A Feline Life -- Diva Las Vegas Robinson

The photo above is how I chose to remember my "furry adopted daughter" of 16 years, Diva Las Vegas Robinson. After a bout with an aggressive cancer that left her emaciated, I had her put to sleep on Halloween. The cat whose sursurration sounded like the lower register of a piano purred until she fell asleep in my arms for the last time.

I hadn't planned to adopt her on a rainy Ground Hog Day in 2008. My other cat, Tuffy (A.K.A. Tuff-Punk), and I moved into a Vacaville townhouse, and I thought he would want a feline friend. (The "fluffy, not fat" orange tabby dispelled that notion. Oh, well.) I went to a pet adoption event held by the Solano Friends of Animals in the Pet Food Express store in Benicia. The cat I had wanted to adopt, a female black American shorthair named Tashi, had already been adopted. I looked at other cats in their cages reaching out their paws in hopes of finding their permanent homes. One black-and-white tuxedo cat cowered in her cage with her wide jade eyes. When one of the pet rescue group's volunteers opened the cage and placed the cat named "Demi" in my arms, the feline felt limp. It was then that I decided to take her home.

When I walked in the door with a new cat carrier with the new cat, Tuffy yowled in protest and hissed at the interloper. I decided to drive back to Benicia in the storm and return "Demi." When I walked to the pet rescuers, one of them sent me back home with an admonition borrowed from "Project Runway's" Tim Gunn: "Make it work!"

I drove back to Vacaville, "Demi" meowing the entire return trip. When I entered, I went into the spare bedroom and opened the carrier door. "Demi" emerged from her temporary refuge, stretched, and head-butted and rubbed against me, purring loudly the entire time. Unfortunately, I had to keep her in the room, to which she loudly objected. Her cried prompted me to rename her "Diva" because she sounded like a demanding opera star. 

Tuffy was not only unamused, but unforgiving. He hissed at her for weeks, hoping she would go away. Eventually, he adjusted to her presence.

As Diva adjusted to her new "furever" home, she became more loving with me and assertive with Tuffy, standing her ground when he would hiss at her. We settled into this rhythm until August 2013, when I had to have Tuffy put to sleep after a bout with kidney failure. A week later, I adopted another orange tabby, Lady Marmalade, who also bullied Diva. But Diva proved resilient, sometimes using her secret weapon -- her long claws. She was more a lover, not a fighter, though.

We moved twice since Marmie's adoption, first into a three-bedroom rental home in south Vacaville and into my current two-bedroom halfplex in Sacramento's Pocket-Greenhaven neighborhood. Both had adjusted to the moves. 

Diva walked with confidence, which prompted me to add her middle name "Las Vegas" because she strutted like a showgirl with her front legs almost crossing each other and her tail in the air. She claimed my office chair as hers, along with a box filled with my bed linens for sleeping.

Earlier this year, Diva had a urinary tract infection, which a veterinarian treated with amoxicillin and ibuprofen for the pain. I didn't really think there was anything terribly wrong with her when she would sleep longer and eat less. Early in October, when I felt her ribs and hipbones, I contacted the vet for a regular appointment that was supposed to be the day before Thanksgiving.

Diva became weaker, and I relayed the information to my younger sister, who advised me to call the vet again for an emergency appointment. At first, I hesitated because I didn't want to put Diva to sleep yet. However, I didn't want her to suffer either. So, I called the veterinarian, and the advice nurse urged me to take Diva to the emergency room.

After an examination and blood text, a vet came into the examination room where I was awaiting word on my "Baby Grr." He told me that her white blood cell count was elevating and he believed she had cancer from the rapid weight loss. (She dropped nearly half her body weight to 6.6 pounds, her weight when I adopted her as a kitten.) He nixed my idea for taking Diva home, saying she would suffer. So, I reluctantly agreed to euthanasia.

I was taken into a room with two leather couches. Later, a veterinary technician dressed in a cat costume arrived with Diva wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket with a port sticking out from her front right paw. She gave us time alone for me to say goodbye. I told Diva that I loved her to the moon and back and I'm sorry I had failed her. I whispered that I was honored to have been her cat mom. Later, the vet entered, connected the port to a tube that had the "forever sedative," and put Diva to sleep.

