Back from vacation

I just returned from visiting my brother's place in upstate NY. Most of my family took a trip up for an extended weekend at his and his partner's invitation. They were the perfect hosts, dealing with the varied family, our mixed up schedules, and our apparent inability to get moving as a group any time before 10:00 AM.

My brother's partner works for Martha Stewart, working the artistic aspect in the publishing of her many books. You can see a lot of her influence in what he does. Even when he and my brother are prepping for a party for 25 family and friends, making everything from scratch, including four varieties of ice cream, he's always calm and collected. I would be a frazzled, grumpy mess.

We had a very nice time. The only downer was the evening before we left. My mom called home to check on the cats and learned that my oldest cat who adopted me in college when she appeared on the window sill of my third storey room died in her sleep that evening. Yucca was 19. I was expecting it for some time. She had lost more than half her weight since I moved out in 2004 (I don't think she was even 5 pounds) and she was drinking tons of water. For that to happen in a cat usually means kidney disease to me.

The Huckster (one of my many nick names for her) was a good girl, a beautiful black cat with green eyes. She was probably the most outgoing cat we had. She could easily get along with people and other cats. The only group she couldn't tolerate was unneutered toms. Whenever they came near, she'd warn them off with a series of hisses and growls. How she ever had Rambler and Wilcox, her kittens, is beyond me. She wasn't too fond of dogs, either, but she rarely ever came in contact with them.

So, I say good by to my little Yucca. You were a perfect, little cat, baby girl.