The first thing you must understand if you are to comprehend the horror that has befallen me is this: I hate Sonrisa’s stern bunk. It’s nothing against Sonrisa. Certainly, not. It’s just that the stern bunk is the only room in the boat that has the potential to escape my watchful eye. Sonrisa’s design is one continuous space from companionway to bow, except for that stern bunk. Furthermore, if Andrew is going to stack on manner of knick-nack and menagerie somewhere, he seems to choose that stern bunk. The result is a room that is difficult to see, cluttered, and potentially inhabited with god-knows-what. The routine of my day is largely centered on my need to monitor the condition of that room.
And lately, our routine has been entirely upended.
I can't really tell you what is going on, except that everything is strange and different. If I am to be honest, I don't like it much at all. At first, I thought I liked it, but now I can tell you I definitely do not. Leslie is gone. She’s disappeared completely! And I just never really know what is going to happen in any given day.
It’s distressing. It’s making my hair fall out. And, I’m getting fat.
It all started around a couple weeks before Thanksgiving when Leslie refused to sleep where she is supposed to sleep. Usually, Andrew and Leslie sleep in the front bunk that is shaped like a pizza slice. Every night around bedtime, Andrew scoops me into his arms and I complain. “Mrroooowwwwwwww, rooooooo.......raawwwwwwoooooo," commonly translated into Huma-Speak as “No! Leave me alone!......oh all right…fine.” He deposits me at his feet, I circle a few times and decide this spot is warm, soft, cuddly, safe, and a good vantage point to keep an eye on almost the whole of Sonrisa’s internal cabin, saving only for that stern bunk.
Andrew believes deep in his heart that he has the most perfect feet to ever be formed. He has reported this to Leslie, and honestly, she quite likes his feet, but it seems she has her doubts about their ultimate perfection. But me? I agree with him. They are perfect feet: they never, ever stink, and he never allows them to become or at least stay very dirty for long. Upon his feet - no matter where they are - is my very most favorite place to sleep. And so, sometimes I forget about that stern bunk. The warmth of Andrew’s feet, Leslie curled up in front of me, a canopy of starlight above our open hatch with a tropical breeze flowing against their sleeping lashes - I feel safe and everything will be okay.
Who am I kidding? It’s not just his feet. Anywhere Andrew is, I like to follow.
Leslie wants you to know she brought me that shoe-box as a gift, but Andrew took credit for it.
Some nights, though, I just can’t stop thinking about that stern bunk. There could be almost anything in there: Geckos. Spiders. Ships-rats, maybe? God forbid, even a snake. Did I tell you about the cat I used to know who was living on a sailboat in Thailand with her owner who woke up one night to the sound of her crushed skeleton sliding through the most enormous python he had ever seen?
I shudder thinking about it.
Why didn't she say anything? Did the python sneak up on her? How did the get out to her while they were at anchor? He must have swam out to sea, climbed the anchor chain and come to retrieve her all that way! Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. But, you know, now that I relate this, I think that is just the story I wonder about in my head and this horrible event actually occurred while tied up in a marina, not out at anchor. But, anyway, I digress. My point is I can't keep an eye on the ingress and egress of creatures inside the stern bunk, and I can't settle down. This is especially true on nights when Leslie isn't quite ready for bed.
Whereas Andrew's an “early to bed, early to rise” kind of guy, Leslie shares my love for nocturnal solitude. She likes to read books, write, sit in the cockpit and watch the stars, or do exercises on Sonrisa's cabin top until late into her “night watch”. So, if I can't get settled in bed, I will often hop down and enjoy Leslie's company wherever she might be, or loft myself through the open hatch to take a deck patrol of Sonrisa and soak in the light of a full moon.
Andrew is always disappointed when I take this route, petting me voraciously in the hopes of pinning me to the mattress. “Come on, settle in won't you?" He says, as I wriggle out from under his paw to relocate my body vertically through the roof. “Okay...fine.” I hear as I pad my way to the leather strap on Sonrisa’s handrail placed there as padding for Grin, but perfect to sharpen my claws.
Great view from Sonrisa’s foredeck.
He should know by now that I will eventually miss his wonderful feet. I almost always jump back down through the hatch and settle into a nice sleep around 02:00h. It's inevitable, unless it’s one of those nights that I just can't let go of my anxiety over the stern bunk. In that case, I settle at Sonrisa's companion way stairs and stare into depths of my litter box, standing guard, waiting for any indication that some unwelcome creature is sneaking into my abode to swallow me or Leslie whole.
