I finished reading Cat
Culture last night so I'm all set to watch the social
order of the cat shelter emerge from the interaction
between the cats and the volunteers. Having graduated
from college without taking a single sociology course,
I'm new to the idea of the socially constructed self let
alone applying that idea to Reebok versus Stallone or
other cat interactions. Actually, the book did sort of
organize some of the same observations I've made over the
years into a coherent view of cat shelter culture. The
only thing I noticed that was radically different in the
authors' observations was the lack of aggression and
domination. They either studied a very peaceful shelter
or left out the major cat fights.
So Neptune's socially constructed
self is helping my socially constructed self with the
dishes today by head butting my elbow as I scrub. Petting
him with wet, soapy, rubber gloves seems like a bad idea
so I interrupt the dishwashing to take the gloves off and
pet Neptune until he's satisfied. He takes up his place
on the big yellow bucket and watches me from there.
In the office, Winston tells long
narratives and does this weird rapid champing thing with
his jaw when I pet him. He's a sweetie and loves
attention. Siamese seem to really enjoy interacting with
people. I guess it helps create their socially
constructed selves.
That cute orange tabby Eddy got
adopted. I miss him a little. I'm partial to orange
tabbies and partial to cats that like me. That doesn't
take any sociological or ethnographic methodology to
understand. Heck it doesn't even take any of that self
object affective connection stuff I read about in
Married to the Job to understand either.
:-)
The weather forecast claimed the
snow would start early this morning, then later this
morning. As I leave the cat shelter around 11:30 a few
gentle flakes finally start falling. One of the folks at
Angelina's asks me when the snow is supposed to start as
I'm looking out the window at the suddenly much heavier
snow. That was fast.
It's not supposed to be much of a
storm in the northern edge of the universe, so I go on
about my routine and buy some coffee at Middle Street
Foods (the coffee formerly known as Fowle's) - a large
dark roast to drink while I bird and a half pound of
French Roast to brew at home. When I get to the refuge
it's snowing so fast that I can watch the snow
accumulating on the backs of Canada geese as they graze
in the north field. I don't think I've ever seen snow
accumulate on a goose's back before. They look weird with
their black necks and heads sticking up over thick white
backs. I think all the other birds have hunkered down for
the storm. Not even a tree sparrow shows itself. I stick
around drinking my coffee and watching the snow
accumulate until I realize I probably should have left
already. This is more of a snow storm than I'd planned
on.
Driving home proves very difficult.
The roads are slippery, especially 495. The snow is
accumulating on top of a layer of black ice. Not fun. I
lose track of how long it takes me to get home. I just
clutch the steering wheel and pay careful attention to
avoid spinning out or crashing into something. When I
finally get home all I want to do is curl up with Wilbur
and read.
It starts snowing faster in the
later afternoon around 5:00 and I'm glad I don't have to
be out there commuting in it. I boil up some pasta for
supper and then settle in with herbal tea and
Eccentric Travelers, a collection of short pieces
about wacky British explorers/adventurers of the 18th and
19th centuries. There must be something about British
society that constructs such selves.
