Rulon: a generous cat with a big, loving heart

We lost the boy kitty yesterday.   Asleep in my husband's lap, surrounded by love, he crossed the rainbow bridge.

His life as we knew it: 

He was born in a trailer park in Gerlach, Nevada and lived there as a stray for many years, although a one time someone took good care of him.  Gerlach is home to a lot of cats and very few people, and Rue graduated to our yard and partook of the free cat food and water that was offered to all members  of "The Cat Club."
Rulon soon became president and finally moved into the house but still ruled the yard with his fellow cats.

Two incidents stand out.
1)  I visited Gerlach years ago when Rulon was already in residence.  He spent half the night on my bed at my feet and half the night with his master.  He always shared the love.  

2)  Having been on his own a lot, Rulon was a mighty hunter, and one day he caught a bat in the yard.  In this part of the world, many bats are rabid.  Hearing the scuffle in the yard, his master went out and separated cat and bat (the bat was injured).  He took a shovel and dispatched the bat, and took the carcass to Reno to determine if the bat had been rabid.  Unfortunately, the bat's head was smashed to smithereens, and it was not possible to do a necropsy.

 Rulon's master was told the cat should be isolated for six months to make sure he hadn't contacted rabies.  This was deemed impossible.  Now, living approximately 100 miles from anywhere, Rulon had not received much veternary care, but he had been "fixed."   That meant that he probably had had a rabies shot at one time at least.  The vets contacted around Reno did not want to touch this case with a ten foot pole, except for one who said, "bring him in."  We will all be forever grateful to this man.

I landed in Reno from Boston the day Rulon was to go to the vet.  Even with cell phones, we had a hard time meeting up at the airport, and his master carried Rulon in a (smallish) cat carrier and also carried a cooler. as  the day was very hot.  Finally we found the vet's office.  By now the cat was an unhappy camper.  The vet had an emergency delivery of pure bred kittens, and we had to wait.  I purchased a larger carrier.  Rulon got a rabies booster and a distemper shot and was put into the new carrier and we drove the 100 miles back to Gerlach.  He did not feel well that evening and the next day, and then he rallied.  The vet said watch him for two weeks, and after this time passed without any signs of rabies the cat was good to go although he was monitored for a longer period of time. 

Rulon came to us again via Southwest Airlines with a harness because he had to be taken out of the carrier to go through security.  It was a long drive to Reno, and then a flight and then a layover and another flight and he arrived in Providence late at night exhausted.  So tired was he that he crawled into a corner of the basement storeroom and slept for two days.   No food.  No water.  No litter box use.  That's when we realized he was probably  older than we thought.  He finally recovered and was introduced to his housemate who spruned him because she dislikes all other cats.  In the end she grew to tolerate him and even slept on our bed with him (discreetly separated) occasionally. 

A few years ago, another Gerlach cat, a pretty friendly tabby joined the household, and she and Rulon bonded.  He loved her and liked to lick her ears.  She even let him sniff her butt, something the other female cat disdained (to put it mildly).  The new girl kitty wanted to play, and Rue was just too old to play, but they both would sleep on my lap while I watched TV, providing a wonderful excuse for long naps and being lazy.

Rulon had long had dental problems and had oral surgery twice.  The last time he wasn't toleraing the surgery well due to the anesthesia, which left him with dental problems which could not be remedied.  A few weeks ago he experienced difficulty eating and we tried to find food he could eat, like cat soup and baby food and his favorite food mixed with water.  This lasted for a while, but he had more and more difficulies and just wanted to lie down on the heat register wrapped in a down duvet, warmer than warm on his tired, skinny cat bones.

He continued to climb on the bed every night and sleep part of the night on each of us, still sharing the love.  He will be missed by his housemates and his owners, who are so sad that he is gone. This is something every pet owner must face and it never gets easier. 

Now the dynamic will have changed and the two girl kitties must find their way together.  As we all will.

