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January 17, 2000 |
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the dryer man
cometh |
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Merrimack River Feline Rescue Society Today's Bird Sightings: Today's Reading: Winter from the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, Beach Grass by Charles Wendell Townsend, The Purple Land by W.H. Hudson
Copyright © 2000, Janet I. Egan |
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It's Antarctic preview weather. The temperature is hovering around 0 degrees Fahrenheit with wind-chill around -35 or something ridiculously incomprehensible like that. Below a certain point it doesn't matter what the numbers are, it's just plain cold. Remind me again why I am going to Antarctica when I can freeze my butt off in Massachusetts? Oh, yeah, penguins and albatrosses and prions and petrels ... My head hurts like somebody tightened a vise around it and I'm willfully staying in bed cuddling Wilbur and vaguely planning to shop for polypro long johns when the phone rings. It's Stacy. Stacy?!? My vague brain snaps alert but continues to throb. It seems Kendra is shorthanded at the shelter - as in there are only 2 people there - and really needs some help. And since I have to go there anyway to pick up Buddy and deliver him to his new home at Brigham Manor, could I come in and wash dishes? Super-litter-box-washer to the rescue. (Hmm, what kind of superhero logo would I put on my leotard?) Of course, I haven't actually called Mary Ann at Brigham to arrange for the Budster to move in, since as I mentioned I'm willfully staying in bed dreaming of polypropylene underwear... Of course I'll wash dishes. As I pull into the parking lot, a northern harrier dives on some unseen prey in the marsh behind the shelter. A black-capped chickadee chirps as it lands on the feeder, then takes off again quickly. I feel very wintry all of a sudden. There's no heat. It's 38 degrees in the sick room. The dryer is broken. Laundry is backed up nigh unto the sink. My head is still throbbing. Nobody told me there wasn't any heat. We do have hot water though. For an hour and a half, I lose myself in washing dishes to wash dishes (it's a Zen thing - wash dishes to wash dishes instead of wash dishes in order to have clean dishes). There is no end of dirty things to wash. Bonnie says I look like I still haven't recovered from the cold from hell. I start to worry as I wash - what if I have some awful illness and have to cancel my trip? what if it's some even worse disease that will render my brain useless? Back to washing dishes to wash dishes... The dryer man arrives. The Maytag repairman. Everybody wants to know if he actually has a basset hound. He doesn't. We move stuff out of the laundry room so he can work. He unloads the stuff from the dryer and piles it in the laundry baskets encroaching on the sink. Midgee watches him work. It's her dryer after all. Somebody asks him if he likes cats. "Yes, but not this much." Strange mechanical squeaking noises are coming from the ceiling. Do fluorescent lights squeak? I always thought they hummed. Chloe hears it too and puts her ears back. Midgee is still watching the dryer man. He's completely disassembled the dryer. It needs the one part he doesn't have. He doesn't hear the noise from the ceiling. We'll have to order the part. It could take 1 to 5 days. Wonder exactly how many days' worth of towels and pillowcases we have. Guess we'll find out. The landlady is working on the heat. The heat guy's truck wouldn't start. Boy, this sudden onset of winter is no fun at all. Chris covers the cats in the sick room with extra linens. Arnold likes being wrapped up so much that he pokes his head out just far enough to eat. I think about going to the hardware store for an electric heater. Maybe if the heat doesn't come on by lunch time. I call Mary Ann. She's not in. Just stepped out to lunch. I leave a message and decide to go to lunch myself. A van from Total Temperature Control is parked in front of Angelina's. Total Temperature Control? I briefly wonder if Angelina's has no heat. They have heat. They don't have any green peppers. The veggie sub is just not the same without green peppers. The big screen TV is tuned to some show about blind dates. The date on screen at the moment is going very badly. Something about a lost ring. Then it's back to the dishes, which seem to have multiplied while I was gone, and to await Mary Ann's return call. Chloe lets me pet her under the chin again today. And she even purrs a little. Quietly, and only a little, but a definite purr. The heat seems to be coming on. I'm putting dishes away on shelves I can't reach when the phone rings and Kendra is busy with somebody adopting a cat. I answer "Feline Rescue" suppressing my usual urge to add "We don't do dogs" as that would sound really unprofessional. It's Mary Ann. They're not ready for Buddy. They haven't decided where to put his litter box. And I need to run the paperwork by someone named Ginger who comes on duty at 3:00. Ginger and Mary Ann, where are the Professor, the Millionaire and His Wife, Gilligan, the Skipper too... ? A three hour tour, a three hour tour. I can't get it out of my head. By the time I've put away the dishes, there isn't enough time to go home and back before meeting with the cast of Gilligan's Island, umm, the staff of Brigham Manor... umm,... Time for coffee. Unbelievably, I get a parking space right in front of Fowle's. How lucky can I get? And maybe a large dark roast will help with this headache. On a whim I get it to go and drive over to the refuge even though I have not brought my binoculars. Much ice surrounds me. The marsh is frozen in giant white chunks. A flock of Canada geese huddles together so they look like one big black splotch on the white ice. The marsh looks unearthly. Most bird life is hidden except for a couple of tree sparrows. At least I think they were tree sparrows - didn't really get a good look. With paperwork in hand, I arrive at the front desk and ask for Ginger and Mary Ann (without bursting into the Gilligan's Island theme). Two residents sitting by the front door greet me with "It's the cat lady. Where are the cats?" I tell them I didn't bring any cats today but that Buddy is coming there to live soon. After handing over the paperwork and discussing Buddy's dietary needs (his medical record says he weighs 18 lb.-plus, but Martha and I think he's gained weight since he was weighed a month ago - we guesstimate him at 20 lb.), where to put the litter box, annual checkups at the vet, etc., they invite me to the activities room to tell the assembled residents that Buddy is coming to live there. I walk in and one lady says "where's the kitty? didn't you bring a kitty?" They're discussing chocolate in honor of Chocolate Week (there's a Chocolate Week and no short-eared owl week, what a country). The woman says "I don't care about chocolate, I want a kitty." I explain to her and to the whole group that the staff has to sign some papers and decide where to put the litter box before I can deliver Buddy. They remember Buddy from last week. In fact Buddy has been the chief topic of conversation for a week. I assure them that this is really going to happen and that I'll be Buddy's buddy in case they need help with him. They're psyched. The thing is, I'm almost as psyched as they are. I've been trying to get a cat to live there permanently since Martha and I started visiting with Fluffy. I am so happy about this I can barely contain it. I want to jump up and down and shout for joy, but that would be really unprofessional and would probably scare some of the less with-it residents. Leaving there on a little high, I stop by Olde Port Book Shop for one last browse before my trip. It's cold in there, especially after the heat at Brigham Manor. I tell the guy there I think they bake the seniors at Brigham. He says he's been there and thought the same thing. Domino is in downstairs curled up on a heating pad. She greets me with a string of small squeaky chirps when I come down the stairs. There are no new bird books that I must have. Domino gets up off her heating pad to rub against my legs and lead me to where the duck hunting books have moved to, then goes back to the heating pad. Back upstairs I spot several copies of W.H. Hudson's The Purple Land in the Modern Library section. One of them is only $5.75, and I've been on semi-alert for Hudson since I read Green Mansions this summer so I pick it up as a little reward/treat for myself. Wilbur smells lots of different cats on me: Chloe, Shadow, Shanti, Buddy, and Domino. He has to sniff and scent mark me repeatedly until he is comfortable enough to sit in my lap and watch the weather. A possible snowstorm is shaping up for Friday/Saturday. I refuse to be snowed in in Boston instead of flying to Antarctica. Maybe I should start driving to Miami now. |
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