sailing cats

Rosie was the other half of our sailing cats. She was an Irish dutchess. Pranced on her toes as she swished her over-fluffy tail. She was a great boat cat. Usually she was very shy with strangers. However, on the boat, she lost all of her inhibitions and whenever anyone came aboard, she jumped up on the aft table in front of the guest and spreadeagled for a tummy rub - go figure (lol). She would hop up beside me at the helm whenever we went out of the slip. Baccarat, on the other hand went down below and dug his claws into some wood and held on.

cat sailing stories

When sailing alone it can get really lonely. I mean really lonely! So I have, when possible, had a cat as a shipmate. They are reasonably self sufficient and on rare occasions, actually seem like they are listening to my ramblings in a seaway. And they can provide some much needed relief during times of lonely stress. Spishtac, rescued from a dumpster in Hong Kong may give you an example. Spishtac was a runt of a litter living on a pig farm in Pak Sha Wan, a coastal village north of Kowloon. He had his tale lopped off by the farmer's wife before being uncerimoniously dumped to die. He was rescued and became my sailing companion on an 80 day single handed passage from Hong Kong to San Francisco (read the book 'Pacific High'). We were in the middle of a full gale winds above 60 knots, pitch black on deck. An emergency required going out on deck. So I, after deliberations, was elected. Spishtac wanted to go out on deck, too. But a little 3 pound cat with decks awash didn't seem ideal. He abhored being locked below. I donned my foulies and made my way forward I snapped my harness onto the deck lifeline and did my work. A wave took me and tumbled me ass over teakettle, snapped the harness line and washed me down so most of my body was in the water on the lee side. The boat was making about 7 knots and I was being pulled into the sea. Talk about scared! I managed to ge myself back on board and up to the mast step when Spishtac floated toward me in the next wave that crashed over the bow. I grabbed him and uncerimoniously stuffed him into my foul weather jacket and finished the work. He didn't move while in the jacket - good thing because his little claws were very sharp.

Seems he had made his way out through a crack in the companionway and went hunting for flying fish, or whatever. I warmed up some reconstituted milk for him while I dried him and me with a towel. I had a cup of hot tea. From then on his favorite napping spot became my foul weather jacket.