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CHAPTER VIII
KALI, July 17 Tuesday night His manners and appearance did not calculate to please,
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees. T.S. Elliot There was a full moon Tuesday night, and Cyclops, Toots, and I sat out on the pier behind the fish house watching it. We’d cleaned out the box of fish rejects left behind when the workers went home, and my tummy was full. Cyclops had been telling cat tales when a new tom, one I hadn’t met, approached. His coat was an odd mix of dull white and gray. He was big-boned but thin, and he kept coughing. His voice rasped in a slow drawl when he spoke. “Hey ya’ll! I’ve got some news about that oil deal.” Cyclops’ and Toots’ ears perked up, I noticed, so I paid attention as he continued. “I climbed under the hood of that Rakes guy’s car and listened while he talked on his cell phone. He was asking someone in Florida to send money to bribe the guy who’s in charge of the Environmental Impact Statement. He wants to pay him not to tell anyone about the endangered fish that live near the drilling site. Seems like he wants to keep it real hush-hush. He gunned his engine and took off so fast after he hung up that I barely had time to slip out! Got any leftover bluefish? I’m starved.” The cat ended with a spell of coughing, then sat down, exhausted. Cyclops sniffed around the dock and dragged over a bony carcass which the gulls hadn’t finished picking clean. He asked a few questions, then turned to me with a serious expression. “This here is Rigs. He’s from Louisiana, where he was a mouser on an oil rig. He fell off the rig, landed in an oil slick, and managed to stay above water by clinging to the bodies of loons and gulls mired in the oil. They drifted and finally bumped into the stern of a yacht on its way to Ocracoke. Rigs dragged himself up the ladder, but he was barely alive when he got here. We thought he was a black cat when he limped off the yacht. It took Toots and Scarlet weeks to clean him up, and he still isn’t doing too good! Seems like he breathed some of that oil into his lungs.” As he spoke Toots strolled over and began working on a dark blotch near his left shoulder with her tongue. Rigs had another coughing spell, as if to accentuate Cyclops’ words. He looked me over before he spoke, assessing my reliability. “You aren’t a spy, are you?” he drawled. Toots spoke up. “This is Blowboater. She’s okay, but she’s not from around here. She doesn’t know anything about this oil drilling stuff.” “You’re lucky, then” said Rigs. “That black grease is the devil’s own work, I say. I sailed all the way up here to get away from it, and now this Rakes guy wants to drill near Ocracoke! Men with money will come, and they won’t want a bunch of alley cats running around. They’ll ship every last one of you off to the gas chambers, and what’s left will have to work on the rigs, like I did. There’ll be hell to pay, I’m telling you all!” Rigs glanced around to include the others. “Now I’m gonna find me a pile of eel grass to curl up in. I’m beat!” I looked over at Cyclops, so agitated now that his back was up. “It won’t happen while I’m here,” he snarled. “This is our island! We just let the humans stay out of kindness. Why my great-gr-gr—“ “Okay, okay,” Toots soothed him, “We know. Your ancestors settled Ocracoke. Don’t worry. We’ll stop them somehow.” Cyclops let out a yowl that sent shivers up my spine. “Now I’m gonna go find a female feline with an un-snipped ear!” and with that, he slipped out of sight. Toots turned to me with a sigh. “We’re really worried about Rigs’ cough. I’m afraid he won’t be with us for too much longer. I’m going to go mousing now. Want to come?” I thanked her but declined. I curled up on a dry mat under the fish house, but I had the devil of a time sleeping. Something kept bothering me, though I couldn’t put my paw on what it was. Something Rigs had said...that name...what was it? Jakes? Bakes? Rakes! That was it. I was sure I had heard it somewhere before, and it gave me an uneasy feeling... I started wishing I was in the V-berth on the Mary Bee. “Oh dear,” I said to myself, “I think I’m getting homesick.” HARVEY, July 18 Wednesday morning The trouble with a kitten is that when it grows up, it’s always a cat
Ogden Nash Emily did not have to dip ice cream today, so after we went clamming she put the box of oatmeal cookies in the bicycle basket, put my leash on, and we set out for Loren’s house. Loren is Emily’s mom’s cousin. He lives down pond, in a little house looking over the water. His dog Patches was one of my best friends before he got old and sick. Now, with him gone, it seems real lonesome when we go visit there. Loren was happy to see us and ate one of the cookies right away. He asked Emily to stay for lunch, but she told him she had to collect stuff for the Ocracats fundraising sale. He gave Emily a bag of tomatoes to take with her when she left. We went home and Emily traded the bike for her truck. I hopped in and we headed for town. Each year the island businesses donate something to be sold. The money they make is used to pay the local veterinarian's expenses for neutering the feral cats. Collecting the donations is