In pictures: Baby animal love story: “A pair of Sumatran tiger cubs and a set of young orangutans, all abandoned at birth, have become inseparable after sharing a room at an Indonesian zoo.”  See the pictures and read the short captions.  It’s just so damn cute!

Kitty vs. Kat.  Look at the larger version for the full effect.  That was a good laugh I really needed.

This is neat and worth watching.  It’s an alert regarding the “live feeds forthcoming from the Secrets of the Gulf Expedition March 3-9 with the US Navy NR1 nuclear submarine (pictured above) and Bob Ballard’s Argos tow sled as they survey the Flower Garden Banks region for paleo-shorelines and deep octocoral habitats at 100m depth.”  There are links to the various sites and feeds, as well as a copy of the news release itself.  I can’t wait to see it.

Pygmy Owl Declining in Mexico: “A university study shows the population of a tiny endangered owl in northern Mexico has declined by an estimated 26 percent over the last seven years, a finding that environmentalists said bolsters their arguments for greater protection for the bird in Arizona. [. . .] The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service put the owl on the endangered species list in 1997 because of population declines in Arizona. But the agency withdrew it from the list last year after determining it was not a distinct subspecies and thus not worthy of protection.”  Since then, of course, developers have decimated its environment, but climate change is also wreaking havoc on the poor tiny bird because “…the number of eggs that the owls lay annually, or so-called clutch size, declines as winter rainfall dips, as does productivity and nest success.”

I originally intended to delete these photos.  I was facing into the sun when I took them.  As luck would have it, I didn’t bother changing the camera settings to compensate.  That’s why the color and exposure and light are all . . . well, odd . . . or off.

But then I really looked at them today and realized they had some aesthetic value after all.  I mean, think about being on an alien world somewhere, a place quite different from Earth where perhaps there are two suns that keep the air bright and shadows deep, where the sky is mostly white with only vague hints of blue on the periphery, where green only grows on the ground, where very few trees have any kind of foliage . . .

Or something like that.

These photos were taken at the White Rock Lake spillway facing away from the water toward the old hatchery ponds and surrounding woodlands.  It’s of interest to note this is where I have seen bobcats, red and gray foxes, coyotes, rabbits, badgers, armadillos, and a plethora of other wildlife.  And this is also where the local monk parakeet colony lives.  In fact, this particular area of the lake is one of the best birding spots to be found at White Rock, not to mention the best place to spot wily wildlings that evade detection elsewhere.

[before anyone asks, let me say I did try color correction on these photos; unfortunately, the originals are so overexposed with such cattywampus light balance that no amount of manhandling by me could make them any less of an affront to good photography, so I felt it best to share them as they are—and take advantage of their bizarre nature]

I don’t know where I am today.  Adrift in a sea of thought?  Lost in apprehension’s deep shadows?  Something else entirely?

The answer escapes me.

In a short while I will sit down for a phone interview.  Perhaps I’m just nervous about that.  Yet I can’t help but think it’s something more.

Employment—no, that’s not right.  Income is foremost on my mind.  Having been out of work for almost a year and being stretched financially thin are problematic vexations.

But there is more to my discontent and dysphoria than that.  Much more.

Still, I think it’s all related.  Or at least somewhat.

Life in the big city no longer makes me happy.  Needing to rely on my technology expertise for work disgusts me, forces me back to what I loathe.  Struggling to stay on track with Dreamdarkers even as I focus the vast majority of my time on searching for work frustrates me because I’m so close yet so far from completing it.  Distress over what might happen, especially with regards to The Kids, smothers me and threatens to rob me of my every breath.  Trying to make writing a career when all I’ve done is personal writing and professional other is an obstacle course that seems built specifically to stop people from succeeding.

Oh, do listen to me prattle on ad nauseam about silly woes.  Like everyone else on the planet, I could write a humongous list of tiresome complaints without ever scratching the surface, and what an insult to those with real problems.

But they aren’t silly, are they?  At least not to me.

I feel like I’m standing under a crumbling dam just so I can hold my finger in a tiny leaking hole.

Ah, to be free from worry . . .

[Vazra in the foreground and Kazon in the background]

I’m in a playful mood this morning (for reasons I can’t identify, and quite contrary to the rest of my emotional state).  For that reason alone, let’s do a fun word.

