sneezing ringworm suspect and horned larks in the road

January 15, 2003

There's this kitten in the office, a cute white one with patches of gray tabby, and a sign on its cage "ringworm suspect". As I lean over the cage toward the window of the sick room to look at a gorgeous orange tabby with unusually small ears and a raging upper respiratory infection - poor little guy's tiny nose is running like he should be in a commercial for a children's cold remedy - which Chris is holding up to the closed window snuggled in her shirt, the ringworm suspect sneezes. I haven't necessarily come to play with the kittens, nor to wash dishes or clean cages today, mostly to fetch newsletter articles from my mailbox and harass Roy.

Since it was nearly 11:00 by the time I got here, Roy is nearly done with the dishes but he's glad to see me and offers to let me read his back issues of Navy Times while I fold laundry. I ask him if he and Bob have tried any more of the recipes for 4000 lately. He tells me the math never works out when he tries to convert them. Something about dividing small amounts of spices by a thousand just doesn't compute. I seem to remember that Bob had some success converting a brownie recipe that served an aircraft carrier or maybe that was a submarine... anyway, Bob has already left for the day so we can't ask him.

Back in the office I start to tell Barb "I was hoping Leslie would be here with her newsletter article" when Leslie appears, late because she had forgotten the newsletter article and gone back to get it. The ringworm suspect sneezes again. I announce to Barb "Your ringworm suspect is sneezing." Right on cue the kitten sneezes again. Poor thing. And I sincerely hope it does not have ringworm. Having fetched newsletter articles and harrassed Roy, I leave and let them deal with the sneezing ringworm suspect.

The TV at Angelina's is showing endlessly repeating bad news on Fox. It's cold inside and out. I do a few more errands, one of which involves stopping by the Beach Boys' where Donald brews a fresh pot of coffee that takes off some of the chill. A pair of horned larks lands on the Salisbury Beach State Reservation entrance road. One of them slides about 10 inches on sheer ice and comes to stop next to the yellow line looking slightly surprised. You'd think a bird whose natural habitat is coastal parking lots would have a more graceful way of handling this weather. Not that coastal parking lots usually look this much like the Arctic tundra...

Today's Reading
One Whaling Family by Harold Williams, The Measure of All Things by Ken Alder

This Year's Reading
2003 Book List