Journal of a Sabbatical

October 7, 1998

ice is nice and would suffice

the book pile

Copyright © 1998, Janet I. Egan

Nora got it into her head that today would be a good day to defrost the fridge at the cat shelter. This may seem simple. Hah!

I'm standing there at the sink, elbow deep in hot bleachy water and I look over at the fridge, which has been sitting with the door open to let the ice melt. Peresido has climbed into the fridge and is trying to eat the special diet wet foods from the cans. The door is wedged open with a towel, not exactly the best way to keep it open. If another cat gets interested, there goes the door. I dry off and shoo Peresido out, then try to re-wedge the door. The ice doesn't look any more melted than it did when I came in although there is plenty of melt water in the bowl placed there to catch it.

As soon as I get going on the dishes again, Peresido is in the fridge again. Nora comes over and shoos him away so he comes up on the counter next to the sink and tries to lick the remnants of wet food from the empty cans waiting to be washed and put in the recycle bin. You would think we never fed this cat! It's all because Nora didn't bring him donuts again this week.

Feline life swirls all around me: Peresido on the counter or in the fridge, Joey hiding in the community litter box under the sink or having diarrhea in the other community litter box under the sink - p u - , Jaguar drinking from the community water bowl on the counter, Goldie fixing to have sexual relations with the clean laundry, one of the black and white cats dragging her butt along the floor just like Joey was - it's an epidemic, the one-eyed black and white one running zig zags across the room chasing imaginary cat toys - we have plenty of real ones but she chases imaginary ones...

Peresido is in the fridge again and this time some other cat has shut the door. I call for Nora to help, which she does. Once Peresido is squared away, Nora decides to hasten the defrosting process with a hammer and a screw driver. Between Nora banging away at the ice and Roberta vacuuming, I can't hear myself think.

A cat fight breaks out on the credenza where Nora had set Joey's litter box so she could collect a stool sample before she cleaned it. The litter and Joey's sample go flying in a million directions. There's not enough left whole to send downstairs to the vet.

When I finish the dishes, Nora is still chopping ice. Bonnie empties the trap under the sink. Nora puts all the ice chunks in the sink. I foolishly sit around petting cats waiting for the ice to melt so I can clean the sink. Finally it dawns on me that I don't need to do that.

I debate whether to go look for birds or go home and loaf the soul at Starbucks. I finally settle on Starbucks in the hopes of running into Tom so I can tell him about a conference I think his daughter would be interested in.

My local Starbucks is being remodeled. So far that's just meant a lot of dust and some disruption. Today, however, they are having electrical problems caused by the new espresso machine. The gleaming chrome object doesn't work at all. In fact it seems to have shorted out other things. I ask what coffees of the day they have. I don't like any of them. I announce: "I don't like any of those. I'm going to Perfecto's." One of the baristas says that's a good idea. I notice there is not exactly a crowd hanging around.

At Perfecto's I get my coffee, a bagel with cream cheese, and a newspaper and plan to eat outside at one of the sidewalk tables. I take one sip of coffee, unwrap the bagel, unfold the paper, and the yellowjackets descend. I can't get rid of them. I fold up the paper, rewrap the bagel, and balance the coffee carefully as I get back into the car.

It's such a beautiful day I feel like I ought to do something. I start driving north while eating my bagel and sipping my coffee. Somehow I end up driving along the New Hampshire seacoast. All 18 miles of it. I stop at Odiorne Point to visit the Seacoast Science Center and sit at a picnic table by the ocean. The wind is brisk, the whitecaps are breaking, the ocean is blue, and there are no yellowjackets.

I get home in time to watch the really long American League playoff game, in which I have no emotional investment since I find it hard to root for the Yankees and Cleveland just doesn't do anything for me. But the baseball is pure and beautiful to watch.