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Journal of a Sabbatical |
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July 26, 2000 |
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deptford pink |
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Adopt these cats at Merrimack River Feline Rescue Society. See cats, dogs, geese, and more at Adopt Homeless Paws. Adopt them. Today's Bird Sightings: Today's Reading: Cape Cod by Henry D. Thoreau Today's Starting Pitcher: Red Sox rained out
Plum Island Bird List
Copyright © 2000, Janet I. Egan |
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It takes me awhile to get into a rhythm. Once a pile of
clean dishes starts forming, I feel productive and engaged.
The pile of clean dishes in the drainer builds. I feel
euphoric. What's up with that? And that damn light over the
sink is burned out. A definite mixed blessing. On the one
hand it is not Sandy is sulking in his cage, still quarantined for biting. I'm sure he's wondering what the heck happened. Nobody has taken over the big yellow bucket yet, but Titan is strutting his stuff and trying to establish dominance while Sandy's out of commission. But the bucket, fridge, and sink area seems to hold no appeal for him. He'd rather entice cats away from the social center in Sid's cage. For awhile, even Sid gets interested in Titan's doings.
We're all in the swing of cleaning to the tune of
Tigger's kittenish meow when suddenly a whistle floats up
from the stairwell. A high pitched whistle that sounds
familiar. All ears, human and feline, turn toward the door.
The whistle sounds again. Closer. Roy! Sure enough, the door
opens and there is Roy piping himself aboard. Finally
recovered enough from the surgery the docs said he'd be over
in a
A French-speaking family with very deep suntans - they look like they've been basking on the beach all summer without a drop of sunscreen, the color I could never attain even if I did skip the sunscreen - come in looking for kittens. I direct them to Cindy in the office for an an adoption application and a look at the black and white kittens as well as the photos of kittens in the foster homes. They chatter in French and hover around Tigger's cage. Tigger hams it up for them. Cuteness personified - or felinified. They ask about adopting Tigger. I again direct them to Cindy while I play fake-mouse-on-a-string with Titan. Finally they connect with Cindy. By this time I am starving and developing caffeine withdrawal from having been unable to down the McDonald's coffee. Roy tells me he thinks McD's is as good as Dunkies. I say not. Then again, maybe it's just the North Andover McD's. The Salisbury McD's could be on a par with Dunkies... Anyway, I go get lunch at Angelina's and coffee at Fowle's to restore me. The TV at Angelina's is showing a documentary by and about a disabled artist who paints with a brush strapped to his head. The soda machine is out of change. The sandwich is good though. A drive-by birding pass in the gathering gloom yields one surprise: a western sandpiper. It's feeding in the salt pannes near some semipalmated sandpipers. At first I thought it was just another semipalmated, just a little chunkier. A closer look revealed a much thicker bill that kind of dropped down at the tip. Just to be certain, I check the book. Western sandpiper fits it to a tee. Cool. A new bird for the Plum Island list. Otherwise it's mostly the usual suspects except for the tricolored heron at Hellcat. It's really close for a great look. It's fishing up a storm and a nearby snowy egret tries to horn in on the piscine bonanza. The tricolor spreads its wings wide and charges at the intruding egret. They scuffle and the egret backs off. There seems to be plenty of whatever fish they're catching - little silvery things. The clouds are making it almost too dark to bird even though it hasn't started raining yet. On the way back to the gate, I stop to photograph more weeds. They seem to shine more brightly in the gloom.
Somewhat restored, I browse at Olde Port Books and tease Phil about seeing him in the Andover Starbucks yesterday out of context. Turns out he had just come from David Bookstore's shop. I told him he should stop by Starbucks earlier in the morning when David Bookstore, Richard, Dick, and QI have their "morning discussion group". Without Domino's help, I select a book called The Lake and the Woods or Nature's Calendar by Mikhail Prishvin. It's a collection of short, almost miniature, essays about the fauna and flora of a lake (Lake Pleshcheyevo) in Russia. Sort of the like the Russian version of The Birds of Brewery Creek or something. More inspiration for Sewage Outflow and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch. Anyway, Domino was hiding out in the window 'cause there had been a group of kids in earlier. I wonder if they were those French ones... Just as I leave the book shop, the rain starts. What timing. This just in, a dead crow in Jamaica Plain has West Nile virus. It's moved north. What a field day for the deet! |
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The
forecast calls for rain starting at noon and deluging for
the next 48 hours. The gray skies weigh heavily on my bleary
eyes. McDonald's coffee does nothing to wake me up. Maybe
that's because it's so bland I don't drink enough of it to
keep up my caffeine dosage. I don't even bring the cup in
with me to finish as I do the dishes.
heating the top of my head to the boiling point and causing
rivers of sweat to drip into my eyes. Just try wiping your
eyes with bleach-soaked rubber gloves. I dare you. On the
other hand, the crap stuck to the litter boxes is difficult
to see. I guess I prefer it off. I hate to be too hot.
Miss
Newburyport, that old curmudgeon, is sleeping on top of the
cat gym but remains on full alert in case anybody should try
to pet her. Tigger, a new kitten, vocalizes constantly.
Meow, meow, meow. He doesn't shut up unless somebody comes
over and pets him. He's wicked cute, though. Tommy and Simon
have been sprung from the ringworm room. Yay! 
month. We lost track of how many months have passed since
then. First thing Roy asks about is Chloe and Whiskers his
two favorites. I give him the happy news that Chloe is fat
and happy in her new home and I have pictures to prove it.
Then I tell him Whiskers died of heart disease, but at least
was well cared for in her last weeks. We quickly get back
into our old rhythm of washing, drying, bad jokes, nonsense
verse and laughter. It's way easier to wash all this stuff
with Roy around.
Bob
and Roy both get away with petting Miss Newburyport. Though
she starts wagging her tail in a most unhappy manner, she
doesn't bite or scratch. The guys are drawn to these old
curmudgeonly cats and the cats seem to tolerate them. Jaguar
(still alive and happy in his permanent foster home) used to
love Roy. Whiskers dug him too - not that she was old, just
curmudgeonly.
