As some may recall, the saga of Goliath, the LVA rescue kitten, had a happy ending. Not only has he found a new, loving home but the hyperactive little fellow (whose new owners renamed him "Murderface") has developed an interest in technology:

"Robin said he’s obsessed with the computer — he’ll shimmy up her leg or the back of the chair, then either perch on her shoulder or sit in front of the monitor and bat at the cursor on screen."

Since my two cats only acknowledge computers to the extent of sitting either A) on the mouse pad or B) in front of the screen, effectively blocking it, Goliath would appear to be part of that younger, techno-savvy generation.

Sue Lowden = Klingons? The senatorial candidacy of Archon Corp. Treasurer Sue Lowden is evidently being taken quite seriously by Sen. Harry Reid. So much so that Reid's office has threatened to "vaporize" Lowden, prompting some musings on the proper response to phaser fire. If Reid wanted to do Nevadans a service, shouldn't he instead vaporize Lowden's Pioneer Gambling Hall, a grind joint that's been likened to the barren, depressing, post-2004 Vegas Club downtown?

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I want the movie rights to this. 'Nuff said.

We're #1! For an overdue change, Nevada leads the nation in a good category (first item). And, if you scroll waaaaaaaaaaaay to the bottom, there's an interesting bit about and airfare-and-room deal from Wynn Resorts. (Way to bury it, R-J.)

Update: The Sun has a better report in re Wynn. I shoulda known.

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 ... to everyone who wrote in and overwhelmed us with messages of condolence regarding the late Shadow. Time doesn't permit writing individual replies to each and every one of you, although you have touched my heart deeply. So thanks go out to Steve Kallis (and I would imagine the Humane Society thanks you, too), Jeff in OKC, Jason the poolman, Richard Abowitz, arm53, detroit1051, Frank P., William Heckel (check out his Web site), Jinx (ditto), Aaron, Jim and smudger.

The apartment still seems very empty without Shadow's graceful -- if sometimes surprisingly obstreperous -- presence. Her brother, Mr. Bit, needs a lot of comforting. Fasolt is pretty much the same as ever.

Eventually the painful memories will recede and the good ones will take their place. Right now it's difficult to visualize Shadow other than as I last saw her, lying on the veterinarian's table, emaciated and misshapen, with her stomach bloated by the tumor. Her eyes seemed to say, "Let me go," but you're never adequately prepared for when they bring her back with a catheter sticking from her forearm, let alone for when you have to tell the vet it's OK to administer the lethal injection.

However, Shadow was in the extremely ethical hands of Mountain Vista Animal Hospital, one of Las Vegas' greatest assets. They could have strung me along with false hope and thereby milked my bank account dry, but they were most candid about the gravity of the situation. Thanks to them, Shadow's suffering was relatively brief. I hope I'm so fortunate when it's my turn to shuffle off this mortal coil.

In the meantime, it's a little difficult to give a rat's patootie about what's happening in the casino industry. I'm sure you understand why.

Besides ... the fallout from last week's blog meltdown continues to descend. Our linking capabilities are temporarily kaput and the photo library has vanished. Hence the somewhat gray and bare-bones look of S&G these days. Darn, and I have this great screencap of Edward Quartermain looking for all the world like Sheldon Adelson ...

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Jennifer & I just said goodbye to a faithful friend of 13 years, Shadow. A slim, sleek Norwegian Forest Cat, she came into my life on a fine autumn afternoon in 1996. I was still recovering from a broken engagement and, while taking a walk, came across a yard sale being conducted by a woman who was moving to Brazil. There, up for sale, was a beautiful blue-gray cat who was the spitting image of Buddy, my ex-fiancée's adorable Norwegian (who I missed far more than I did my ex).

As it turned out, Shadow also had an obstreperous brother, Bit (later promoted to Mr. Bit). Although I was only looking for one cat, I didn't have the heart to break brother and sister up, and took both. Shadow was well named, as she was invisible in darkness -- causing her to get tripped over and stepped on far more times than I'd care to admit -- and had the alarming habit of diving at your feet, an accident waiting to happen.

Unlike her brother, Shadow took to her new living situation at once. The only problem was the resultant friction between senior cat Fasolt and Shadow, which would never be resolved. They'd spend the next 13 years spatting. A couple of years after Shadow and Mr. Bit joined our family, job prospects in Minneapolis had dried up but multiple opportunities presented themselves in Las Vegas. So, in January 1999, my brother Vincent drove Shadow and Mr. Bit cross-country, while I flew Fasolt to Las Vegas. The climate seemed to agree with them -- to say nothing of the profusion of juicy birds who dwelt nearby. Mr. Bit did, however, take several days to emerge from his hiding place in the kitchen cupboard.

