 |
 |
|
CHAPTER X
KALI, July 20 Friday morning
Cats are a mysterious kind of folk.
There is more passing in their minds than we are aware of. Sir Walter Scott Sam had another one of his nightmares last night after Emily left. He woke me up, thrashing around and repeating over and over "No! No! Please stop ...If you don't..." And now I figured out where I’d heard the name Rakes. He whispered it several times before I rubbed against his face and woke him up. He lit the kerosene lamp and opened a beer, then sat down in the cabin with his head in his hands. I climbed up in his lap, trying to comfort him. He took me in his arms and held me tightly against him, something I didn't actually like but allowed him to do. "Ah Kali, I don't want to hurt anyone else, especially Emily. We don't need anyone else, do we? Maybe we'd best pull out tomorrow, sail away to...where do you want to go now Kali? Bermuda maybe? Do you feel like an ocean cruise?" I purred to let him know I loved him. I had been hoping to stay here for a while, get to know Cyclops' gang better, but the Skipper was my person, and he needed me more than they did. Wherever he wanted to go was okay with me. He stroked me for a while, his mind seeming to drift far away. Then he cursed softly and set me down. "Let's go back to bed, Mate." HARVEY, July 21 Saturday evening And dancing dogs…
Ralph Hodgson The next few days were fairly quiet. Emily and I clammed in the morning, then she scooped ice cream in the afternoons. This was the busy season, so she seemed to be working all the time. She didn’t hear anything from her new friend Sam, and I could tell it was bothering her. After she finished work today we drove down to South Point with Mary and they let Annie and me go for a romp on the beach while they walked along the water's edge. I could tell they were planning to have a long talk, so I was relieved when Emily said, "You all behave now, 'cause you know we're not really supposed to do this,” and took our leashes off. We took off, had a good run, played a bit, and then started searching for goodies. The beach is one of the best places on Ocracoke. It stretches for miles, just sand and dunes and ocean, with shells and here and there a dead fish. There are pieces of driftwood that Emily sometimes throws for me, and beach birds (Emily calls them sanderlings) just begging to be chased. Every few minutes we'd run by our people, just to make sure they were okay, and I'd pick up bits and pieces of their conversation. They talked for a while about how many tourists were here this summer ("Every year seems to get busier," Mary said. “It's good for profits, but I'm exhausted!" Emily agreed. “Some days my hand gets sore from scooping so many ice cream cones!") Then they got more somber, and I knew that they were talking about the offshore drilling. Another town meeting was scheduled for Wednesday, said Mary. Annie and I don't usually get into serious discussions, there's usually too much fun stuff to do. But when we were both flat-in exhausted, lying in a pool of water and letting the waves splash over us, I asked her what she thought about this drilling stuff. Annie licked the curly white fur on her forearm in disdain. "Do you know how awful even a little of that oil would look if it got into my curls? Mom would have a fit! And it sure could gum up the beaches we like to run on!" On the way home we stopped by the Variety Store and Emily came out with a new paperback book (Nevada Barr's "Track of the Cat," she told me) and a frozen pizza. Later on our sunset walk we just happened to stroll by the Community Store dock, where the "Mary Bee'" was still tied up. Emily pretended not to look in that direction, but I'm sure she noticed that it was deserted. When we got home she heated up the pizza, gave me a rawhide bone and climbed in bed with her purchases. She was trying very hard to act like everything was okay, but I know her too well to be fooled. Every time she heard a noise outside she would jump up and look out the window, and when the phone rang, she fairly flew to get it. She’s usually happy to hear from her mother, but this time her face fell. “No, I haven’t heard from him” she said in a dejected voice. She was moping around like she’d lost her best ball. KALI, July 23 Monday noon A poet’s cat, sedate and grave —
William Cowper I really didn't know what to make of the skipper in the days following his dinner with Emily. I thought from what he'd said that night that we would be hoisting the sails the next day. He messed with the rigging for a while in the morning and seemed to be getting ready to go, but then he abruptly dropped the lines on the deck in a pile, which is really not like him, and picked me up. He swung me up on his shoulder and said, "Let's get out of here for a while, Kali. Go for a long walk." And with that he jumped over to the dock, strode past the Community Store, and headed down the road. We ended up at the Jolly Roger, sitting at a table overlooking Silver Lake. Sam ordered a Rolling Rock for himself and a small dish of vanilla ice cream for me. I sat on the table and dipped my paw into the gooey sweetness while Sam brooded over his beer. There were two men sitting at a table next to us, and we couldn't help hearing what they were talking about. "I hope the floundering is better than the blue crabs have been. The family and I'll be eating dog-shark this winter if it's not." The speaker was a stocky man in his mid-30s with a full beard. "It's them big trawlers that's causing the trouble. They pick up enough bycatch in them 500 foot-long nets to keep us local fishermen going for months. And what sets me off, the owners of them half the time don't even know the difference between a summer flounder and a fluke. They sit back in some city like Virginia Beach and rake in the money and eat filet mignon, without knowing or caring about the men on the boats or what’s happening with the fish. They send those big trawlers over here to Ocracoke and fish the waters clean out. Us what grew up here can't even catch enough fish to live off. Why I drove out to the beach the other night and it looked like a city out there, there were so many lights!" "You're right, Joe," answered the thin man sitting across from him. "And if that drilling rig moves in, we may as well kiss our jobs goodbye. But I got problems closer to home right now. You know Frankie, my mate, turned up with a hernia and had to have surgery last week. The doc says he won't be able to work for at least a month. So I'm out a mate, and time to set nets right now. You don't know anyone needs work, do you?" About that time the man with the beard, the one called Joe, noticed me sitting next to him. He slowly shook his head no to answer his friend, and he said to Sam, "Hey, that's quite a cat you got there. Thinks he's a person, does he?" Sam smiled. "It's a she, and no, I don't think she thinks she's a person, but she's convinced she's every bit as smart as one." He held out his hand. "Name’s Sam. