AMAZING
ADVENTURES OF A TAIL-LESS CAT ON
A KEEL-LESS BOAT!
BY THE CAT’S BLESSING
On a very old drawing, I saw a marvelous
wooden ship with wide flowing sails, which resembled wings.
And a need arose in me to travel to far
away lands in such a remarkable sailing vessel.
Anyone can accomplish anything, if you
combine a burning desire with hard work.
In a year, my ship descended from that picture to water.
And my sailboat cast off and flew from
port to port, from country to country, and from one continent to another. Whether my boat is rubbing up against a
mooring or whether it is softly rocked by waves while anchored, I hurry to my
tiny table, and lay out my travel journal for my future book. And soon, out of the blue, arrives by own
person its main hero.
In a foreign port, with a skinny ribs,
starving little kitten boarded my vessel and asked for political and
provisionary asylum on Russian territory.
Of course, I granted it without any doubts! Because myself, I grew up in
the noble society of cats and dogs.
If my puppy, Toozik, got a sweet bone from
mother's borsht he always shared it lovingly with me. And we would gnaw the
bone, one of us at each end. And
Ginger, our cat, taught me to lap milk with exceptional pedagogical patience,
while I was still crawling on all fours.
After luncheon, we fell asleep in each other’s arms…
My linguistical talents budded early. I have completely mastered many animal
languages. This is the reason why I did
not have difficulty teaching my four-legged sailor the human language. What, you don't believe me? If you really want to know, it was much more
of a challenge teaching the cat to use toilet paper instead of his tongue!
Over the years, our crew, with sailor-cat
Koozya, survived every sort of adventure.
Together we crossed seas and oceans from cold latitudes to the tropics,
visited various countries and continents, peeked into the fiery craters of
volcanoes, died in howling hurricanes and braved lashing waves twice the height
of our masts. And we were robbed,
arrested, shots were fired over our heads, we were handcuffed and imprisoned,
and pirates boarded our ship….
The passionate sea and adventures neatly
arrange themselves on the page during my nightly labour. Whipped by the wind and salted by storms, my
furry friend would fall asleep on my lap, jerking his paws comically in his
sleep. The pile of papers grew
steadily, until, with a sigh of relief, I typed in the last line.
That day, the newly anointed literary
character received a reward of a few savory, melt-in-your-mouth pieces of
angelfish I had recently hooked. Koozya
accepted the tidbits with gracious understanding and appetite. And my wife Irene and I set out for
shore. On the balcony of a cozy
restaurant covered with palm leaves and possessing a wonderful view of the
evening harbour, we raised our glasses of orange juice to the health of our
third, much-loved crewmember… And then we boarded a nimble rowboat. The obliging moon lit a glimmering path
toward our floating home. With every
scull, warm silvery streamlets trickled down my oars. The evening was truly magical…
But when we opened the hatch and descended
the ladder into the cabin, we gasped…The whole deck was covered with chewed,
torn and wounded pages of my manuscript… There was no slightest question as to
who the culprit was. Without a trace
of guilt, the noxious, merciless critic
was stretching on my pillow, cunningly narrowing his huge sea-green eyes. Previously Koozma was distinguished for a
serious and principled disposition: sometimes he read the lying newspaper to
bits, and other times he slashed Irene's
unappreciated picture. But to
cause such cruel dressing down of my impassioned and humble labour… This is a
bit too much!
Irene sat on the bunk and thoughtfully
picked up a few pitiful remnants. After
some silence, she suddenly said, quietly and seriously:
"Listen, maybe it is really too early
for publication?"
Having waited for my anger to settle and
cool, and having reconstructed the pages which Koozya tore to pieces, I once
more sat down to my narrative about my four legged sailor. Over and again I leafed through and read and
re-read, and I found that which not only my fastidious editor cat did not like,
but that I did not like myself either.
That which seemed failure I crossed out, and that which was unconvincing
I rewrote. And then I moved the pile of
papers to the corner of the table.
A few days later, we again went ashore for
a couple hours. When we returned aboard
– alas! – there was another surprise from our precious Koozya.
At her easel, my artist-wife had left
behind a badly closed can of paint, and our saintly cat, of course, had been
smart enough to knock it over and had plunged into it. Pawprints all over the deck, the blanket…
Stop, stop! And what is this?
Right on the title page of my manuscript a
large and greasy blot stood out -- an absolutely clear paw print… What could
this mean? Let us think….