Fast-forward a decade, and Shadow was showing signs of decrepitude and weight loss. (She was always lighter than air, but still ... ) Her movements became stiffer, her lethargy more pronounced and she became reclusive. At first, I chalked this up to advancing age but eventually, she gave up on using the litter box, too. A number of medical tests failed to detect anything wrong.

As late as last Tuesday, Shadow was running about the apartment, having an episode of the 'nighttime crazies.' But, by Friday her belly was alarmingly bloated while the rest of her was emaciated and rail-thin. A visit to the vet brought the dreaded news: Shadow had a buildup of fluid in her abdomen and, beneath that, a tumor. Even a best-case scenario involving surgery and chemotherapy would only buy her a few more months on Earth. She was whimpering from the pain and the spark of her personality was all but extinguished.

We said our farewells as the last moments of Shadow's life ebbed away. Many tears were shed. Her body is gone, soon to be cremated, but her spirit will live in our hearts and minds and souls forever, for she is part of us in a way that death cannot sunder. Still ... I will miss feeling her sleeping across my feet or knees when I'm sick in bed ... chasing the dot of the laser pointer ... sliding across the linoleum in pursuit of a runaway twist-tie ... yelling at me when her dinner wasn't promptly served ... sulking if her water did not have ice cubes in it, per her preference ... dipping her right paw in aforesaid water and licking it off (making the water dirty for everyone else, but little did she care) ... burrowing her forehead into my wrist as though to say "Thank you," when dinner was served ... reclining regally in the nearest patch of sun ... and, perhaps most of all, "helping" her Daddy work by curling up in his lap at the computer desk.

At least once, I came back to find her sitting on the keyboard, as though to say, "No more Internet, Dad!"

Thanks for reminding me of what is important, Shadow. We will never stop missing you.

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Goliath sneaks up on erstwhile housemate Piglet.

After a week of foster parenting, we were able to find a good, loving home for Goliath (although it near to broke our hearts to see him go). His new family is set to spoil him rotten and looked like kids on Christmas morning when they finally saw his bandit-masked face. They'd already bought a "kitty condo" and toys for him, and word is that he's become comfortably ensconced in his new abode in nothing flat. The only adjustment problem may be that Goliath's idea of "playtime" is 2 a.m., something with which mere humans may have difficulty coping.

(According to our blogging software, this is officially the 1,500th S&G posting. Who'da thunk it'd ever go the distance?)

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Scarlett, Princess of Magic has settled into her new revue, Scarlett and her Seductive Ladies of Magic, which finally gives me a reason to encourage people to visit the Riviera. The video below is taken from Scartlett's family-friendly V Theater show (long since closed) but many of the same tricks are reprised, on a bigger scale -- and with far less clothing. Her instance, the one-piece has devolved into a 'barely there' red bikini. Make sure your pacemaker is in working order.

There's some incredibly perfunctory toplessness from two assistants/dancers but it's Scarlett who brings the sexy -- and how! If this doesn't work out, she'd make a formidable contestant on Dancing with the Stars, too. I'm no great judge of magic but Scarlett is definitely the most hot-cha Strip headliner not named Marie Osmond. In a classy gesture, Scarlett's former presenter, David Saxe, was at the Riv last night amidst the well-wishers.

As for the Riv itself, corner-cutting is omnipresent, sometimes amusingly so. The post-Scarlett cocktail party featured but a lone plate of bruschetta and some cheese cubes. When they were (quickly) gone, they were gone. The Riv is just hanging on by its fingernails, even if it's not fallen off the cliff yet.

Amazed. It looks like an open-ended run is assured for this afternoon comedy show, highlighted by guitar-playing impressionist Mark Rayburn. (After you've seen him, you'll never take Gordie Brown seriously again.) Tickets are just a wee bit steep for a 2:30 p.m. show, but this is a winner, much better than certain comedy shows which I've seen and/or reviewed recently. I can't recommend it too highly. My more extended impressions of Amazed and Scartlett are due for publication in the near future.

Buffet bulletin. No word yet on whether MGM Grand, Luxor, Excalibur or Stratosphere are reining in their all-day buffet specials. Ben Bernanke's confidence notwithstanding, optimism in Vegas should be tempered with caution ... and price increases probably should not even be contemplated until those downward-trending visitation numbers start heading up for a change. One needn't be an economist to see that Nevada's recovery, when it happens, will be slow in coming.