Goodbye, Rue.

Rulon, president of the Gerlach Nevada cat club

Festival Madness now on the Kindle

How far would you go for a friend? Put a wrecking ball to your marriage? Endanger your job? Risk your very life?
Boston-based computer security consultant Emma Lee Devens leaves her top-secret project in disarray and jeopardizes her troubled marriage when she rushes to find her missing friend and colleague. Emma’s search takes her to the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada and the Burning Man Festival where a unique experience of survival, ceremonial fire, danger and transcendence awaits. Anything can happen at Burning Man. Even murder.  

http://tinyurl.com/lsvcq9h

The Truth About Burning Man

Now it can be told:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jay-michaelson/the-truth-about-burning-m_b_279464.html

Still wanting to be back on the Playa. Last year I was there a week after the Burn and there were about 2,000 old beater bicycles piled up for disposal.

The dust- - what can one say about the dust? It was omnipresent. But about 4:00 p.m. I would pour a nice glass of rum and some ice and sit on the old beater sofa on the little porch in Gerlach with my book and a fly swatter. The golden light and the quietness, the flies didn't buzz noisily, give one peace. The rum and the solace of the beautiful late afternoon help, too.

About as good as it gets.

The Man Burns

The New York Times has a incredibly cool photo of Burning Man today. Yup, the Man burns on Saturday. I haven't been there since 2004, not to the Festival that is. Pining to return to the Playa. In the photo I can see my characters Emma and Jean Claude, looking at the art in the desert.

Festival Madness hasn't sold, and I've not been able to drum up any interest. Would that some of the agents who have yet to respond see the stuff in the times and say, "hey, didn't I just have a query about Burning Man?"

I am going to break a rule this week, and send a photo from the paper along with my query. That's a no-no, but WTF? Nothing I've done so far has sparked a burning interest in the novel.

Whatever drummer I am marching to these days appears to be out in the desert (the playa?) banging out a rhythm that nobody but me can follow. You'd think this would be good for a writer, but it's not.

My suspense novel is approaching 70,000 words. Writing some fun stuff now, and in a few pages the computer is stolen. This book will end up in Gerlach, last town before the Man. With a shootout. And the world's most unlikely hero will surface. And there will be redemption.

In the meantime, this is the week to push Festival Madness.

http://www.burningman.com/

http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/subjects/b/burning_man_festival/index.html

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It's been raining since I got back from Florida on the 5th of June. We are growing webbed feet. The tomatos will have the flavor of rain water, or cardboard, or elements of both. Tomatoes need sun. Curses!

This weekend, peaches were on sale. Bought peaches, strawberries, bananas, etc. Now everything is ripe at once. Making a peach crisp, but it serves eight and we are two. Grapeshot and S.O. plus eight.

It took me the longest time to figure out who Jon and Kate were, and now they are getting a divorce with eight little kids. These reality show suck more than anything. But they are popular and of course, they're cheap to produce. Give me Entourage, or Damages or In Treatment any day. Hell, I'll even take Hercule Poirot. Love the golf, love the baseball. Even tennis. Real reality, real drama, real conflict, not a bunch of b.s. I like authenticity.

Writing a bit again. Much to do. Miles to go.

A friend sent a link to some flickr photos. Near Gerlach, Nevada, as the end of the road, but not the railroad. Fab. photos, and what a rainbow. Noah himself must have ordered it.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tremain_calm/

Grapeshot

The End of the Road

It ain't easy livin' at the end of the road, if you will excuse my Palinism. The folks in Empire and Gerlach, Nevada are finding this out because the little store in Empire that serves both tiny communities has closed due to a dispute.

Now folks have to drive to Reno or Fernley. Reno is 117 miles from Gerlach, over two-lane road, thru Indian reservations where the speed limit dips to 20. There are frequently cows on the road, because the land is open range. The shoulders are soft. Speed at your own risk.

