Saturday Night at the Marina

I’ve just got back on the boat to find it full of flying insects.

Cat requested shore leave, which turned into a bit of a marathon, me with the headtorch following him as he ranged across the marina.

I made the mistake of leaving boat windows open and a light on. So as I type this, little creatures are running across the keyboard and sitting on the screen.

OMG I’ve just looked at the rug and it is covered. And the ceiling. And the dashboard…

Time to call it a day I think.

Goodnight all.

Feline Boat Fancier

It was nearly time to go home. Boat dusted and vacuumed. Old sheets over the bed and the seats. Pretty well shipshape and Bristol fashion. Just a bag to put in the car, and Cat’s shoreleave.

Since his unintentioned swim last summer I have been  much stricter about his access to the Big Outside World when we are at the marina. It’s a pity as he likes to have a bit of a mooch and a run around. Also exercise means he sleeps better, so I do too. And I don’t have to clean the litter tray so often. If at all.

I carried him off Das Boot in his pet caddy and then opened it up. He sat up, had a good look about him and jumped out. Now, I wanted him to go to the ditch that separates the marina from the neighbouring field, or up the manmade bank to the hedges behind the car. Either would have been a good spot for any last minute toilet needs before the car journey ahead.

But no. With a fine disregard for my life expectancy he decided on a boat inspection. Not Das Boot, another one. Small and quite new looking. You can see it in the picture. It’s the one in the middle. Ignoring my blandishments, he strolled along the pontoon and gave the boat  a good sniffing. I heaved a sigh of relief as he turned round and came towards me. Too soon. The object of his new affection drew him back. Back paws on the pontoon, he reached up for a closer look. There was a good breeze. I held my breath. He climbed onto the boat. But not nicely and safely. Oh no, not he. His body was at full stretch at ninety degrees to the deck. He looked as though he was trying to work out a way of getting inside. Honestly, you would have thought forty eight hours on Das Boot would have been enough to make him appreciate dry land, not turn him into the Chay Blyth.

I decided I had better fetch him. As I approached he looked at me and gave a miaow. The sort that means ‘oh good I could do with a hand here’. But he let me pick him up  and carry him up the bank.

Afterwards I thought it would have made a sweet picture, but at the time my hands were too busy clutching my hair. I do have some of him inspecting the derelict boat by the fence, where he also found a discreet spot for a pee, so when I have downloaded them I shall try to add one into this post.