Well, obviously, this was Koozma
unambiguous approval of my latest corrections. And by his own paw signature,
blessing the book: it's time to publish!
FIRST TRUE
FAIRYTALE
SEATTLE, USA:
SINGING CAT FROM A CRAZY NIGHT
If over your head from the early morning
begin to fly roofs, it’s faithful token, that weather soon will become
depraved. Before leaving, just in case – I wore warmer clothes.
For a long time I intended to set up on my
vessel some kind of a portable meteorological station. This occurred to me,
when on a sea beach. I stumbled upon on rock, very well grinded by waves. I
tied it around by rope, lashed to the shroud approximately three feet over the
deck. Now to the accuracy of my meteorological observations may envy any super
electronic sinoptical service.
Now enough only one instantaneous look on
my homemade station and you will unmistakably know, which tasty dish are
preparing on weather kitchen the omnipotent sky cooks:
The top of the
rock is wet – rain is coming.
Waves rinse it from bottom – soon there
will be a storm.
Pebbles are whitening from snow – winter
on threshold.
Stone dry and shiny – for sunny weather.
Rock is rolling: wait for wind.
Stone is still, but beach jumping close to
boat, like in a fever – approximate earthquake.
All station start to whirl circles on rope
– too early to be worried: hurricane only approaching.
If whole boat flying around rock – it’s
too late to be worried: vessel already at the center of hurricane.
My
station has a lot of advantages. None too clever and smart diodes inside, do
not corrode, unbreakable – it’s mean lifetime warranty.
But today something has gone seriously
wrong with the heavenly mechanics. The day dawned with a bright and warm sun,
but in the afternoon humid clouds dumped shaggy sheets of rain on us and by
sunset the weather was so wintry that the clouds produced enormous flakes of
wet snow. By midnight a sudden, very powerful squall came up. Special TV and
radio bulletins alarmed the city: the wind speed in Seattle had reached 80
miles per hour and in the northern sections there were gusts up to 106 mph!
Lovely! 74 knots is enough to reclassify horrible tropical winds into
hurricane, and here even 100 mph had been breached…
My boat, tied on three ropes, scraping the
shaky, squeaky wooden dock. This insolent super-wind growing stronger as it
shoved and rocked the vessel, causing cold waves to hit it painfully with
growing strength. I add fenders and extra lines. But it is hard and dangerous
work in this leaping surf. If your hand gets caught between the hull and the
dock – it would stay there.
Wet and frozen to my bones, I go below for
a bit to warm up. In the cabin everything is sliding and flying around. Irene,
desperately trying to keep her balance while holding a boiling teapot, manages
to pour me a mug of hot tea.
“Ee-o-o-w-w-w…” comes someone’s plaintive
sob outside.
Involuntarily dancing around, holding the
scalding tea, I begin to unbutton by my second hand the outer jacket. Irene
helping me pulls it off…
“Ee-o-o-w-w-w…”, again comes the thin,
long voice, drowned out by the howling wind and grumbling waves.
I throw off my clothes and put dry ones
on. Again I hear the heart-rending shrill cry. Irene looks up:
“Do we have a guest?”
Outside there is such a mess that even
sticking one’s nose out seemed too much. But I have to go out. If the lines
snapped we would be dashed against the nearby rocks. I open the hatch and,
swearing inwardly, I go up on deck again. Seattle’s sky is unrecognizable. The
wind is howling and knocking down trees. The air is full of flying twigs,
shingles from someone’s roof, shreds of newspaper. Lumps of wet snow lash my
face. Some weather! At the very word “Siberia”, Americans shudder from the cold
even under the hottest midday sun, but there, on my own continent, I had not
seen such slushy, totally penetrating snow for many years.
I go along the deck, checking the lines by
hand. Are they ready to give anywhere?
Suddenly, close by, I hear the familiar
“Ee-o-o-www”, doubtlessly emanating from a live creature. Eyes blinded by clumps of snow heavy with
water, I stretch my hands out in the semi-darkness, running them along the
dock. My fingers feel a wet and cold but moving clump. I pick it up. A kitten!
So this was the creature that couldn’t pronounce entirely “Meow”! It looked
like the pussycat was so frozen it hardly had the strength to say “Eow”. I
stick him into the warmth of my coat while I continue the deck inspection. We
are being buffeted strongly, but I tighten the lines at all seven cleats and
put out all the fenders. No danger as of yet. Time for a rest again.