The juice behind the juice. Could the speedy restoration of Privé's liquor license, following some cosmetic changes in management, have had another motive? Like maybe a precipitate dropoff in Planet Hollywood foot traffic? Xania Woodman reports, you decide.

Goliath gets a clean bill of health.

Goliath adopted? There's a glimmer of hope that little Goliath may soon find a new home. Why then am I so melancholy?

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For those of you have been asking about Goliath, here he is during last Friday's visit to Mountain Vista Animal Hospital:

At the time, he was understandably shy and a little bit frightened ...

... but on Monday he abruptly emerged from his shell and became quite gregarious. He's settling into foster-home life. Rascal, the resident male, has taken a paternal interest in Goliath and they've playing Hide & Seek, as well as curling up together. I do miss having Goliath around the office, though.

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A reader asks: "Doth thou humble Fasolt not feel intruded upon? Or does he reside at home whilst you work?"

The latter. Fasolt's sheer preponderance, not to mention his total aversion to the litter box, militate against taking him anywhere. However, he loves people and used to "assist" me at Casino Executive Magazine on select occasions. He's also got the good people at Mountain Vista Animal Hospital (one of Vegas' greatest treasures) eating out of his paw. He gets a hero's welcome every time he boards there.

Goliath, meanwhile, has found a foster home, which means he will not be a pleasant distraction at work. The "Colony Capital strikes (out) again" post was written with tiny Goliath asleep on my right knee. In two weeks, he should be ready for adoption, although we'd like to make sure he's going to a good home. At a mere 7-8 weeks, he's far better disciplined than some of my adult cats.

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... do not mix well, as you can see:

Goliath, the one-pound, two-ounce kitten we rescued from the I-15 "on" ramp by Caesars Palace, is climbing all over Yr. Humble Blogger -- as shown -- and, more to the point, all over my computer keyboard.

Goliath has not, however, so much as paused on Joel Stein's controversial Time cover story ("Welcome to Fabulous Less Vegas"), thereby proving Rita Mae Brown's adage that a page upon which a cat will not deign to sit is probably not worth reading anyway. Goliath's reign as LVA kitten-is-residence will be brief; a foster home has been arranged, pending his eventual adoption.

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As we were driving to LVA HQ this morning, we spotted a disoriented-looking little cat running through the Flamingo Rd./I-15 interchange, across from Caesars Palace. We were in a quandary about what to do until it turned and started ambling down the I-15 "on" ramp, heading straight for certain death. I ran down the ramp after it (the kitty's a fast little bugger), scooped it up in one hand and ...

Well, what to do? I am now the custodian of a small, tuxedo-patterned kitten who may be carrying God knows what infections. It's too docile to be a feral cat but it's definitely going to need a new residence. So if anybody reading this can lend a helping hand to a homeless kitty, contact me at dmckee@huntingtonpress.com. I could just plop the wee bairn out in the LVA parking lot, along with our resident strays, but they're all massive and it would be a very Darwinian situation, I fear.

Cheesparing at Station: The formidable Jean Scott has news of some recent and untoward developments at Station Casinos, as the bankrupt company resorts to new "economy" measures. While the Fertitta clan sinks approximately $90 million into Orange County mansions, they're recouping the cost of their poor business decisions out of their customers' hides.

Random observations: Last night, we celebrated my Better Half's birthday, partly at Cadillac Ranch, which seems to have an identity crisis. Its menu is slightly countrified (in a C&W sense), its walls are covered with photos of Baby Boomer rock stars (think Steven Tyler) and the video feed is heavy on hip-hop. Go figure. The root beer float is very good, though. At 10:30, as though by prearranged signal, an incoming tide of douchebags flooded the joint and we split ...

... the classy southern façade of Mandarin Oriental has now been marred by a building wrap, high up on one corner. It's small by building-wrap standards, managing to both spoil the view and look like a timid half-measure ...

... speaking of building wraps, Criss F. Angel has long since been evicted from the eastern façade of Luxor. A new wrap was placed on the northeast corner of Luxor's ancillary hotel, but it's also smallish and -- due to way the hotel's buttresses jut forward -- hard to see if you're driving into Vegas from the south. Then again, if I were MGM Mirage, I'd probably want to downplay with association with the widely ridiculed Mr. Angel, too.

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