kind of fun, and I enjoy sitting in the truck and stopping at all the shops, First stop today was the "Ragpicker," run by two nice ladies who used to make the rag rugs they sold but now just run the shop. My friend Wiener was waiting for his owner, so he trotted over and we visited through the window while Emily went inside. Wiener has real short legs, so he has to jump up on the truck to sniff noses. The Ragpicker ladies came back out with Emily, who was carrying an “I love my pussycat” T-shirt and two ceramic cat bowls in her arms. They told Wiener to get down and reached in to give me a scratch on the head. "Let us know if you need anything else," they called out as we left. Next we went to the Harborside Motel, where there are always several cats for me to bark at. Mr. Bates gave Emily a doorstop of a cat curled up asleep, and pointed out all the martins flying around a purple martin house. "I tried putting one up," Emily lamented, "but I never even got a scout." At the Community Store she got three bags of Bonkers cat treats and an "Ollie” T-shirt, with a picture of the big yellow and white cat who lives there. Emily stopped for a moment to chat with Loren, who was sitting in a rocker on the porch, about the cats, and an older woman I didn’t know interrupted. “If you spay all the cats,” she said, “who will keep the rats away?” Emily smiled that little smile of hers, and I heard her laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that. There are plenty of cats here who are too smart to get caught. There will always be cats at Ocracoke.” Over on the dock I thought I saw a movement on that new sailboat, but I couldn't be sure. Emily didn't even look, but I knew she wanted to. After about two hours the back of the truck was full. We stopped by Mary's shop, and through the open door I heard her tell Mary she thought they had more than last year. "I'll make lemonade," Mary said, "and we can sell that. And Judy is gonna try and catch the kittens behind Jimmy's Garage. Maybe we can get homes for them. Brigetta says she can man the booth for a couple hours. We should be about ready." When we got home Emily unloaded the truck and asked me if I wanted to go down to the sound, which is just a short walk from our house. She put on her bathing suit, and when we got there, she let me off the leash and swam out in the channel. I love to splash around in the water, but I'm not big on going over my head, so I trotted down the beach till I found a dead sand shark. I had me a good roll and when Emily swam back I smelled terrific. Instead of appreciating the fragrance, Emily, who has terrible taste in some things, got all upset, and when we got home she got out the dog shampoo Uh Oh! There nothing I hate more than a bath! "Come on, Harvey. You asked for this!" she admonished me as I tried to dart away and hide behind the living room chair. She missed me and I ran upstairs and dove on top of the bed, trying to bury under the covers. "Not on the bedspread," she yelled in dismay. "I just washed it!" She finally wrestled me down and dragged me into the shower, and that was the end of my nice new perfume. KALI July 18 Wednesday noon When I play with my cat, who knows if I am not a pastime to her more than she is to me?
Michel E. de Montaigne When I woke up the next morning I was determined to find my way back to the Mary Bee. It shouldn't be too hard; I just had to follow the shoreline till I reached the Community Store docks. I started out by making my way across the riprap, jumping from rock to rock. Some of the rocks were slippery, and I sure didn't want to take another swim, so I was being real careful. Then I heard a sound behind me, and there was Cyclops. I felt kind of embarrassed, as if I was doing something wrong, and I tried to explain. "I have to get back. I have responsibilities; I'm not a free cat like you guys..." But he didn't seem unduly disturbed. "Yeah, I know some other cats that belong to people. Can't say that I understand the attraction, but 'different acts for different cats' is what I say. Let me show you an easier way." Cyclops led me to the road and, after a quick glance to make sure no one was around, we darted from building to building till we were underneath the Community Store. "Be seeing you round," he called nonchalantly, as he slunk away. "Thanks..." I called after him, then looked toward the dock in combined eagerness and trepidation, wondering if the Skipper was on board. I still had to get past the ducks, so I steeled myself for a quick dash. Past the Gathering Place, over the dinghy dock, and down the pier to the bow of the Mary Bee. I made a leap, this time successful, and I was back! Sam was sitting in the cockpit, and he must have heard me, for I heard a puzzled "What the h..." And then I was in his arms, my claws grasping his chest. What a reunion that was! Sam was ecstatic, I must say, and I was pretty happy myself. He hurried to open a can of cat food, thinking I'd been starving I guess. I didn't have the heart to turn it down, even though it seemed pretty poor after all the fresh fish I'd been eating. He sat down and I snuggled into his arms, just like old times.    |
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