I arrived home with an empty cat carrier, went into my bedroom, and cried myself to sleep with Lady Marmalade beside me. 

Today, it's just the two of us. I am in a monthly pet loss support group and reading a book on pet loss grief. I'm trying to live my life with as much normalcy as possible, given the circumstances. I think Diva would have wanted it that way.

Diva had outlasted any pet I had either as a member of my family or alone. If I were to go to Heaven, I would hope to awake in a field with Diva resting on my shoulder and Tuffy and Marmie at my sides.

Diva, I will always love you.💓

Writing Diva

"United" We Fall

"The United States of America" is a misnomer.

I posit that the United States has been divided over one issue or another since its founding. Slavery, racism, availability of birth control, interracial marriage, unequal treatment of women, homelessness, LGBTQ rights, COVID-19 policies, and the widening income gaps are among the many fault lines crossing this nation's landscape. One of the deepest, widest fissures is abortion.

In 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled 7-2 in Roe v. Wade that the U.S. Constitution protects a pregnant woman's freedom to end her pregnancy without excessive government intervention.

Yesterday (May 2, 2022), Politico published a draft of the proposed Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization decision. The case addresses the constitutionality of a 2018 Mississippi law that bans abortion after 15 weeks. Associate Justice Samuel Alito drafted the majority opinion stating that Roe must be overruled. Four other associate justices -- Clarence Thomas, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett -- sided with Alito. Justices Stephen Breyer, Sonia Sotomayor, and Elena Kagan are dissenting. It's unknown how Chief Justice John Roberts will vote.

"The Constitution makes no reference to abortion, and no such right is implicitly protected by any constitutional provision, including the one on which the defenders of Roe ... now chiefly rely -- the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment," Alito wrote. 

The leak of the 98-page draft decision was a first. Chief Justice Roberts vowed to investigate the source of the leak. What I find interesting is the timing of the leak -- before the midterm primary elections.

Should the draft decision become official, abortion law will be left to the states. Thirteen states have "trigger laws" in place that would ban abortions immediately. Twenty-three in all could outlaw the practice. The United States would become a hodgepodge of areas allowing or prohibiting abortion. 

My stance on the issue is that, had I become pregnant, whether in or out of wedlock, I would have had the child because I believe the child is a life. But that's my belief. It is not my place to force my belief on anyone, especially on a woman of childbearing age making the agonizing decision whether to give birth.

For people who want to unite this nation, I fear that horse has left the barn. With discord over COVID-19 mask and vaccine policies, race relations, LGBTQ rights, and abortion, I'm afraid I will see this country implode during my lifetime. 

Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself

After a year and a half absence, this blog is back. I wouldn't say it's "better than ever," but this writer has grown a bit.

When I started this blog in 2008, I was nearing 50, single, and the pet parent of two cats. The latter two descriptions still apply, but I'm in my early 60s. 

The biggest difference is that I'm writing for an audience of one -- me. If you come along for the ride, you're more than welcome.

So, a few things about me. Don't say I didn't warn you!

• As you can see from my latest photo, I'm an African American woman. I'm a fifth-generation Californian whose late father migrated here from the Jim Crow South. (I call my siblings and myself "Southern by proxy.") Although I was born and raised in Sacramento, I spent nearly half of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area (Walnut Creek, Fairfield, and Vacaville) and a year in Bellingham, Washington.
• I live in a simple halfplex in an established Sacramento neighborhood with home prices ranging from the $400,000s to more than a million dollars. I don't want or need a big house. 🏡 My halfplex is a fixer-upper, but I love it. Like me, my home is a work in progress. (In a future entry, I will write about how I ended up with this house.)
  