Open range means no fences. Don't Fence Me In. How many of you have driven across Open Range.

If you got a really early start you could get to Reno by 9:30 a.m., spend an hour or more (better have a good, long list) at the supermarket, lug everything into the car and be back in Northern Nevada--Gerlach or Empire or one of the little ranches in the big Area Beyond Reno by 1:00 p.m. if you didn't stop for lunch or coffee or do some other shopping.

Of course if you made it all the way to Reno you might want to go to the drug store, the hardware store, buy a pair of socks and have a bite to eat--there's only one restaurant, Bruno's, in Gerlach (none in Empire) and while Bruno's rocks, a Mexican or Italian meal--a little variety might be good. Of course you would also want to get your teeth cleaned, buy a CD, take Fido to the vet--there are lots of things that aren't available in Gerlach. Did I mention haircut?

Holy freakin' crap! Can all this be done in one day? The end of the road engenders strong people and animals, too.

Is this Palin country? I don't know of any 4th of July parades. There is a kind of live and let live attitude, but people do look out for each other. No more than they would do in a city. Where did this city vs. small town rivalry come from? Guess Caribou Barbie doesn't read the NYTimes Talk of the Town. Of course, she doesn't read much of anything from what we know. Talks like it, too. But onward.

I don't know of Boosterism, at the end of the road, although the high school has a car wash for vehicles leaving Burning Man. This year there was a community garden. Stuff grows in the desert if you water it. You can pick Empire and Reno out ten miles off because there are trees, which bear fruit if you water them. Trees in the desert. A little oasis, and then Gerlach has the restored water tower, compliments of (mostly) city folk who actually do care.

It costs about $45.00 in gas for a round trip unless you drive a vehicle that gets 10 mpg and then it costs $90.00.

Maybe the folks should start a dairy herd and a bakery. And a big greenhouse. I feel sorry for the seniors, and those on disability checks which make up a big part of Gerlach. Empire is a US Gypsun town, but the isolation is still complete. It's a beautiful drive up from Reno. The hills and mountains and weird rock formations and the dry lake beds and little roads to nowhere or mines or ranches--it's a land of mystery and hardscrabble living.

Of course it's hard to eat mountains and beauty and mirages and jack rabbits and someone elses cows.

Life is hard at the end of the road. Read about it in the Reno Gazette.
http://www.rgj.com/article/20081012/NEWS/810120360

In Flight

The working title of my new book is "In Flight," with nothing to do with planes and everything to do with running from scary people who want to kill you. I'm 23,000 words into the book, assuming it will run about 100,000 words, quite normal for a suspense book.

Right now, I'm getting the romance that will be critical to the story off the ground, and introducing the characters. The ex-wife is the last character, and she'll appear about mid-book. I have my first restaurant scene. Not many of those--this will be the only one set in a nice restaurant. Everything else will be road food or eating on the run. Literally.

Did you notice in Da Vinci Code that no one ever stopped to eat or go to the bathroom even though they were travelling all over Europe? Maybe somehow had a supply of granola bars, but I doubt it. When is Dan Brown's latest book coming out? People have almost stopped asking.

I'm learning about the golf tour and teaching swimming and for a short story I'm writing, about a robot fish. No time to query agents lately. Seems futile. They don't answer emails, at least half of them don't. The author never knows where the missive landed, if it did.

An editor has had my book for 10 months now, and in the meantime, I've rewritten part of it. So it goes. I noticed the tiny store in Empire had lots of Burning Man books, calendars, etc., and I figure if the book is ever published, I can sell it at Bruno's in Gerlach and at the Empire store and the Reno Airport and if Reno has a bookstore, there, too. So that would bring in some steady sales.

Still waiting for a signing at the bookstore on Hiddensee off Ruegen. It would have been such an honor and so much fun. Sigh. Pipe dreams.

