Reason to Paws
Greetings, earthlings. I am the creature known as “cat” who resides aboard Coconut Woman. Some have referred to my crew position as “boat cushion,” though I prefer the term “Admiral.” My given name is “Nina,” after fellow diva, Nina Simone.
I do not condone my “mom's” choice to give anyone attention except for me, though if she had to marry anyone, I am beginning to develop a fondness for Justin against my own will, chiefly because he serves me water in the cockpit and gives me scritchers.
Whereas I do not condone life aboard, I have come to appreciate the ease with which I am able to be the center of attention in a small space without putting forth much effort. That being said, however, I do not condone the heeling of the boat more than ten degrees, nor do I sanction any actual movement of the vessel.
Water has a special way of finding its way through windows onto my head. At times, when feeling particularly resentful or addled, I have committed egregious acts of bio-terrorism. In order to maintain a sense of self-empowerment and to communicate stern reminders, I consider these acts a natural born right as a feline.
All in all, as a geriatric, I believe it was a simple, sane act to protest this ridiculous life-change forced upon me by my endearing yet light-headed mother. I should have known it was all down-hill after she met Justin and made me live with ducks. The insanity soon went exponential, so she thought the sensible thing to do was sell all of our belongings and transfer our lives from my comfy loft with a fabulous balcony view to a 26 foot daysailor. She made me sleep on the same bed with Justin's filthy Philistine canine! Not until Bear made her way to dog heaven and they bought a proper boat, could I possibly renege my multiple filings to PETA. Coconut Woman seems to be the best compromise I can expect to receive. At least we all have our separate bathrooms now, and an oven in which to bake my chicken, on this godforsaken thing.
I shall never admit it, but my own sense of adventure, love of the smells of the ocean, fish, and new places, a veritable real-life HD theater of wildlife PBS documentaries viewed from the comfort of my own cockpit, and regularly replenished small cardboard boxes in which to nap, give me reason to pause. When the weather in the cockpit is rainy, I retire to the V-birth and am provided with youtube videos about birds, which are my absolute favorite. Thank the gods I am too much of a coward to chase after the ones I see flying off the side of the boat! Whereas I do very much appreciate a prepared dish of fish or rotisserie chicken, fresh raw flying fish confuse and repulse me. How base of the crew to have offered me one in the first place. Who do they think I am?
The large gray fishes with the rounded snouts like to jump out of the water to examine me. I suspect they are aliens from another planet because they always appear as if they're getting a huge laugh at my expense. And I've yet to meet another creature on this earth who is more intelligent than am I. How otherwise could they know that I know “the joke is on me”?
Ah, the crosses one must bear for flapping-head humans. And yet, I am happy. Kindly never convey this fact to my crew. All I know is that without me, the morons would probably sink the boat.
Cheerio and all that malarkey,