By the way, it’s fun because of its sound, not because of its meaning.

bamboozle (bam·boo·zle): / bam BOO zuhl /
transitive verb

(1) to deceive, cheat, or get the better of someone by way of trickery, flattery, or other underhanded methods; hoodwink; dupe
(2) to perplex, mystify, frustrate, or confuse someone; to completely throw off

intransitive verb

(1) to practice cozenage, deception, trickery, chicanery, or the like

[Etymology unknown.]

Usage: I think it goes without saying that Dubya and his cronies bamboozle the American people and the world at large whenever they get the chance.

Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call to her tribunal every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blindfolded fear.

— Thomas Jefferson

Twittering calls fill the air and I turn to look out the window.  Clouds blanket the sky in hues of ash.  Yet the cacophony of morning discussions beckon me to start the day.

It’s then I spy a mockingbird giving chase.  The target: another mockingbird.  I can’t help but laugh as they dance a macabre rendition of avian merry-go-round.  Their turns tight, their wings spread, and still they loop endlessly around one small tree, first upward, then downward.  The circle they draw around the stoic trunk is small, undoubtedly less than the distance between my own hands were they held out.  But it’s an important chase, I’m sure, especially hearing the chaser’s constant grumblings about the apparent interloper.  Finally, they spiral up and away, over the tree, then over several others, and eventually out of sight.

Once my languid and listless body climbs out of bed, a cardinal flits into view, a momentary splash of red bright against the gloomy dawn.  Briefly it stands attentively in the tree and watches, waits.  Then as quickly as it arrived, it leaps into the air and joins the growing assemblage of song and wing.

There is much plotting and planning, I’m sure, what with all the raucous brouhaha.  Even a distant mourning dove adds its voice to the commotion, a lamentation to all but the dove.  How sad it sounds, how full of weeping.

I stretch my sleep-tightened body first this way then that.  Arms overhead.  Standing on tiptoes.  Twisting and bending like a pretzel.  Relief courses through every fiber of my being as weary muscles receive infusions of energy—or at least a dastardly and harsh wake-up call.

Briefly, and so quickly I’m almost unaware of it, a large opossum scurries by the patio.  Its long prehensile tail is dragged behind it almost without thought.  I watch it make its way along the length of the veranda before disappearing around the corner toward the lake.

Part of me feels jealousy for the apparent energy enjoyed by these creatures.  I’m lucky to make it to the shower before I’ve had my coffee, and here they are full of vigor and vitality, busy with their individual and group goings-on.  And not a damn one of them has had a bit of caffeine.  Bastards, the lot of you!

I’ve spoken previously of the fascinating reflective property of cat eyes.  Mentioned once regarding Loki and mentioned again regarding Kazon, I know there are plenty of other examples from The Kids going back through a good number of the photos on this site.

But in that first post I also pointed out that “it’s interesting from time to time when seeing the differences between various species and what the light brings out (e.g. squirrels reflect amber or orange, opossums and raccoons reflect white, humans reflect red, and so on).”

Since today I lack the energy and ambition to really write something worthy of sharing with you, I thought it was a perfect time to revisit that statement with a bit of visual confirmation.  So here are two flash photos of a squirrel munching on nuts and seeds that clearly demonstrate precisely what I was saying.

Both photos are of an eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger) and were taken at close range.  This particular “tree rat” (as Libby loves to call them) trusts me, has taken almonds and pecans directly from my hands, and doesn’t mind me milling about while it’s visiting.  I don’t know its gender and haven’t asked it to lift its skirt so I can take a gander.  Sometimes it’s more appropriate to respect privacy than to ask for such personal information.

Birds in the News 72 (v2n23) has some great photographs and a roundup of avian news from around the globe.

This is a cool video tribute to Carl Sagan.  Watch carefully.  Read fervently.  Listen attentively.  How I miss that man . . .

