2001-07-19 - 9:35 a.m.

Spent a significant portion of the time between when I got up and when I left for work trying to coax Hatbox out of the skylight. I now understand how difficult it must be to get cats out of trees.

I put her up there so that she could check out a squirrel that was poking around the berries and stuff that had fallen on the windowpane, but of course she ended up getting scared by this small furry thing that COULD NOT GET HER and wanted off the narrow ledge. So I stood under the skylight, my hands about two inches beneath her paws, saying "Come on baby! Come to mummy!" and though she once lept from the second story balcony of my parents house into the foyer at the tender age of three months and OF HER OWN VOLITION, she would not allow herself to slip a few inches down the slanted windowsill so I could catch her. I had to get a chair.

It reminded me a lot of parents who stand waist-deep in swimming pools and try to coax thier water-winged children into their arms. Why do little kids who depend on their parents for everything refuse to trust their mom or dad to not let them drown right there in the shallow end? It's really kind of sad, when you think about it.

Also kind of sad was what happened when I was writing the above paragraph and pretending to work. Bill Williams, who was Dean of our science college for a few short months, called, sounding either very old and or sick, and extraordinarily polite, asking for Barbara. Barbara wasn't in yet, and it was not until I had hung up that I realized I had taken down Bill Williams' name and number on the very last slip of paper in the large phone message book. That's right - William Williams was our 400th caller! There should have been balloons, confetti, stramers, a brass band, and the like! And yet all I had to offer was, "Barbara's in a meeting right now. Can I take a message?"

After I had replaced the old message log with a fresh one, complete with that new carbon-paper smell, I contemplated calling Bill myself, just to tell him the good news. But what was the point? The moment had passed. He would wonder why Barbara had such a whackjob answering her phone.

Poor William Williams. He may never know what he meant to our office, and to me. Which wasn't much, but it was something.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: