Tag Archives: Elvis

Gone to heaven in ’77

There was much ado about yesterday being the anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. All kinds of memories, trivia and salutations blasted from live and social media platforms everywhere. Michele Bachman even wished Elvis a happy birthday.

Elvis died August 16, 1977. It was as big a deal then—my senior year in high school—as Michael Jackson’s sudden death a couple of years ago.

One reason I remember this so vividly is that another cultural icon died later that week; but the news was a bit overshadowed by the passing of The King.

My younger brother was deep in mourning because he lost both of his favorite entertainers in the same week. Elvis was one; the other was Groucho Marx.

My brother had been Groucho for Halloween just that year. No, wait. It wasn’t Halloween; he just dressed and got made up like Groucho. I had a theatrical make-up kit that contained hair for mustaches and eyebrows, as well as greasepaint to draw circles under, and wrinkles around, the eyes. There’s a framed picture somewhere; I’ll have to see if I can find it. Stay tuned.

Julius Henry “Groucho” Marx was almost 87 when he died, which might be why it wasn’t program-interrupting news. Elvis Aaron Presley was 42. All I know is that my little brother was one mopey 10-year-old.

Could it be that Elvis is really still alive? I Just Can’t Help Believing.

Should we honor the great Groucho this Friday? You Bet Your Life.

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Filed under Family and Friends, In Memoriam, Movies, Television and Radio, Music

All shook up

I blog today with a broken heart. In fact, my hands are shaky and my knees are weak, I can’t seem to stand on my own two feet.

Some time ago, I introduced you to Elvis. As cheesy as this might sound, my family and I fell hopelessly in love with Elvis, a 19-year-old deaf, arthritic cat when, about two months ago when, for whatever reason, he left his family and came to live on our side of the street. We suspected that he suspected that his long life was coming to an end.

I pretended that Elvis came to me, the hospice lady, for comfort and end-of-life care. The reality is, I fed him, as did our next door neighbors, who also provided him with a warm bed on their front porch. We all know what animals do when you feed them. But I took Elvis on as my latest hospice patient, giving him as much food as he wanted and wrapping him in a towel when he was too confused to take cover from the rain.

Yesterday, while away on a business trip, I received a message from our neighbor that Elvis had returned home to his family, where he died. According to the note, Elvis “spent the last several nights curled up inside, comfortably on a pillow.” As with most hospice situations, and as it should be, the patient died surrounded by family.

When I get home, I will kneel at the spot under our bushes where Elvis made his temporary home and remember how he brightened my life with his sweet purr and the meow that sounded like a duck quacking.

I can only hope that, wherever animals go when they die, Elvis lives on in his own Graceland.

Godspeed, Elvis. Love ya, buddy.


Filed under Family and Friends, Hearth and Home, In Memoriam

Can’t help falling in love

I have a new love in my life. He is black, has advanced arthritis, is mostly deaf and is 96. I am head over heels crazy about him. And I know he loves me. His name is Elvis.

Elvis is a 19-year-old cat who ran away from home, from across the street, about three weeks ago. He divides his time between our yard and that of our next door neighbors, with whom we share a driveway. In fact, the driveway is his favorite place to sleep. He doesn’t respond to the sound of a car engine or horn, which means I have to physically move him when I want to get in or out of the driveway.

The poor little guy is fur and bones, with a raspy Clint Eastwood-esque meow, with which he greets me every morning, before and after I go to the gym. He follows me to my front door, hoping to get a look at my house cats, Ricky and Lucy. It’s our little ritual. He still has quite a purr going, and he is wildly affectionate. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in going home; perhaps he knows something about his future that he wants to keep on the DL.

I love Ricky and Lucy dearly, but I have a special fondness for Elvis. Ricky and Lucy are my babies, but Elvis is my man, my scrawny little hunka burning love.


Filed under Family and Friends, Music