Ajax the cat. . .
If the amount of bird droppings that is finding its way onto my windshield and patio furniture is any indication, my wayward cat is on walkabout again. The feathered ones simply have no fear when the gray menace takes to wandering around town.
As a matter of fact, as I sit here sunning myself on the patio next to a panting Wilson, we watch what has to be the world's fattest robin sitting on the fence, defecating over and over. Almost taunting us. It reminds me of one of the first times I went fishing with Laura's uncle at a little farm pond in southeastern Nebraska. I couldn't catch anything, and I mused out loud, "I wonder how many fish are even in here." He slowly turned his head with a smile that indicated I just said something stupid.
"Greg," he said, "How many fish do you think are in the pond?"
Despite the setup, I quietly answered, "Maybe . . . 100?"
He doubled over in laughter, so I'm guessing the answer is more than 100.
How many birds are flying through my yard? How often do they relieve themselves in the area? I've heard humans are terrible at estimating big numbers, and thinking of the birds is like trying to comprehend the size of a social media network or the number of stars. The numbers are just too big for my tiny brain.
I hope Ajax comes home soon. I'm afraid to go barefoot out here now.
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