• My Christian faith anchors my emotional and mental well-being. However, my path in following Jesus is rough, and I fall down often. My biggest flaw is that I have the mouth of a longshoreman. I take responsibility for it. If I were to explain how I got such a foul mouth with which I struggle, working in a newsroom for 12 years contributed a great deal.
• Speaking of my faith, I don't proselytize. If you ever want to know my "testimony," I will sit with you and tell you. My Christian beliefs align mostly with those of pastor John Pavlovitz, who writes a blog title "Stuff That Needs to Be Said" and wrote the book If God Is Love, Don't Be a Jerk. 
• Jumping to politics, my views are left-centrist. I believe strongly in contributing to a social net for the disadvantaged. But there has to be accountability in how all tax money is spent. And I believe that corporations and millionaires on up should pay their fair share in taxes. Close those loopholes! 
• Finally, I love animals. I have two cats and hope to adopt a rescue dog someday. In the meantime, Lady Marmalade is my "attack cat." 🐈

I'm going to try to submit my entries weekly. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Writing Diva

Voting Shouldn't Be Hard

During this 2020 general election, I've been reading messages to "vote as if your life depended on it -- because it does."

Last week I delivered my completed ballot to a Sacramento County Elections ballot box in my neighborhood supermarket. Yesterday, I received an email from the Sacramento County Elections Department stating that it had received my ballot and it would be counted.

Since voting in my first election in 1978, I have missed only two elections. I don't take casting my ballot for granted. My paternal grandmother paid her property taxes on time in the Jim Crow South to maintain her right to vote. My family would go to the polling place together to perform their civic duty. Even when I was living in northwest Washington state during a presidential election year, I voted absentee on a California ballot.

While I was glad to see that my ballot reached the intended destination, I was dismayed when I read reports of people in Georgia waiting up to 10 hours to get inside their polling places to vote.  

Texas has limited the number of places to drop off absentee ballots to one per county. One would think that government officials would encourage more voting, not less.

Unfortunately, voter suppression has been part of U.S. elections since the era of Reconstruction in the mid-1800s. Some powerful people within and outside government don't want to hear the voices of people of color, women, and members of the LGBTQ community. They know the vote is the most powerful weapon we have. Why else would the powers that be work so hard to suppress the vote?

After this election is over and the dust settles (God willing), I would like to donate to or volunteer with a voting rights organization. I believe people should have more voting options besides having to drive long distances to a polling place or waiting 10 hours or more to cast a ballot.

 The late U.S. Congressman John Lewis said, "The vote is the most powerful nonviolent tool we have." 

Don't waste it.

Writing Diva

"Because ... It's MY Money!"

At this writing, I am five years and nine days away from retirement. I mention this because I’m concerned that the recently approved federal tax reform plan will eventually use my hard-earned Social Security and Medicare earnings (That’s right, earnings!) to help pay for the tax cuts to corporations, millionaires, and billionaires.

My response to such a monstrous move cannot be printed in a family publication.

 

If I were to delay my retirement until I turned 66 years old and 10 months, I would take home $2,181 per month before taxes. In addition to my Social Security earnings and my state government pension, I have a 401K account in the low five figures and a small IRA.

Although there are ongoing threats to my pension, this post focuses on the danger facing Social Security and Medicare. The $1.5 trillion tax bill approved by Congress provides a tax cut to working families that expires after 2025. Corporations win a permanent tax cut from 35 percent to 21 percent.

Because the tax bill will increase the national debt by $1.5 trillion over 10 years, something must be done to address the shortfall. Senator Marco Rubio (R-Florida) proposed two things: "We have to generate economic growth which generates revenue, while reducing spending. That will mean instituting structural changes to Social Security and Medicare for the future."

So, I'm inferring that cuts in both programs go toward paying down the deficit from (partially) tax cuts to corporations and rich people.

Again, my response cannot be printed in a family publication.

I have worked for 35 years for the private then public sectors, enduring incompetent and bullying bosses along the way. I have a little more than five years from the finish line. I want my prize: low-cost health care and my retirement funds, which include my full Social Security allocation.

Because of this Trojan horse of a law, I will work in 2018 to get people elected who oppose this legislative mess. Why? As a famous comedian said as a tag line for a commercial for a defunct investment company, "It's my money!"

Writing Diva

Breaking the Ice (Or How I Became the Writing Diva!)

The following is from a speech I prepared for a speakers' group at my workplace. Enjoy!

My name is Carol Evonne Robinson, and I’m a word nerd.

I know it sounds like an introduction for a 12-step group. Let me tell you how I became a word nerd!

