Journal of a Sabbatical

August 30, 2000

peeps in the road

Adopt these cats at Merrimack River Feline Rescue Society

Today's Bird Sightings:
Plum Island:
eastern kingbird (1)
semipalmated sandpiper(17)
northern mockingbird (2)
herring gull (103)
great egret (20)
snowy egret (36)
tree swallow (30)
double crested cormorant (27)
great blue heron (1)
Canada goose (28)
great black backed gull (8)
purple finch (1)
American black duck (7)
greater yellowlegs (1)
lesser yellowlegs (1)
blue-winged teal (5)

Today's Reading: The Outermost House by Henry Beston

Today's Starting Pitcher: Jeff Fassero

Bob claims Sandy was waiting for me at the door until just moments before I arrived. I don't believe him. He was probably waiting for donuts. No donuts today. Roy gave him a piece of cracker but Sandy disdained it totally. He stared at it like "what the heck is this? where's my glazed donut?" and refused to touch it.

He still likes Roy though. As Roy was standing next to the big yellow bucket talking to Bob, Sandy started rubbing against his hip and looked like he was going to burrow into his pocket any minute. Hmm, does Roy have glazed donuts in his pocket? Nope. Sandy's just being cute.

When did we become the Merrimack River Towel Rescue Society? We really have to establish a second shelter just for the towels. The closet is stuffed to overflowing. The shelf along the outside wall looks like it's about to have a towel slide any minute. The floor cages are piled high with towels. The cat gym is covered with clean dry towels waiting to be folded. Damp ones are hanging from Miss Newburyport's cage (she's in the laundry room not noticing). Every surface that can hold towels holds towels. Roy goes to get a towel to dry the dishes, looks around, and asks "Do you think we have a clean, dry towel anywhere?" I laugh so hard that Kendra comes in out of the other room to find out what's so funny. We plot ways of turning the towels into wash cloths, shop rags, anything.

We need a new Chloe-numbering scheme. Come to think of it we probably need a Buddy-numbering scheme too, although only the longhaired big black lump of a Buddy is still in residence. So now we have Chloe II. The Roman numeral II distinguishes her from recent residents Chloe and Chloe-2. She's kind of shy but very nice. Y'know, we never have duplicates on names like Kuchina or Newburyport or all those Norse gods the Mullinses were always naming their foster kittens after. Just a thought. I guess the world can never have enough Chloes or enough Buddies.

A duck now lives in the cage where the baby raccoons were. It shows no interest in posing for pictures. It hides behind its green plastic swimming pool. Never a dull moment in the wildlife cage behind the parking lot.

Again I'm starving by 11:30 despite having breakfast at 8:30. A veggie sub at Angelina's fixes that, and I get to watch the long range weather forecast on CNN. I know I'm in Massachusetts because as soon as the weather comes on the restaurant chatter quiets down and all eyes turn toward the TV. Not that any interesting weather heads this way yet.

I down a bottle of water and buy another one for the road before the ritual Wednesday bird search. I note that it's high tide, which is not favorable for finding shorebirds, but figure I'm not really serious about this today anyway.

A few young blue-winged teals paddle around at the salt pannes. Ominous numbers of starlings crisscross the road in dense clouds. A flock of peeps lands smack in the middle of the road. They start foraging among the gravel. Most of them look like semipalmated sandpipers to me. In the distance, a whole mess of snowy egrets hang out together staging for migration I guess.

At Hellcat I suddenly decide I am really really tired and besides that I'm hot. A woman coming out of the outhouse remarks on how hot it is, so it's not just me. The breeze has died down and mosquitoes begin to swarm around me. How do they find me? There aren't even that many mosquitoes here and they're all drawn to me. I forgo the dike and the Bill Forward Pool and the marsh trail for today.

A nap revives me a little, at least enough to buy groceries and later to make supper. Wilbur insists on sitting on my left shoulder at all times. It is very hard to eat, read, or type with a large orange cat on one's shoulder. Can't tell if he's jealous of Sandy or miffed that I didn't take him to the refuge to eat peeps. :-) (I would never do that, of course. I don't even let him out - for his own safety and the safety of all avian life forms.) I close my eyes and see tiny shorebirds pecking in dust and gravel with herring gulls soaring overhead. Time for the ball game.