DECEMBER 4, 2011 - WHITE ARIZONA

Wasn't it just yesterday that I said I wouldn't bore you with any more snow pictures?  Well that was yesterday.

You think that's funny, do you?

Oops, who left the deck chair out?

Since none of our cats go outside any more, this must have been a visitor during the night.  Probably that pretty calico that's been hanging around.

For those of you who can't believe there is ever snow in Arizona, here's a photo of my indoor/outdoor thermometer at 8 o'clock this morning.

Again I must remind you that we don't live in the low desert of Phoenix or Tucson.  We're at about 5,100 feet elevation and some 80 miles from Phoenix.  Right about now, Phoenix is looking pretty good to me.

A DOPEY CAT

On this lazy Saturday I could show you more pictures of more snow.  We had a fairly good covering from our second storm of the week early this morning.  Maybe an inch or two.  As the temperature rose, the snow began to disappear and now it's pretty spotty out there.  But I figured you've seen enough Arizona snow for awhile so . . .

This is Jazz, after an infusion of catnip.  Cats, if they like it and not all cats do, are drawn to it, eat a bit then lie down and roll in it.  Sort of a contact high, I guess.  Eventually they go into this semi-catatonic state until it wears off.

Now Jazz and Blackwell don't get along.  Normally, all the big black cat has to do is look at Jazz and she begans to hiss and snarl.  On this day, he came over and, typically, sat down about 18 inches away, seemingly just to irritate her.

Jazz scowled at him but that was about all.

When Blackwell got bored and headed for his food bowl, Jazz relaxed once again into her catnip haze.

THE FIRST TWO DAYS OF DECEMBER

Yesterday, as a winter storm was building:

Even the cattle, in spite of their wooly coats, looked cold.

Today there is a little more snow on the ground and the sky still looks threatening.



I WISH I'D THOUGHT OF THIS

During the most recent hullabaloo about Herman Cain, I emailed a friend of mine and asked him what he made of it.

My friend emailed back saying Cain was toast.  Cain's presidential chances, he said: None.  None.  None.



MOONSHOTS

I decided to test my skill with the camera last night by (trying) to photograph the moon.

What I learned is that, even with a tripod, I am not very steady with my camera.  But that ineffectiveness can provide some interesting shots.  For example, I suppose I could pass off this next one by saying I had gotten a great shot of Saturn.

Sure I did.  With my tiny point-and-click Nikon Coolpix camera.

But my next photo has me confounded.  I thought there was a man in the moon but this picture sure looks like a cat in the moon.

I guess I'd better stick with macro photography.

WHY BOTHER?

Hooray!  I got a check in the mail today.  It was my share of the settlement in the lawsuit of Brice Yingling d/b/a Alamo Auto Sports and Andy Scott vs. eBay, Inc.

Before I go any further let me say that I have no idea who Brice Yingling, Alamo Auto Sports or Andy Scott are.  I do know who eBay is, though, and I used to sell books there.  According to the letter accompanying the check my payment was calculated on fees I paid between April 21, 2005 and August 26, 2009. 

I do remember selling some old auto magazines on eBay and it probably was during that time period.

At any rate, I'm glad it's finally over.  Here's my check amount:

Just in case you can't figure that out, here is the amount in the corner of the check.

You've got it - nine cents. 

I got a check for nine cents.

In the mail.

In an envelope with a "First-Class Mail, Presorted" designation printed on it. 

According to the GOOGLE, that cost 39 cents.

To send me a nine cent check.

What a country!!!

BATMAN!!!

All right, due to popular demand and a din rising to a roar of shouts for the story of the bat, here it comes.

As I said in my previous post, I had bought a couch (used) at a thrift store.  My girlfriend at the time, in spite of the scorn she heaped on me for bargaining the price down at a store run by a religious organization, deigned to join me on the bargain couch from time to time.

But this particular night, only a couple of days later,  she was nowhere to be seen.  I had been out at a pub slaking my thirst and trying to recover from a long day at work.  As I opened the door of my darkened apartment, I sensed rather than saw something flit through the air.  I quickly closed the door and switched on the overhead light.  That made the being intensely crazy.  I now recognized it as a bat as it flew frantically from one side of the room to the other.  I backed into my tiny kitchen and seized the first item to come to hand, a large cast iron frying pan.

As the bat flew near, I tried to bring it down by swinging the frying pan at it.  Well.  As anyone who has ever had one of those big black pans in his hand knows - they're damned heavy.  So my attacks on the bat appeared to be in slow motion while the bat was going full tilt boogie.  After a couple of futile swings, I determined that this was not going to work.  So I looked for something lighter to attack with.

Let's see.  The big black frying pan wouldn't work.  So what do I need?  A broom? NO!  What I then went in search of was . . . a smaller, lighter frying pan!  Makes sense, doesn't it?  If the big pan is too heavy, get a smaller pan.

Now, you may be laughing by now.  But my fear of the bat coupled with a certain heightened blood sugar level from my night at the pub had me rising to the frantic level of the bat.

Eventually I brought him down with a lucky swing.  But as I examined him on the floor I discovered that he was only stunned.  (After the saga was over, I was reminded of the comment by the petshop owner in a famous Monty Python skit about a dead parrot:  "He's not dead . . he's only sleeping!")

Well, good creature that I am, I managed to scoop the bat into something with a cover, carry it carefully outdoors and release the bat to the night sky.

Returning to my abode, I tried to figure out how that bat had happened to be in my apartment.  As I looked around my gaze fell on that bargain thrift store couch and . . . whether it was true or not . . . the couch took the blame for harboring the bat.  And I told my girlfriend, that was why I had bargained the price down.  Without knowing of the presence of the nocturnal creature, my sixth sense had intuited that something was strange about that couch.

And that's the story of the bat.