“We have a guest by the name of
“Unexpected”! – I call to Irene as I go below.
I demonstrate the new comer to her. He is
so tiny that he fits on my palm with room to spare. His appearance is very
pleasing. Mostly long, black fur, but the left part of the face and the front
paws are white, becoming black further up. His pads are red and his ears and
stomach are as pink as a flamingo!
The alien is trembling all over from cold
and hunger, just a tiny bag with a collection of noisy bones. He is so thin one
can train in arithmetic on his ribs. What is keeping him alive? Nevertheless,
his voice has become loud, screeching with all the strength he has left.
“And what are you trying to say, little
one?” Irene looks into his eyes with worry and sympathy.
I have always had the aptitude for foreign
languages. For instance I can freely converse for hours with birds, cats, dogs,
cows, horses and other intelligent animals with full mutual understanding. So,
I translate without difficulty:
“He says, ‘I have no home and I have
not tail.’”
“Oh you’re right, just a tiny stump!”
Irene feels the short growth sticking out from his gaunt behind.
I see nothing shameful or disgraceful in
this. The almost complete lack of a rear extremity gives the guest a special
charm and mystery. Cats are cats, but he is something exceptional. Either he
was born chopped off or, in spite of his youth, he had already known the
passion of real male battles. An intriguing feature at the very beginning
always attracts and amuses.
The little cat begins to make occasional
noises and I copy him:
“Now he is announcing that unfortunately
America, a rich country, is not able to take care of him and he requests that
we grant him gastronomic and political asylum on Russian territory”.
“Oh yes, he is hungry!” Irene suddenly
realizes.
“Of course. The poor but clever cat is
actually begging us: “Give me something to drink, because I am so hungry, that
I have no place to spend the night!”
Irene quickly pours some milk into a dish.
We offer it to the kitten, but he has no idea what to do with this strange
white water and begins to cry even more than before. We carefully lower him
toward the drink. The milk has gotten into the night visitor’s nose and he is
horrified. (“Do these hustlers want to drown me?!!) He jumps back, sneezing
desperately and shaking his head. But then his tongue touches his whitened
chin. Having licked it, the tailless one has totally changed his mind. Like an
arrow out of a bow he jumps for the dish and attacks the food with incredible
greed. His little orange tongue darts and shines with cleanliness. Irene fills
it up again to the brim. He takes half a minute to reach the bottom.
His stomach is inflating as we watch, but
the little guy is insistent and attacks the third portion with his previous
wolf like appetite. He also does not refuse supper #4, but soon his movements
slow down, his eyes become drowsy with a kind expression, and a film covers
them over. When he is through with the fourth dish, also licked clean, the poor
fellow staggers. His stomach, formerly pasted to his backbone from hunger, now
looks as round as if he has swallowed a tennis ball.
Two green lights now look at us with much
more respect and friendship. Having smelled our slippers, the cat suddenly
jumps on Irene’s lap and then climbs up to her shoulder, using her sweater for
a ladder. Doing a little dance there, the kitten sticks its face into her long
hair and begins to sing loudly and rhythmically! He is not purring, he is
actually singing by a lilting voice… This is outstanding! I have seen enough
weird things in my life, and here on this crazy midnight a singing cat has
dropped by!
Interrupting his song with dance for a
moment, the now happy kitten begins to meow in a lively way about something.
“Do you know what he is saying now?” I
look into Irene’s smiling face. “He says he definitely likes it here – it’s
warm and dry. And if you guarantee him hot and high-calorie meals three times a
day, he is ready to call you “Mommy…”
Our family council, naturally, decides
without any objections to adopt the unexpected guest. In his birth certificate
we inscribe a typical Russian name that we liked, Koozma (Kozmo in English),
Koozya for short.
It’s a friend, for whom I waited so long!
My home cat Tiopa in Vladivostok, and kitten Kodiak, whom I received as a
present on Alaskan island Kodiak – both didn’t wish to risk their precious skin
in dangerous seas. They refused to go, when being notified, that I have no
insurance for my pocket-boat. But this fluffy wonder appears aboard by himself.
As the saying goes, one to other, blind to deaf is striving: to the keelless
boat came a tailless cat! For our AmeriCat we give on vessel very responsible
position of mouse-patrol and knitter of sea knots.