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1,737 Words PreciselyFog Index Factor: 7.81
Copyright 1982 TrixiePixGraphics

Cat Overboard
(Excerpted)

 
The other occasion of an overboard pet involved the ship's cat, Harvey-- a kind of ornery little guy, but we loved him just the same. We were steaming Southbound, about three miles off the coast, with four tows astern, strung out a total of three quarters of a mile. As I recall there was one deck barge, a derrick astern of that, our dive vessel (another barge) astern of that, and a hundred and ten foot packer that we had ungrounded and were delivering to a weighs in Seattle large enough to handle her, astern of all of that. The whole entourage was a bit precarious at best, and had been more than a little irritating to get all strung out, and towing in some semblance of order. We'd only been underweigh a few hours; the cat had made many such passages, and had always seemed to enjoy them-- at least that's to say he wasn't violently opposed to going to sea. But on this occasion, at one point, for no apparent reason whatsoever, some faulty circuit in his little feline brain tripped off, and, with no forewarning, no indication of distress or displeasure, he took a running leap along the taff rail and over the side he went. I saw him go-- was actually looking at him when he did so. I still haven't a clue as to his motivation. He just plopped into the water and started swimming as if he knew where he was going all along. At first I wasn't sure just what to do. We were steaming along in the traffic lanes, with freighter and tanker traffic all around us, coming and going, passing and avoiding, maneuvering for the best positions like slow motion bicycle racers. I couldn't just swerve drastically off course and come about, 180 degrees. That would have caused a nasty pile-up, or at least a severe reprimand from the traffic service-- who ultimately pulls the strings on one's license. Even to attempt such a thing, I'd have to obtain a clearance to make the turn, and to wait while all the vessels in our vicinity were advised, and okay'd the maneuver themselves. Then there was the time involved in just getting turned around, and then after all that, to actually find the stupid cat, and then, since we had no small boat with us, I would have to pilot the tug in such a way as to pick up the cat on the very first pass, hoping the bow wave didn't push him away as we approached him, and then, there was the matter of all those vessels astern --our tows-- drifting at different rates, swerving and tangling themselves up at such a slow speed as we would be required to hold in the search for the cat. It seemed impossible. I thought of cutting loose the whole mess, and taking the tug by herself back to fetch that cat, but our position was in the middle of an area of tide rips and hard currents, and we'd likely never get the knot untied when we came back for our tows. --It was all just too much to ask. I stood on the towing deck, watching that ridiculous cat getting smaller and smaller astern, until after awhile I could only occasionally see his little gray head bobbing on the crests. He could never make it to shore. Cats are tough....but.... I knew I was sentencing him to death. I felt guilty. And then, for a moment, my emotional tide would ebb, and I'd reason that, of course, he was only a cat, after all! You can't inconvenience, even momentarily, a billion dollars worth of shipping along the coast, just for a lousy two dollar cat from the pound! Cripes. How absurd. And then, a moment after that, I'd be nearly in tears again, deep in remorse, thinking of poor Kitty, and how confused, and afraid, and alone he must be, bobbing out there in the thickening twilight. He'd been a good friend and faithful pet. He never mewed unnecessarily, never made a nuisance of himself. --Never messed on the bunk-- always did his little cat jobs right near a scupper, where all we need do is give them a flick with the toes of our boots, and Kitty's small calling card was over the side. He'd been a fitting mascot aboard the tug for years. Jeeze... What a rotten way to go... Some of the crew came aft. We watched as the first barge lumbered along, pushing huge breakers in front of its high, blunt bow. There had been no point in trying to alter course; the barge was so far astern that it would have continued on for quite some way without feeling the turning influence of the tug. White foam spilled crashing down the bow wave of the barge, tumbling closer, closer-- and then it overtook poor Kitty. He was raised up roughly on that gnashing crest-- and then he was gone. The barge continued on, as oblivious to the tragedy as a freight train hitting a fly. The crew stood nearby, watching, poker faced, not saying anything. Imagination (or guilt) got the better of me then, for I began to visualize the image of poor Kitty still swimming for all he was worth out there