Reading and writing have been a part of my life since I was 3, and I’m glad to use my passion for prose in my position as chief editor for the California Energy Commission.

My love for the written word began when my father, an offset feeder for what is now the Office of State Publishing, would bring home imperfect textbooks for my six siblings and me to read. From a geography textbook about South America, I would practice words like “Brazil,” “river,” and “country.” I began writing at 6 years old, not just my name and address, but stories about imaginary places and real happenings on my street in Oak Park.

Although I attended UC Davis with the intention of going to medical school to become an obstetrician-gynecologist, science and math didn’t come easily to me. But writing always had. I worked as a news reporter for the campus radio station, one of three jobs I held while carrying a full course load. Writing and airing stories about events on and off campus gave me a rush.

Five years after graduation, I became a reporter for a small newspaper in Bellingham, Washington, then a small town 90 miles north of Seattle along Interstate 5. After a year there, I worked for small papers in Northern California, closer to home.

What I learned from my 12-year stint in newspapers is that people wanted news they could understand without the jargon they didn’t. At first, I would write the way city and county government officials wrote and spoke because it sounded “official.” But my city editors taught me that readers wanted to know what was happening and how it would affect them.

Of my 16-plus years working for the State of California, I spent 12 here at the Energy Commission. When I took the writing test my soon-to-be supervisors gave, it was supposed to take an hour. After taking the test and checking my results, I saw that I had finished in a half-hour.

When I edit, I have one character flaw – I curse under my breath. I’m not patient regarding terms like “in order” or “make contact with.” I bite my lip when I see needless capitalization. When it comes to working with prose, I’m a cross between ChloeO’Brien from the TV series “24” and Academy Award-, Emmy-, Grammy-, and Tony-winning actress Whoopi Goldberg. In other words, I do not suffer fools gladly – that is, I have no patience for nonsense, in print or in person. (Your fault, Dad!) So, when you see my edits, please don’t take it personally.

One of the most influential pieces I’ve read is an essay by George Orwell – “Politics and the English Language.” He also wrote Animal Farm and 1984. The essay focuses on the use of verbose, unclear language to hide the truth rather than express it. I consider editing reports for plain language to be a mission. Although energy scientists, economists, and analysts may know what the reports communicate, regular people who read at a ninth-grade level often don’t. I enjoy what I do because my position combines my writing skills with public service.

To conclude, I’d like to think that when I retire, I will write my own book and read the 250 books in my collection. From toddler to elder, I remain a word nerd.

My Mom, the Superhero

Last night, I was making dinner after a long day at work editing a 469-page report due in two business days. After dinner, I made four dozen Toll House® cookies for a coworker’s birthday. In the meantime, I washed dishes, folded clothes, and prepared for work the next day. When I finally got to bed at 11:15 p.m., I fell asleep immediately.

This morning, on the eve of the 19^th anniversary of my mother’s passing, I awoke with an epiphany: Claudia “Deena” Buford Robinson was a superhero. If I could, I’d call her “Wonder Woman” because I wonder how she did it all.

During her entire adult life, Mom raised seven children – five daughters and two sons – and an occasionally obtuse husband. (Still love you, Dad!) She worked for the California Department of Motor Vehicles headquarters in Sacramento, rising through the ranks from clerk to supervisor before retiring. In addition to taking care of the house (and rounding up the “herd of cats” to help), she handled the household finances, took us children shopping for clothes, and attended school events in the evening after she had worked the entire day.

Furthermore, she still had time to listen to our problems, play with us, and sing and dance with us.

However, she did not tolerate disobedience or talking back from us. The James Brown song “Papa Don’t Take No Mess” easily applied to Mama. She admonished us not to do anything that would land us in jail because she would not visit. Because of my parents’ steadfast goal of raising good citizens, the four older siblings are retired from government and university positions, and the three younger ones, including this writer, are working toward that gold watch.

My mother endured tough times, but she also persevered, with grace and humor. Frankly, when I was a teen, I thought sometimes I didn’t want to be like her because I wanted more out of life than what she had. I realize now that there’s no way I could step into her size 7 pumps and do what she did without losing my mind or energy.

So, here’s to you, Mom – a true superhero. I know in my heart that Heaven made room for you.

Writing Diva