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I've done a little net fishing down in Florida, and I might be looking for a job." Well you could have knocked me off that table with a blue jay feather! Here I thought we were getting ready to sail to Bermuda, and the next thing I know Sam's settling down with a job! It wasn't like him to be wishy-washy, so I didn't know what to think. By the time we left the Jolly Roger, Sam had made arrangements to meet Harry, as the skinny fisherman was called, over at his dory on Oyster Creek. I was still scratching my head when we got back home. HARVEY, July 23 Monday afternoon The dog is the god of frolic—
Henry Ward Beecher For the next couple days Emily spent most of her free time reading up on offshore drilling and making phone calls, which got pretty boring for me, I can tell you. I slipped out the door one day when she didn't pull it tight and took off to visit Jackson. Jackson doesn't have to stay on a leash. His owner George lets him run free, something I've been trying to talk Emily into doing with me for a long time. She says she can't because I have no "self-restraint" and I always get into trouble. Well I have to admit that I can't see the point of sitting around the doorstep like a Martha Stewart dog! So that afternoon I ran through the marsh, rousted a couple herons, made a quick sweep of the neighbors' yard to look for cats, and then trotted over to Jackson's house, where he was snoozing under a hydrangea. He caught me up on the latest news. The crabbing was picking up, he said, based on how many new pots George had just set. The hottest news was about a pit bull mix who'd recently moved to the island. He'd bitten a girl on the beach, and his owner was in trouble. (He'd also tried to bite me a couple weeks ago, so I wasn't surprised.) "Guess I'd better get back before Emily calls out the Coast Guard. You know how upset she gets when I leave!" Jackson shook his head in sympathy. "See ya round." KALI, July 24 Tuesday No matter how much the cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.
Abraham Lincoln With Sam fishing all day I had time for some nice catnaps. After a while, however, I started getting bored. I missed my new friends at the Fish House. So I slipped off the Mary Bee and slunk back over to find Cyclops, going the way he’d showed me. He and Toots shared some fresh shrimp they’d snuck off one of the boats, and they showed me around the island some more. We visited the lighthouse I’d seen when Sam and I’d first sailed in, and Cyclops introduced me to some of the cats who live in the colony near there. I met Hairball, a furry calico, whose mother had lived in the lightkeeper’s house years before. Hairball had been born in a shed behind the lighthouse and had never been in the house, but her mother had helped her sneak in the lighthouse once during a nor’easter. “It was marvelous,” she exclaimed. “There are winding stairs all the way up, and I climbed all the way to the top. I could see the whole village.” Next I met Pounce, who was not, Cyclops explained with a bit of condescension, a real tom anymore. Pounce didn’t seem to mind. He told me that a big burly man with a rough voice and a kind heart put out food for them every day, and that he could do without all the ripped up ears and oozing wounds. As if to prove his point, a big black cat with huge jowls let out a shriek behind us, and before I could flick a flea, he and Cyclops were having a free-for-all, with hair flying everywhere. The black tom finally turned tail and ran away. Cyclops sauntered over with a rather obnoxious smirk, as if the new wound he had on his head was a gold medal. We girls ignored him. “Melody and Sweetie Pie,” Toots whispered as two gray tabbies approached. “They used to have people like you—a man and a woman-- and they lived in a house with them. Then one day their people came home with a trailer and loaded it with all their human stuff. They patted Melody and Sweetie Pie on the head and then left. Melody and Sweetie Pie kept waiting for them to come back but they never did. Finally, when they got really hungry, they moved in with the cats here, but they don’t really fit in. They miss their people and they’re always hoping someone will take them home with them. I feel kind of sorry for them, I must admit.” Toots scratched her ear sympathetically as she introduced me to them. I slipped back to the boat before the Skipper got home and was waiting for him on the boom. He would never go off and leave me, I was sure, and I rubbed against his legs extra hard to let him know I appreciated him. HARVEY, July 26 Thursday evening I like a bit of a mongrel myself; whether it’s a man or a dog—
George Bernard Shaw After Emily’s and my evening walk she fixed a couple burritos, sharing the ends with me. Then she tied me to the fence in the front yard and went to work in her garden, pulling weeds. My old friend Topper ambled up and we had a talk through the fence rails. Topper is as old as the hills, at least he would be if there were any hills here. He’s a medium-size mutt, what Emily calls a Heinz 57, I think, black and white and gray around the eyes, and he limps when he walks. He’s the wisest dog on the island. He’d warned me before that I should give up my cat-chasing ways, but till now, I hadn’t paid much attention. I hung my head when he told me he’d heard about the trouble I’d caused Emily, and I rolled over on my back to show him I was sorry. He raised his leg on the fence in a companionable way before he left, letting me know I was forgiven, but I still felt bad about it. I licked Emily’s hand when she unhooked my chain a few minutes later, just to show her I was sorry. As we went inside, the phone began to ring. Emily hurried to get it and when I heard the way her voice danced, I knew who it was. “I’ll be done clamming by about 10,” I heard her say. “Lunch sounds great. Do you know where the Trolley Stop is? I could meet you there!” Emily met Sam for lunch every day that week. I didn’t get to go with them, but from the way Emily acted I figured they were having a good time. Other than those lunches, our life went on as usual. Clams were plentiful and the ice cream stand kept Emily busy.    |
|