The last two weeks of November, were nights like this; none of us could seem to get settled. Leslie always seemed to be out of her proper place; and when one of us aren’t sleeping in our proper place, no one can sleep in their proper place. At first, she was sleeping on the sea berth or in other words the couch on the port side of Sonrisa’s salon. Next to this couch we have a little coffee table, and she was putting a fleecy blanket on that table for me calling it my Princess Perch and beckoning me to lay atop the blanket. She would lay on the port side bench, I would lie next to her, and she would pet me and coo at me all the sweet nothings I love her for - specifically that I am the most beautiful cat in the world. Andrew would try to scoop me up, and instead of my usual whinging, I’d lash out irrationally and hiss at him. He’d put me back and kiss the top of my head.
“Fine then, goodnight, Kitty.”
While this was a change in my routine, I forgave it because I actually loved sleeping on the princess perch and being cooed at. This location made it so easy to hop down and undertake a quick patrol, only to return to my snuggling post as soon as I was finished. The forward bunk is a little more complicated because I truly hate leaping the abyss between the floor and the top of the bed as there is a strange cubby hole beneath the bed with cupboards, stacks of toilet paper, and god knows what else lurking down there. I can sense the ghost of Sonrisa's former ship-cat from prior owners, Nubicat, I believe was her name. She had long white fur and sometimes when I am exploring the very deepest nooks and crannies of Sonrisa, I find evidence of her there. She seems happy enough to have me in her space, though, so mostly we get along.
Anyway, Leslie’s salon bench sleeping ended just as abruptly as it began. A few days into this new situation, I would settle down for a sleep around midnight and Leslie would start moaning and groaning, she'd stand, and pace the three or four steps available for humans to pace inside Sonrisa's space. She’d hobble out to the cockpit and try to climb the stars, and I would chase behind her to try to go along with her, but she'd get outside, spend a few minutes stretching her legs, but then turn right back around. She'd pace more, try to dangle off one of Sonrisa's closet tops, and make all sorts of noises I didn't like. Some of them were cusswords certainly not fit to print here! Andrew was tossing and turning, who could sleep with all this racket? And then, worse of all, she would cry. I’d rub her ankles to try to make it better, but nothing I did seemed to help. So, I would sit at her feet and meow over and over again, “Hi There! I love you! How can I help? I want to help! What is wrong? Why can't I help?"
She did understand me and as she would drape her floppy, strangely shaped body over Sonrisa's galley countertop, she would pile icepacks on her own back and say, “I’m so sorry Kitty! I'm so sorry, I'm hurt!”
She never seemed to have a solution to offer that I could make do with.
Late, late into the night, sometimes as late as 0400 hours, the belly aching would subside, and she would try to lay down to sleep. But not in bed, not on the salon bench! Instead, she rolled out her yoga mat, another thick fleece blanket, and splayed her body out on the floor itself. She packed herself between Sonrisa's mast and the wooden construct of the starboard side couch and we both hung on together while she tried to breathe more deeply and calmly. I laid in the curl over her legs and purred, trying to take away whatever evil devil is doing this to her. I wish I could fix this.
And then, Thanksgiving happened.
Thanksgiving is one of Leslie’s favorite holidays of the whole year. Her enthusiasm for cooking the whole Thanksgiving spread (alongside fellow Americans Mark and Susan aboard S/V Erie Spirit) did not wane despite her sleepless nights of potty-mouth-poetry and songs of despair. Three days in advance, she and Andrew took their posts chopping vegetables, mincing garlic, rolling dough, boiling broth, stewing potatoes - the works. I raise my eyebrows and twitch my whiskers from my post by the halyard rug as I watch.
Two days before the big day, we raised anchor and motored through a wind-less day to change anchorages. As we arrive, I hear an unusual commotion on deck as the engine softens to neutral, and instead of laying anchor, it seems Sonrisa is being tied up to her two best friends - Steel Sapphire and Erie Spirit.
"All rafted up, Little Cat!” Leslie says, as Andrew plucks me from my rug and places me into a hot, bright, sunlight cockpit. The vampire inside me screams and reaches for its cloak of darkness. Squinting across the abyss and tangle of ropes, I see Steel sapphire, an entire Labyrinth of ship that very well could be inhabited by any number of creatures I don't know about. It was inhabited by a very angry cat the first time I visited there, but in times thereafter, she seems to be gone. I don't know where she goes, but even her presence and then absence makes me uneasy. Where did she go and why? When will she come back? Every time Andrew and Leslie take me over to Steel Sapphire for a bit of fun and change of scenery, I've done an entire search of the vessel only to come up empty and devoid of any angry cat or explanation. It makes me pant with panic sometimes, and I make Andrew take me home again. Now we are tied up and I can't escape. I scowl at the situation brewing and note Erie Spirit will be tied up on the other side of Steel Sapphire. I've never been aboard Erie Spirit.
Curiosity stirs within me.
To be continued…..