Grapeshot

Last Day at the End of the Road

Did not go to the Opal Mines. Did not pass go. Did not leave the yard. Sat on the old white couch on the deck and read and worked crossword puzzles all day. Petted the cat. Drank some wine and some rum, not together. Ate leftover Spanish Rice for dinner.

Tomorrow the long drive, the long flight. No food. Yuck. I have my trusty granola bars.

Next Monday I have invited my writing group to dinner. It's hard to feed 6 - 8 on a Monday night after a busy weekend. I have a yummy chicken-pasta casserole with a mornay sauce I was planning to make. When I announced this, someone said she was on weight watchers and would bring a salad. So I am re-thinking the menu as to make it diet-friendly. Of course, Lasagne doesn't work either, nor would a tortilla casserole. Maybe a turkey breast on the grill with corn on the cob and tomatoes provencal. Kind of bland. I have a diet rice pudding that might make a decent dessert.

I'm going to New Hampshire and work for Obama.

Enough for now. Life is still weird at the end of the road.

Grapeshot

Aaaachooo from the end of the road

Aeons ago, I had allergy shots which provided a cure. Now, suddenly, 77 miles from the nearest store my hay fever has gone into high gear. I'm making do with some Tylenol cold medicine which stops the sneezing and runny nose.

We do laundry in an "egg" which works pretty well for small hand laundry stuff like underwear and socks but not towels. For towels and sheets, you go to Bruno's laundromat, all three washers. Bruno's has a monopoly here. Restaurant, gas station, motel, casino, laundromat, rental mobil homes, you name it, Bruno's got it.

If I ever went into the witness protection program, I might consider Northern Nevada.

Last night there was a "talent show' at one of the local watering holes. This town has several bars, including Brunos, of course.

The last of the Burners, the DPW crew were whoopping it up. God, they were young and with attitude and I felt like, well, old, and I left the party to the younger crowd. Some guy knew I had written a book and maybe he said he had it or had read it. In the noise I couldn't hear. Came home and watched CSI Miami, Nip/Tuck and House. Nip/Tuck is one sick weird program, but it compels. House was one I had seen before. So it goes.

The sun is rising and I can see a gazillion ripe pears on a tree a few doors down. My black sweater is drying on the line from yesterday. We made Spanish Rice with the wonderful tomatoes from the garden and some other stuff that was lying around. I like to take a look at what's available in the larder and cook something.

Today we're driving up to the Opal Mine toward Soldier Meadow, so I won't do big cooking.

Greetings and Aaachhhooo from the end of the road.

Grapeshot

NEIBA photos

The car is unpacked and the booth needs to be stashed on the garage shelves, a two-person job.

I'm drooling over all the books we picked up, including War and Peace, Christmas presents, and plenty of good airplane reading.

Toni Kelner and Dana Cameron are blogging NEIBA, as well as many other Sisters in Crime and MWA members. Isn't the blogosphere cool?

I'm going on one of my semi-annual pilgrimages to my tiny place Northern Nevada tomorrow, so postings may be scanty. On the other hand, I may write volumes. Photos will be fab. And the books come with. That's a Chicago expression that pains S.O., but I still like it.

Next post will be recipes, so come back soon.

Grapeshot

Nevada Nocturne

I've been working on a poem for the past two evenings. I change it whenever I pull it up on my computer.


Nevada Nocturne ©

In Gerlach , Nevada,
In the deep September night,
A slide whistle player tooted along the street
A cheerful sound, whistling in the dark.

Somewhat later, the long freight,
Having crossed the Black Rock Desert,
Raced through, passing the old water tower.
And shaking the single-wide where I slept.

I have always known
Trains racing through the night
Trains running west
Trains vibrating sound, like a tornado.

And I slept again.

Still later, but before dawn
In the hills beyond Gerlach,
The coyotes howled
A lonesome plaintive sound,

And I slept again
Into the September morn,
In Gerlach, Nevada
Soundlessly.