in the gathering gloom, waiting for us, holding on to what little strength he'd have left, biding his time, waiting, hoping.. Perhaps he'd held his breath as the barges, one after another, ran him down. He knew we'd come for him. He knew we'd never let him down. And I began to imagine how shocked and surprised he'd be and betrayed he'd feel when he could keep his head up no more, for the exhaustion and the cold, and he finally realized that that was the end.. What friends we had been. I stood along the rail for a long time, pondering what I had done. God. I almost sobbed. ---I snapped at the crewman across the deck: "Bring her hard about-- one hundred eighty degrees!" He smiled, looked at the empty ocean astern, then dashed to the wheelhouse. Immediately the tug's bow fell off her course and swung around, and around, until we were heading directly back at our own tows, who steamed on ahead under their own inertia. But by the time we came abreast of them, they'd begun to swerve off at different angles, being influenced by the currents, until they were all pointing different directions, and generally making a horrible tangle of themselves and their hawsers. There was a puzzled call from the traffic service: "Uh, Goliath, uh, we show you making a radical course deviation, uh, can you confirm-- uh, can you state your intentions, please, uh--- stand by-- uh, Goliath, the C-O would like to speak with you, break break, uh, wait one-- disregard-- break, break-- To the freighter 'Hong Kong Maiden', uh, we have a problem-- uh, break, also, the freighters 'Japan Express', the 'Arnold Kaye', 'Medit---'" And the list went on.. The traffic service advised them in turn of our strange behavior, advising them to get the heck out of our way. In the wheelhouse now, I turned down the radio and steamed on in silence, utterly resolved. It had been about thirty minutes since the cat went over the rail. I was certain he'd gone down; the currents and sea action must have tired him terribly, not to mention how the frigid water would sap his stamina. But I felt we should go through the motions and do what we could. I broke out the hand held spotlights and began to scan the crests of the dark swells. Our tows had since fetched up at the ends of their slack, and were coming along behind us, all jumbled up, with the barge being pulled sideways through the water, and the derrick tethered only a fathom or two off her quarter, where she had originally enjoyed a hundred and fifty fathoms of hawser. I knew that stupid cat had gone to the bottom, but I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try.. We searched high and low, driving the tug over to every bit of driftwood or floating kelp or hunk of jetsam or flotsam that was even remotely the size of a cat, until by well after dark there was no question remaining in our minds that Kitty could not possibly have survived that long. Why the Coast Guard only expects human beings to last thirty minutes in those waters! But mysteriously, miraculously, after over an hour of monotonous searching, someone's light caught the dull glint of wet, gray, cat hair-- the top of his hard little head. I spun the wheel and eased the power off, altering course right for him; but when we came close, he looked back, and, apparently figuring that his very worst fears really had come true-- (why there was the shadow of death itself, right behind him!) --as the tug bore down upon him, he got his second wind and swam like a feline possessed. He was far too maneuverable for the tug; I just couldn't get near him. He yowled and screamed then, knowing full well that that huge, black, cat-eating monster --the tug-- was going to be his undoing, and gobble him up. Finally one of the crew just got tired of it and jumped in after him. He got ahold of the cat right away, but all the way back to the tug he had to swim one handed, as the cat bit and chewed and scratched the hand that held him with a truly uncanny zest and a fervor. The crewman came aboard cursing the cat prolifically. And the instant the man got halfway aboard, that cat leaped for the deck, and bolted for his warm, safe spot under the galley stove as if he'd never leave it again. Indeed, there's no place like home! He slept there for two days, munching contentedly on a whole array of luxurious snacks offered up by the crew. Personally, I threw only bread crusts under the stove-- hard, stale ones. He threw them back out. But in time he was back to his old self, and we were happy, I suppose, to have him. The cat stayed on that tug for five years, even though he eventually recovered his nerve and his daring and commenced to leaping about the rails and decks, even while we were underweigh, as if he really did have nine lives. And then one day, when the tug had been moored for over a month without having been to sea, the cat just disappeared, and never returned.

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