“Are you excited, Kitty?! Are you excited?” I stretch my chin skyward, whiskers forward, and squeeze my eyes closed as I take a moment to thoroughly enjoy Leslie's offering of chin scratches. I’m not even listening to her babble along, I just get the sense that she is generally cheerful and worked up over something that may be happening in the near future. “You will finally be a real Sea Lion!”
I have no idea what she is on about, but to appease her, I circle around, tip my shoulders down and my tail skyward, then give my Tiger Box a voracious scratch.
Truth be known, I rarely know what these cats are up to. They are always doing strange things. This last week, they spent most of their waking hours filling Sonrisa from bow to stern with boxes and bags containing who knows what! Seems like groceries, but I have yet to sniff out any kibble. All I know is that Leslie has strewn supplies across every square inch of space, leaving me nowhere comfortable to sleep and forcing me to take perch in the Shelf of Harsh Judgement; whereupon I am best situated to look down upon them.
Andrew has taken to stealing my napping bucket, filling it with water and his smelly clothes then squashing them around-about until he decides he’d rather fly them along Sonrisa’s rails to flap in the wind like flags. Sonrisa and I have bonded over this. I hate it because he takes my napping bucket. “That’s nothing, Little Cat! At least you don’t have to sit around for everyone to see dressed as the Underwear Barge.” I sympathize. I really do. So, I rub my cheek and tail around her mast in a show of moral support.
So, now this. Whatever this is. I knew I should be preparing for a sail because eventually everything seemed to be stowed away and Leslie made up the seaberth. I know we are in store for a long ride whenever Leslie makes her nest in the living room instead of their usual bedroom. Once that's done, it’s just a matter of time until we are underway.
Next thing I know, Andrew is sqwaking “Beeeeeeep, Kitty!" In my direction and hot-wiring Sonrisa’s dragon/engine, Yanmar the Magnificent II, who still isn't feeling quite in the pink. I grumble and look over my shoulder at them in distain as I climb the toilet and make my way to squash my face against the bathroom wall until they turn the engine off.
“I'm sorry Little Cat, but I think most of this passage will be by motor,” Leslie warns me. “We have to reach Addu in time to set up to celebrate Sapphire-Jen's 50th Birthday. And the weather is predicted to be dead calm."
“Grwwwwoooooooooool, HIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” I demonstrate my lady like fengs in her direction.
I’m. Angry.
“Oooh! Now, come on." She says, patting me. “We all must go through one misery or another. Neptune requires it. But this is a very special passage for you, Miss Cat! We will cross the equator from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern Hemisphere, and soon, you will soon be a member of the Realm of Shellbacks!”
The realm.
I am a tortoiseshell cat, they say. Is that the same thing?
Whatever you say, crazy lady. I close my eyes and rest my chin on my paws.
Soon, I can tell we have the sails out. They zip around their roller furling with a ziii-ziii-ziiii-ZING and Sonrisa tips to her side under the pressure of the wind. It seems, though, that Andrew and Leslie are keeping the engine on anyway. This bothers me very much. I consider peeing in their shoes to punish them, like Bess did that one time. But, I'm too sleepy and a little seasick.
I remain in the bathroom for two days and three nights, listening to the engine the entire time. On the third night, I really wish it to be known that I am not pleased. So, I hop down from my shelf, saunter out into the salon and read Andrew the riot act while he tries to sleep.
Mow. “This, is not in our agreement.”
Mow. “I said I wanted to be a sailor, not a motor-sailor.”
Mow. “I am miserable, unhappy, and contemplating retribution.”
I place this on repeat until Andrew feeds me a treat to shut me up. At shift change, I offer Leslie a similar interlude to her sleep.
Imagine, then, my satisfaction when early the next morning I hear Andrew confirm over the radio that due to the light wind and timing of the rather adverse currents, we must stop and wait overnight in an anchorage about 60 miles away from our ultimate destination. “Thank the Great Googamooga.”
Silence. A calm anchorage. This does me good, but that does not mean I consent to the continued use of the engine the very next day! But, that’s exactly what happened. Andrew and Leslie stirred at first light, leaving the anchorage so early I didn’t even get to enjoy Kitty&Coffee hour with Andrew.
But it is on this leg that things got even worse. Without explanation, without warning the engine is shut off.
Merp? “Are we there?” I ask as Andrew appears in the bathroom doorway, places my Tiger Box on the toilet and scratches it to let me know he would like me to join him wherever he may be going while wrapped up in the box like a taco. I quite enjoy this protocol, but today, he seems suspicious. I step one wary paw after the other onto the Tiger box and he folds it in half around me.
I’m a bit confused. I sense something is happening, and worse, I sense an angry, frustrated rumble in the bowels of Sonrisa’s bilge. It scares me a little.
Mrooow? “Whats happening?”
“Can you believe it? They’ve dressed me in all manner of underwear and here we are preparing for ceremonial offerings to Neptune! I can’t be dressed in underwear!”
“Neptune? Ceremonial Offering?” For a split second, I think Andrew and Leslie are intending to sacrifice me to the sea. “Sonrisa! Are they going to sacrifice me to the sea!??!” My eyes dialate and my ears radar in circles trying to make sense of what is going on.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Little Cat. No, they are just going to humiliate you a little bit.”
HUMILIATE!
For those of you who do not understand cats. Please understand this: humiliation is a fate worse than death.
I duck my head and try to throw the infernal fuzzy contraption Andrew is attempting to apply to the top of my head with a round of blue painters’ tape. Splash. Splash. Splash. My fur smells of ceremonial rum, while Andrew picks up his makeshift “toupee” and places it on my head again. Leslie is snapping away with that damn evil-eye camera lens of hers, and Sonrisa is huffing and puffing about underwear. All in all, I think I’d rather they throw me overboard.
“Andrew begins petting me, smoothing the rum down into my fur.” They both head toward the bow of the boat and I see Andrew tip the bottle of rum into the sea, “Thank you Neptune for being a gracious host, allowing us to ply your waters safely. Please accept into your realm Miss Katherine “Kitty” Hepburn. Keep her safe at sea, and promote her from Pollywog to Shellback!” Leslie takes the bottle of rum, offers a shot to Neptune and takes her own slug.
Leslie checks the GPS to make sure we’ve completed our journey across the equator. “Yay, Little Cat! You did it! You did it! You are a shellback now!”
Feeling a bit smug, I have no idea what I did, but clearly I did it right. I have no idea why I was forced to wear a toupee, but apparently that’s part of the deal, too.
Pollywog to Shellback?
That’s Tortoise-Shellback, to you. Thanks.
