To date, I have noticed no squirrels, bats, woodchucks, gophers, or groundhogs nesting quietly in my new place, though I did enjoy watching my kitties torture and maim a millepede. I've never actually seen a millepede before. The process of maiming a millepede can take quite some time as they have so many legs. And every time it looked as if the kitties had tired of removing legs from the poor creature, every time it looked as if it would be allowed to limp off and nurse its wounds or bleed out or whatever millepedes do, a renewed vigor would seize the kitties and they would tear at the thing reckless abandon! Rest assured, gentle reader, as nature encroaches on my living space, and I hold no illusions that it won't, I will keep you updated.
I am also settling into my job quite nicely. I clerk for a Judge of the Appellate Division and part of my job is to make recommendations for the outcome of the cases she hears. I am drunk with power. Of course, the Judges who sit in tribunal over the matters I research need not follow my recommendation, but I like to think of myself as the great puppet master pulling the strings behind the scenes anyway. Isn't that frightening? Aren't you horrified?
I can't really write about the actual work I do as much of the work done is protected by confidentiality. So don't ask. I like my job and wish to keep it. But that doesn't mean my diary will cease to be a razor sharp examination of the human condition as perceived by me. Oh no! You're in good hands with ole' Soonie. To that end, I offer the following.
The chambers are the shared office space of four Appellate Division judges and their various staff members. In New Jersey, the most senior Appellate Judges get two clerks, the junior jurists only one. All four judges in my chambers have two clerks, so there are eight clerks total. In addition each judge has a secretary, and Irene, the receptionist/secretary who is stationed at the front door, makes up the last of our merry band.
The judges have various luncheon requirements. For example, my Judge lunches at around 12:30 every day on a sandwich from a local Italian Deli. It is the same sandwich every day and it is understood that either I or my co-clerk will leave to procure it at about noon. There is an envelope hidden in the office with loose cash to facilitate this. We were instructed not to be shy if the envelope gets low on greenbacks. "Hey, Judge! Need money!"
Anyway, the point is that around lunch time there are job related duties that can prevent many of us in different chambers from eating together. One day last week all four judges were going to be out of chambers for various reasons. So the secretaries decided that we should order lunch in and all eat together. Menus were distributed along with instructions to include 21% over the total for tax and tip.
We gathered at the conference table. The conversation was lively and the mustard was hot. As we neared the end of the meal, many of us had stuff left on our plates. The secretary from my chambers, Ellen, produced a plastic bag and began dumping her food bits in. Systematically, and with a practiced nonchalance that comes with routine, the other secretaries passed their to-go containers to Ellen and she collected the remnants in her plastic bag.
Someone grabbed my plate and passed it over. "Oh, it's ok. I'll take care of my own trash."
"But, you're done, right? You're done with your lunch?" one of the secretaries asked.
"Yes."
"Ok," she said and passed my plate around the table.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Oh, she has a bunch of raccoons she feeds at her house. For the year you're with us, you don't throw anything out. It all goes to Ellen."
I was stunned. "She feeds what?"
"Raccoons. Oh, yeah. Ellen, don't let me forget, I have some corn cobs in my purse for you. I brought them in from the cookout we had last night."
"On purpose?" I asked. "She feeds raccoons on purpose?"
"Yes, Brian, I have a bunch of raccoons I feed. What? I feed everything. Last summer I went to the Virgin Islands and took a bag of dog food for the strays. What?"
"Raccoons? Rodenty raccoons?"
"Yeah. They've started bringing their little babies now. There's thirteen of them or so. And I'll tell ya, if I'm not there with dinner right at six, they start knocking on my door with their cute little hands. They have darling little hands."
Many of the secretaries and even some of my co-clerks began cooing. "OOOHHH! How precious! How wonderful! They knock on the door and beg! They have little hands. How wonderful!"
Ellen continued. "Yes, and they don't like sundried tomatoes. Last week I gave them a half a sandwich and one of the took a bite, then lifted the top piece of bread, removed the sundried tomatoes and put the top piece of bread back before continuing to eat. He likes sandwiches!"
"RODENTS!" I objected. "They're RODENTS! Why would you want to feed them? Why? I adore you Ellen, but you're insane. You're going to get diseases and they're RODENTS! You know, I just can't let my left overs go for something like that. Give them back to me. I'll dispose of them in a non rodent way. Why would you want to feed horrible RODENTS?"
Ellen looked at me a moment and then said simply, "I guess I just have a big heart." There was a tearful lilt in her voice and she fidgeted nervously with her bag-o-scraps.
The confrence table fell very quiet. I left my table scraps behind. I'm not sure if they were collected for the rodents or not, but I suspect they were.
It's easier if I just don't know about it.
I have since been shown a photograph of Ellen feeding a raccoon in her backyard. There is a buffet platter of half eaten goodies on the ground and a horrible furry creature nibbling greedily. Ellen is on her knees in front of it offering it a morsel. In the photograph, Ellen is all smiles.
Posted at 11:29 a.m.
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