51 billion farm animals are killed each year, making each person responsible for the deaths of nine animals annually.

Parts of Thoughts.

Two words hit me as being very powerful in writing: America and reservoir. One starts and ends with an A and the other with an R, and they both contain an "er" in the middle.

Some things are distinctly American to me - red summer dresses, work boots and t-shirts, corn-on-the-cob, spiderwebs.

I have a hard time explaining what I do at Farm Sanctuary in French.

Day Off

Hans Baldung Grien

On Felines

There is an orange cat named Gregory who sleeps on the unclaimed top bunk. Some people remind me of orange cats, but I don't know why. Maybe it's because I feel very comfortable around them, or because orange cats seem so much warmer than the other cats.

There is a three or four-week-old kitten in the white house. He started eating today, but he couldn't figure out how to take bites of his food. Instead he kneaded it, rubbed his face and paws in it, and tried to drink it like milk. He drank water from a syringe, milk from a rubber-topped bottle. A grey cat, not orange.

Everyone resembles some kind of cat.

I made stew, bread. Burnt beans taste worse one day later.

New Bed

I have a new bed.

I've had a lot of new beds, especially in the past two years. The beds at Warren, Hawthorne, Ethel, then the beds in Ecuador on the farm and at Brooke and Joe's casa, back to Ethel, the bed at my school, back to Ethel, and now here. A twin bed with a green cotton blanket, next to a window that looks across the street to Farm Sanctuary.

My first night here, thunderstorms passed outside and cats batted at the bedroom door to get in. These are grey and white cats with thin noses and big yellow eyes.

I burned a pot of black beans this morning and it is supposed to storm again.