Cat Overboard!

Barbara . . .  Cat overboard!

Barbara’s head pops up from the hatch. She looks around anxiously.

Which one?

Black Cat.

Figures.

We have a rescue procedure planned. We’re not sure it will work.

We’ve known a cat would end up in the water eventually. But which of the pair is in most danger of going overboard?

The agile and impetuous Orange Cat is prone to sudden dashes and headlong climbs up the sails. He seems more at risk than the clumsy and cautious Black Cat.

On the other hand, Black Cat often lumbers along behind, trying keep up when his brother turns rambunctious.

Barbara hurries on deck. It’s late afternoon along the rugged coast of British Columbia. Maruba is motoring eastward up one of the broad inlets that penetrate deep into the mountains.

 The inlet is empty of other vessels; the dark, deep waters are glassy; the sun, directly astern, is near the horizon. The autopilot steers the boat while I lower my book every few minutes to look around.

Two cats, now one

Out of the corner of my eye I had seen a quick flash of orange, followed by an awkward smudge of black. The Boys were making one of their wild dashes from stern to bow.

I set aside my book. The cats have not come charging back as usual. I go forward and find Orange Cat crouched behind the anchor windlass. He is alone.

Running to the stern, I look back down the boat’s wake. There, floating in the bright strip of water reflecting the setting sun, is a dark object the size of a tennis ball. It’s steadily growing smaller. It’s Black Cat’s head.

I disengage the autopilot and put the wheel hard over. Barbara, up from the galley where she was preparing dinner, quickly frees the salmon net tied to the roof of the pilot house.

Maruba’s a ponderous boat

Every boat has distinctive sailing characteristics. Maruba’s primary trait is inertia. Because she’s so deep and heavy, whatever she’s doing she tries to keep doing.

When sitting still in the water she’s reluctant to move. When she is moving—for instance, if I’m approaching a dock too fast—much roaring of the engine and thrashing of the reversed propeller are needed to slow her down. Right now she is heading east and seems determined to continue in that direction.

Holding the wheel hard over and revving the prop to amplify its kick on the rudder, I call to Barbara. Do you see Black Cat?

No. Don’t you?

No.

As the boat finally comes about, I try to return her to her exact reverse course. Finding the track of her original wake, I head down the long shine of bright water. Maruba, having accepted her new direction, is steadily picking up speed.

Will we save him or drown him?

We both glimpse that black dot, now even smaller and further away. But looking directly into the sun low on the horizon, we are soon blinded.

Previously concerned that Black Cat might drown before we get to him, I’m now worried we might bypass him, leaving him invisible in the dark waters behind the boat. Or Maruba, with her big steel hull and omnivorous propeller, might run him down.

    We hear him in plenty of time, though. Swimming and yowling, coughing and hacking, Black Cat announces his newly discovered hatred of salt water and his indignation at the delays incurred in his rescue. He continues to complain as, helpless and dripping, he is lifted onto the deck, secure but entangled in the bottom of the salmon net.

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Six Gringos in a Dingy, to the Rescue