The day starts early with the usual chores: Feeding the wild things.

Copper & Silver are two young feral cats, brother and sister, who I’ve been feeding since early summer. (Their mother disappeared but the kittens remained. I recently trapped them and took them to a vet that provides low-cost spay-and-neutering services, a traumatic but affordable process that also included rabies vaccinations and ear notching. They are much friendlier now and it’s nice to know that I have made their lives a little easier and kept the cat population from exploding.) Copper loves to have his head and neck tickled, while Silver keeps her distance and will only allow her tail to be touched.

Two more cats have joined our party, older black cats who also appear to be siblings. They must have belonged to someone, once, but now they are living here. One, who had been wearing a ragged red collar before I finally removed it, is much friendlier than the other, who has been scratching its ears bloody (probably ear mites). Today I put ointment on his poor little ears, as I’ve been doing nearly every time I feed them, but I think it will take more than that to solve this problem.

At last, the humans are ready to eat. There is coffee to brew, eggs to fry and insulin to draw for my stepfather. I get ready to drive about fifty miles with him in an effort to find places to set up more candy vending machines. The phone rings, either telemarketers or doctors’ offices calling to remind us of appointments for the next day. I pull the truck up to the ramp, we load it up with two machines and make sure we have the necessities - sunglasses, wallet/purse, cold drinks. He turns on his oxygen tank, I take a deep breath and we’re off.

A dozen rejections later, we drive through a sudden rainstorm to get home before dark. (Yesterday, my brother and I were more fortunate. We put a machine in at a place called Pirate’s Pub in a tiny town called Paisley.) Then I get to repeat the morning’s activities: Feed the cats, the dog, the fish, even throw stale bread and cereal outside for the birds and squirrels and some lettuce for the rabbits. I wish I had done it earlier in the day because now it will probably get eaten by raccoons or possums. I really don’t mind that, even though putting food outside always raises the possibility we’ll be visited by the bear, a majestic creature that took my breath away when I saw it a few months ago.

I find a small two-ring binder (it’s actually a photo album) and some sheet protectors. We come back home and, after chatting with my folks, drawing another syringe of insulin, fetching ice cream and ice cubes, I go to my room and turn on the computer so I can print out song lyrics to put into the sheet protectors. I also work on a poster to promote my brother’s gig. He has asked me to sing a few songs with him and maybe accompany him on bass guitar. I should be rehearsing but not tonight. I opt instead to work on my own hand-crafted Christmas cards using card stock, wrapping paper and clip art. I hope to send a few out this year.

It’s midnight and I am ready for bed. I read until I can’t keep my eyelids open. Will sleep come easily tonight or will my thoughts keep me awake for hours, forcing me to get up and check my email or post something on my blog? Ideas, worries, regrets, fears - they all conspire to keep me from getting the rest I crave - but I suddenly realize how grateful I am for the sun and the rain, for my family, for the friendships that endure, for this beautiful planet we live on, for the hope and inspiration that comes to me from everywhere and everyone and everything. Don’t worry, be happy, Bobby McFarren used to sing.

My Chinese lanterns glow softly in the darkness. I finally drift off into a dreamless slumber. This is my world and, although I haven’t made my mark on it (yet), I think every little thing I do somehow makes a difference. The world is a better place each time I make an effort to do the right thing, follow the right path, make the right choice. The sun will rise again and make the shadows disappear.