We’re Okay, But Have the Cats Survived?

When we depart on that wild passage down the Oregon Coast, two cats are aboard.

Litter mates and deeply bonded, the pair were born in the barn during the depth of an Alberta winter. Barbara and I, away at the time, were on one of our trips to Vancouver to oversee work being done on Maruba.

When we got back to the ranch two litters of newborns were hidden in the outbuildings. With us home, the mother cats evicted the two dogs from their dog house on the porch and moved in with their young.

     A third female, pregnant her first time, joined the communal nest and gave birth too.

The eleven kittens nursed buffet style. The purring was loud ten feet away.

At weaning, we invited the two brothers into the house as pets. By six months they were learning to be boat cats.

Now three years old, they have gone to sea together during a winter storm in the North Pacific.

We call one Black Cat, the other Orange Cat. Jointly they are known as The Boys.

When the seas are rough, The Boys find a space with restricted rolling room, wrap their forelegs around each other, and go to sleep.

That’s what they are doing this evening as the storm continues to rage.

Maruba is pitching. She’s rolling. She’s yawing. She’s tossing up spray. We’ve been wearing our yellow flotation suits for four days.

We’re standing in the pilot house settling into our end of the day routine. My nine to midnight watch is about to start. Barbara is ready to head to the aft cabin to sleep. The Boys are already asleep, arms around each other, in the pedestal chair at the navigation station.

A big wave rolls out of the darkness and wallops Maruba broadside.

Barbara and I remain in place. Under our feet the boat is slammed three strides to our left.

Scooped up by the navigation chair, Barbara sits hard. I land hard in her lap.

The pedestal supporting the chair collapses. I grab the grab rail as we go down, tearing it from the wall.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“I’m okay. But I think we killed The Boys.”

The Boys are okay too. We find them cowering together, wide eyed, in a nook in the aft cabin.

As we continue our cruising life that same hideout is where they always disappear—instantly—whenever Barbara or I move abruptly.

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The Wind Blows, the Waves Build, the Engine Quits