Unfortunate and preventable: “PLANO, Texas — Authorities have taken a monkey, an alligator, a tarantula and six piranhas from a man’s suburban Dallas home after showing up on his doorstep to investigate a hit-and-run fender bender. Animal control officials last week cited Bobby Crawford Jr. on misdemeanor charges for his illegal collection of exotic animals. Crawford, 42, cried Friday when discussing Darwin, an 8-year-old rhesus macaque monkey he said he has raised since it was little.”  I feel for his loss and emotional attachment to these animals, but there are important reasons the laws are in place regarding such things.  To add to that: While cats and dogs have been domesticated for thousands of years, most animals are not so accustomed to life with humans.  I find it regrettable and abhorrent that people—even in zoos—capture and keep such creatures.

What will the anti-gay crowd say about this?  It’s the latest addition to the more than 1,500 species that participate in homosexual sex and relationships (at least 500 of which have full scientific documentation on the practice).  Do you suppose all those creatures are unnatural and making a moral choice to sin?  I mean, if that’s the case with humans, what’s the excuse for all these animals doing the exact same thing?  To wit: “Female koalas indulge in lesbian ’sex sessions’, rejecting male suitors and attempting to mate with each other, sometimes up to five at a time, according to researchers.”  Of course, if male koalas are anything like male humans, they’ll have no complaints about such sessions.  [via Whatever]

I’ve discovered a few more of the old photos I think are worth sharing . . .

About ten years ago, one of the smaller pieces of feline furniture I owned was what Derek and I called The Loki Dream Home.  It was a simple piece of furniture: mostly plastic with short carpet in all the right places, a canvas cover over the top sleeping platform with another platform below that, and firmly planted on the ground via two sand-filled bases.  It was one of those cheap things that catches your eye while at the cat store, something in a small box that assembles into something that would never fit in the car . . . like most furniture.

Loki absolutely loved the thing.  Grendel wasn’t as fond of it, but part of that could well have been due to his hip surgery and inability to climb or jump for several months.  He mostly used it as a scratching post but otherwise ignored it.

But oh how Loki loved that thing.  He’d sleep on it, play on it, use it as his own personal watchtower, and generally claim it for his very own.  Well, since no one else was using it . . .

One reason for the dichotomy in their responses to it, at least back in those years, has only recently occurred to me.  Grendel has always loved people and spends his time hanging out with anyone in the house.  Loki, on the other hand, spent his early years treating people with disdain, keeping them at a distance, and pretty much ignoring them.  That included me.  So for him, The Loki Dream Home provided a wonderful place where he could keep an eye on the resident humans without being too close to them . . . you know, where they might actually touch him or something, an action which usually provoked incessant bathing on his part in an attempt to wipe away the monkey cooties.

But Loki is a rough-and-tumble kind of cat, hard on furniture just as he’s hard on people and the rest of The Kids, so it wasn’t too long after he fell in love with his Dream Home that he began destroying it.  It started with prompt removal of the feather toy attached to the top, something that hung over the side and made for a bit of fun while sharpening claws.  I suppose the toy remained functional for about two weeks—give or take.  Then one day it magically appeared in another room after having been brutally detached from its perch.

And when the toy was removed, what next?  Well, there was that canvas top covering the highest sleeping platform.  It attached to the furniture with six thin plastic rods that held it in a nice tent shape.

To Loki, however, that covering was more than just a roof over his head.  It was obviously meant for play, to be climbed upon, to be pulled and bitten and attacked, and eventually to be destroyed like the feather toy before it.  That’s why you can see part of it sticking out like a broken bone (on the left side of the photo).

Once he’d dismembered its pieces and parts in bloody and ongoing battle, I removed it for his safety as well as for aesthetics.

That happened after The Twins were adopted, though.  When those two little ones came home, Kako discovered The Loki Dream Home and tried to stake her claim.  Bad move . . .

The first time Loki found her on the top perch, he kicked her to the curb like refuse.  She never again challenged him for that spot.  In spite of the cruel treatment at the hands of a mischievous god, she did learn she could use it as long as she didn’t provoke his wrath.  She accomplished this by staying quiet and meek and planting her tiny behind on the bottom platform where she was as inconspicuous as possible.

It was never really safe for her there.  Loki would get in one of his moods and drop upon her like a plague of locusts sweeping down from the sky.  She rarely knew what hit her.

And do you think he did it because he wanted her spot?  Nope.  He did it because he didn’t want her on The Loki Dream Home.  It was that simple, that selfish.  He’d return to the top platform as soon as he’d ejected her.

Yet another reason for his name . . .