. He also said I'd be processed and then someone would take me upstairs. So I sat and waited for a while. I heard the jerk talking to a couple of other people, he was telling them that I was being uncooperative, and that I had robbed a liquor store at gunpoint the night before. He also told them I had been giving him and the officer who brought me in, a hard time.

Before I really even time to get upset about what I'd heard, two cops burst through the door and told me to get on my feet. One of them spun me around and searched me yet again. And he didn’t do it very gently. I asked them if they treated all their guests this way. They just looked at each other and laughed. I told them they didn’t have to treat me this way, because this whole thing was a big mistake, I didn’t do anything. They must have found this particularly funny, because they laughed even louder.

After they were satisfied that I didn’t have any weapons, and wasn’t smuggling drugs into the jail, they unlocked a different door and shoved me through it. They not so gently walked me over to an elevator. Once we were in, one of them pushed the button for either the fourth or fifth floor. Just about the time the door closed, one of them sucker punched me, really hard in the stomach.  I wasn't ready for it at all and it knocked the wind out of me. Before I could get my breath back, several more punches and kicks were laid on me in rapid succession.

They managed to kick the shit out of me, stand me back up, and have me all bright and shiny by the time we got to our floor. Assholes! I was livid, maybe more than ever before, but I knew I couldn’t say a word at this point. I had no control over anything. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and of course, I didn't.

We exited the elevator and they threw me into what I assumed was the drunk tank. I say that, because the guys that were already in there looked, and stunk like hell.  There was vomit on the floor, and the benches were all taken up by sleeping drunks, or speed freaks, who were just sitting there bouncing around.

Not only was I extremely angry, I was also pretty embarrassed. I had just realized that I was wearing my baseball uniform, and couldn’t have looked more out of place in the drunk tank, than if I was having tea with the Queen of England.

I sat and waited for a long time. The drunks were slowly being released as they sobered up. At this point I wanted one of two things, either get me out of here, or get me to a cell. About two hours later, a cop in a suit came and got me. He took me to a small room that had only a table and a few chairs in it. One of the walls had a large mirror on it. I figured this was where they were going to start grilling me about the “armed robbery.” There was probably a camera on the other side of the mirror recording us.

“I’ve got good news and bad news, which do you want to first?” the detective asked me.
“Do I get to make a phone call?”
“You haven’t been charged with anything yet”
“That’s because I haven’t done anything, and you won’t be able to prove that I did!”
“Yes, you have done something! Now what do you want first, good news or bad?”
“The good news first” I said.
“We now know that you aren’t who we thought you were.”
“I told them that from the beginning.”
“They didn’t know it at the time. Were they just supposed to take your word for it and let you go?"
“So what about the cut on my head from where they shoved me in the cop car?”
“I’m sure that was an accident.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t! The guy rammed me into the fucking door frame on purpose!” Obviously, this guy was just as big of an asshole as the others.
“Which officer was it?”
“I have no idea, they were behind me! What about the two assholes who beat the shit out of me in the elevator?”
“Did you get their names?”
“No I didn’t get their names, but there right here in this building, right now!”
“I don’t think anything like that took place Mr. Tillett.”
“It did take place, are you going to do anything about it?”
“I promise you that I’ll look into it. Now do you want the bad news?”
“Sure you will” I said, wondering just how many people get the hell beat out of them in that elevator.
“Like I said, we made a mistake about the armed robbery, but it seems that you have an outstanding warrant.”
“What?”
“Yes, it’s for a citation you received for expired tags last year.” He said while looking at a sheet of paper he was holding.
“Is it for a VW bus?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t even own that thing anymore, it was stolen about six months ago, and I never got a ticket on it anyay.”
“I’m sorry that you haven’t had a good morning, it’s only going to cost you 65 dollars to get out of here. Do you have it?”
“No I don’t!”
“If you want to make a call, I’ll go get a phone for you.”

I called the bar that sponsored my softball team, and asked if anybody there could come and pay the fee. My friend Rich arrived in about a half an hour, and I was free. To add insult to injury, the next day I had to pay a substantial amount of money to get my car out of impound.

I might have got the guys who beat me up in the elevator in trouble, or even fired, but the more I told my story to people, the more I heard that the elevator at the jail was famous for beatings, and that I’d be wasting my time.
-----------------------------------
Just this minute, I looked up “Long Beach Police Department Elevator Beatings” on Google. The query got a bunch of hits. Apparently, what people told me back in 1975 was very true! There was nothing recent though. I guess things were different back in the old days!

I don’t have a problem with cops. I like a strong police presence. Of course I’ve changed my ways since those days. But I still have a big problem with people who abuse their power, no matter where that power might lie.

I suppose if I had kept my big mouth shut, I would have had a normal elevator ride that morning.

I Need Your Help, Please...

I would greatly appreciate some input from all of you.  I know some folks read, but don't comment. Maybe you could just this once? 

As some/most of you know, I have two main blogs.
One is primarily written and the other photography.

1. Should I combine them?
2. Or leave them separate?
3. Or post the photographs in both places?

Please leave me a comment.

I can’t decide…