All trip we’ve been haunted by the number 41. Our campsite in the Tetons? 41. The day after was room 214 which I know is not technically a 41 but, wait for it, the following night we lodged in room 241. But the biggest sign we live under a specific odd number cloud came today when flight 41 ferried us from San Francisco to Maui. Crazy.

Other patterns this summer have involved cats. Cats tucked in Baby Bjorns being lugged up mountains. A cat used as a service pet by a nervous worker in the Tetons. And a whole mess of cats in a parked car next to us at a gas station in Nebraska. Then today on our first night in Maui we fight jet lag to see a beach and run into people volunteering their time and money to feed the 40+ feral cats hanging out at a harbor near Wailuku. They come nightly to pet, feed, and listen to the cats (whose plaintive meows clearly speak of their anxiety).

Another surprise in Maui are the roosters. They not only crow outside our modest Airbnb rental but they also crowd the unlikeliest places like the Safeway parking lot. Cats, roosters and the number 41. Rock and roll.

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