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December 22, 1999 |
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pickles is not a drink |
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Today's Bird Sightings:
Merrimack River Feline Rescue Society Today's Reading: Winter from the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, From Ponkapog to Pesth by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Copyright © 1999, Janet I. Egan |
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When I told people at the cat shelter about the hives, everybody said "talk to Chris" so I did. Chris' son woke up in the middle of the night with an outbreak of hives on his torso and behind his ears! Same time, same place. Something in the air? A virus? Who knows. Bonnie says hives can have something to do with barometric pressure. As long as it's not cat allergy. I don't know what I would do if I suddenly became allergic to cats. Chloe enjoyed sharing my coffee this morning. I guess it
was hot enough for her this time. I discovered that she
prefers to lick it off the lid instead of slurping it from
the cup. I'll remember that for next time. She's in a better
mood today but still shying away from much in the way of
petting. Midgee wasn't blocking her way to the sink, which
helps I think. It's funny how out of a population of 45 cats
maybe 3 or 4 develop a real thing for the sink and We got more of that evil black litter that sticks to the boxes and I was having a heck of a time keeping it out of the sink. Whoever cleaned about half of the cages neglected to scrape the boxes - just dumped what could come out in one try and then stacked 'em. Fortunately, I noticed this pretty quickly and took the stack out of the sink and piled them on the floor again. Cynthia came in for an hour or so and I asked if she would mind scraping the boxes in question so I could keep going on the rest of the dish/litterbox washing. She did a great job even though the evil litter makes a big mess. Better it should make a big mess on the floor than in the sink. We managed to get everything washed without the sink clogging or the top of the trap popping off. That's two weeks in a row. Yay!
I treated myself to a long browse at Olde Port Book Shop and a long conversation with Domino about John Marquand. Somebody heard me talking to the cat and assumed I worked there. The customer wanted the key to one of the cases of rare books. I sent her back upstairs to the proprietor and continued trying to figure out what Domino wanted to show me. She led me right to the John Marquand shelf where there was a copy of Wickford Point, which I know wasn't there last week. I petted her extra for that. I found a relatively inexpensive copy, in good shape, of Forbush's Natural History of the Birds of Eastern and Central North America. Who can resist prose like this: After a winter storm the handsome, hardy, vivacious little bufflehead may be seen at its best. The sea still rages, and the white-topped surges pound and roar up on the seaworn ledges, tossing the spouting snow-white spray high in the sunlit air. It goes on like that as the "cheerful, happy and contented" buffleheads "play in the white-topped surf". I got a big charge out of reading the section on hooded merganser courtship displays to Nancy tonight. It's practically bird porn! Between the purple prose and the actual useful well-observed behavioral information, it makes a great Christmas present for myself. When I paid for the books, the proprietor observed that
whenever he gets a copy of Wickford Point in it sells
right away, second only to The Late George The birding was pretty quiet today. Mostly Canada geese and black ducks. I started to have the feeling that I just don't have the "chops" I once did at this, mostly because whenever I read the lists that the Wednesday morning Joppa Flats birding group comes up with I feel like I must be blind! Of course, they have lots of experience and they have scopes. (I'll replace mine, really I will, after the Antarctica trip). Someday I should switch shifts with somebody at the cat shelter and join the Wednesday morning expeditions. Even the seals were quiet today. I only saw about 20 of them on the rocks at Butler's Toothpick even though low tide was especially low today (it's that moon thing). They were literally quiet too - no vocalizing whatsoever. They just sat there absorbing the sun. Catching some rays. Now that's "cheerful, happy, and contented"! |
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At
3:00 this morning I woke up itching. Hives! Hives? When was
the last time I had hives? Has somebody sneaked strawberries
into my food supply without my noticing? The hives spread
over my entire torso and up the back of my neck to the area
behind my ears. The oddest part was I then got one, exactly
one, hive on each wrist in the same place and one on each
ankle in the same place. And believe me this itches way
worse even than ringworm.
maybe two develop a thing for the laundry room. I wish I
understood what goes on in their little cat minds.
I
cleaned myself up, changed my shirt, photographed the
newcomers - one of whom has gorgeous blue eyes - and headed
over to Angelina's for lunch. I walked in the door and the
girl at the counter said "Veggie sub" before I opened my
mouth. A voice from over by the vending machines exclaimed
"Pickles is not a drink!" repeatedly. A little kid kept
asking for pickles in response to her mother's question
about what she wanted to drink with her sandwich. There's no
pickle logo on the vending machine so the kid was having a
hard time locating her pickles. This dialog went on for some
time while I watched Blues Clues on the big screen
tv. I felt like I'd walked into a preschool.
Apley among Marquand's output. He said this copy of
Wickford Point had just come in. Aha! I knew it
wasn't there last week. The Marquand revival is well
underway. He gave me a holiday discount. We wished each
other happy holidays and I crossed the street to