Today we
have a short story about possible piracy and boat invasion.
It contains
two essential elements. Ok three. Maybe four, depending.
ONE; you
know when you have this great idea which your friends think has, shall we say, “flaws”
but they don’t want to steal your Thunder and hold back from saying what they
really think. About you taking a cat
with you sailing for six months. Something about "possible drawbacks"?
TWO: There
is NOTHING wrong with being a powerboater.
Go fast, lots of fun, you can keep it at home on a trailer. You race through the anchorage throwing off a
huge wake frightening the children and spilling my carefully constructed late
afternoon adult beverage. You make HUGE
LOUD noises converting my afternoon nap to instant wakefulness in preparation
for being rammed. You get the idea. I’m sure that SOMEWHERE in the universe there
are nice powerboaters. And so on. I always challenge my powerboater friends to
a race. To Burmuda. It is only six hundred nautial miles. Non-stop.
Only the VERY big powerboaters want to take up the challenge…..the rest I will "see you on the way back".....
THREE: Never
trust a cat. Even a relatively “seemingly
good” cat. A thinly veiled but seldom hidden for long fur-lined
deception artist with sharp claws and a pre-disposition for recreational drugs.
The place;
Harwich Mass. At the summer home dock of
BG, the second owner of Justice. The
time; Yesterday Evening. The Players;
one Person (me) and one Non-Person; (Thunder the Wonder Cat).
Said Wonderful non-person has been a PURRFECT boat cat. He stays on board, does not try to jump off,
does not make messes, and generally has been good company. Until last night. While closing up the boat I went on deck to
retrieve Thunder from his Nocturnal Processes, I.E. to sit on guard duty to defend against anything
that might come on board and threaten us.
Presumably he would defend the family with his Puma-Like strength and lightning-like
reflexes.
No
Thunder to be found. Not under the dinghy. Not in the cockpit recesses. Not swimming around the boat with the Sea Lion
who has been next to us for the past five days. Not in any of the normal places. The search begins. Flashlight in hand I prowl the dock and the back yard of the summer house. After about 10
minutes of searching I give up and go back to give Claire the unhappy news that
our previously perfect boat cat has up and vanished in the dark of night. Claire is not happy. I am not happy. The cat may or may not be happy. He is not available for an opinion.
After 10
minutes I go out again, and walk up and down the dock. THERE is the sorry miserable unappreciative
evil rather indifferent bastard cat of ours sitting on the rail of the boat
next door. I go to collect him. He jumps down and heads into the bilge area
of this big powerboat/motorsailer. The bilge
area is not exactly tidy and pristine. Neither is Mr. Thunderbutt. I call.
He evades. Claire comes and
calls his name. He looks on - the very
picture of disapprobation. Finally I
pull out the Heavy Guns; a package of particularly powerful Catnip given to us
by Stephanie and Frank (Frank finished building and launched Justice 33 years
ago). This has the desired affect of
getting the cat to me where I can get ahold of him, share his untidy personage
with my clean shirt and enjoy the unmitigated pleasure that goes naturally along
with administering mind altering recreational hallucinogenic drugs to a beloved
pet who REALLY likes that kind of thing.
FOUR: Thundercat happily back on Justice. Claire happily enjoying the family together. David not so sure he is happy. I mean really. REALLY?
Run away to a POWERBOAT???!!!
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