8 - Kathleen
A mob of gulls was hacking away my poor cousin’s meager crab harvest, while hangers-on lower on the pecking order flew in tight circles over the boat, or waited, perched on the rails. One unlucky fellow hopped around on one webbed foot, compensating its missing limb with a raucous agressivity.
They all scattered with angry protests at my approach. The crate was empty except for two brown younglings still pulling at a crab’s leg.
Oh my! I thought. This takes the cake.
After a full night out at sea, followed by the emergency of getting a perfect stranger to the doctor, he needed his sleep. So, I had let him drive me home, then I took my Chevy back to check on Stan’s boat.
The gulls’ cries were deafening, and their mad flapping sent a smell of damp feathers and fish. I threw
