Adventures of Green Eyes the Nordic Tug, Cruising in the Time of Covid, Chapter 3

The time we almost sent Pika home.

    

     No better Third Mate exists. She endures rough waters with the patience of Job. When folks come by to admire Green Eyes, she comes out on the back deck with her tail held high and a soft mew in greeting. Then she's the one getting all the ooos and ahhs.
     "You have a cat on board?" asks everyone in surprise. There are lots of boat dogs, but we have yet to see another with a feline. Do they know something we don't know?
     Yes.
     You can read Chapter 1 to understand why we brought our kitty along on our tug boat journey, and why it seemed a good idea. Back home in California, before our trek out to Michigan, we fantasized about how much Pika (Pee-ka) would love being on the boat. "She'll probably hang out on the navigation desk, so she can look out the front window," Scott said. "Yeah," I'd agree smiling, thinking about how she'd stand at the prow of the boat like Kate Winslet, fur blowing in the wind. But the reality proved to be more like Life of Pi, the movie with the temperamental Bengal tiger that is very, very upset that he is on a boat with a human.
     The first week aboard, Pika fluctuated between terror and fear. It wasn't long before she was the talk of the marina. Or was the talk about her kitty mom who was worried sick that Pika would go overboard and drown. That's how I am. I pretty much worry all the time that people or pets I love will die. My family knows it, I know it, Scott definitely knows it. Remember the movie Terms of Endearment? The character played by Shirley MacLaine stands by a crib checking on her sleeping newborn baby all through the night, ultimately climbing into the crib and curling up next to the baby so she can watch her breathe. Scott once said that if I’d been lucky enough to become a mom, he could TOTALLY see me doing that. I could too. Anyway, I ordered three different harnesses for Pika, and made her miserable whenever I put one on her. My worrying turned vocal and soon Paula, a seamstress at the marina in Grand Traverse Bay, was making a screen to close off the opening of our bedroom so that Pika could stay safe and sound while we were underway. Paula's husband Bull installed it. The snaps held tight and there were no gaps. During our first sea trial, I should have remembered that Bull demonstrated the "breakaway" feature of the screen because as soon as the boat hit some rather large swells, which caused it to lurch and bounce and bang, Pika burst through the screen like a racehorse at the starting bell. She took the three steps to the wheel house in one bound, landed in the galley, and made a mad dash for the open salon doors that lead to the back deck, the dingy, the motor churning up white water, and the deep blue inland sea that is Lake Michigan. The only thing that stopped Pika from committing suicide was my hand around the tip of her tail, which, by the grace of God, and that superhuman adrenaline thing that enables women to lift a vehicle off a child (and because I'm like that character in that movie), I caught a piece of her as she flew by. Scooping her in my arms and muttering apologies into her soft little brow, I tucked her into her cat carrier and zipped it shut. Now Pika, as almost all pets, hates the carrier because the only time she is in it is for a trip to the Vet. She was unhappy. Furious. Almost Bengal tiger-like. But as soon as I draped a towel over the carrier, she relaxed. Spraying a blast of "Kitty Calm", a product that is said to duplicate mama cat pheromones seemed to help too. We finished our three-hour tour around Power Island and headed back to Elmwood Marina where I kissed Pika's head some more and gave her a healthy portion of mea culpa Fancy Feast.
     I can't express how upsetting it was to see her that terrorized. I felt selfish and guilty that she was with us for our pleasure, not hers. I recalled that a month earlier, back home in San Jose, California, a neighbor stopped by to wish us bon voyage. When we told John where we were starting our voyage, he mentioned that he had friends in Traverse City, Michigan, the very destination where Green Eyes was waiting for us. 

     Seeing how miserable Pika was, and imagining having to become a Bengal tiger tamer, I emailed John and asked if he thought his Traverse City friend might be interested in fostering Pika for a few months during our tug travels. It turned out that his friend Enid is a professional pet sitter! I took this news as a gift from God. Or a plea from Pika. 
    Between the time I wrote to John in San Jose and connected with Enid, I sent out a plea for support to my brother Sean and his wife Ann. Ann loves kitties and wants one badly. My brother, not so much, but since Sean and I both know we'd do anything for each other, and since Ann knows how it is to worry, I took a chance on asking. Ann responded immediately that she and Sean could take Pika for a time and that her sweet sister Janet was willing to take her for the rest of the time. How kind. How generous and loving and feline-saving. I'd have to fly Pika across the country to get her to Sean and Ann, something I had never done before. I asked Ann if she could stand by, as we were still working with Pika. Asking folks to care for Pika made me feel like a kitty-mom who couldn't hack it.
     A few days later, Enid contacted me and she and her two girls came to the boat. They couldn't have been nicer. The situation couldn't have been more ideal. But what did I say?      "We're going for another short cruise tomorrow. Can I let you know for sure after that whether we'll leave Pika here in Traverse City or not?" Enid was gracious and said of course.
     But it rained the next three days so we didn't go out. Instead, we reinforced the screen, built a platform for Pika's porta potty, petted her a lot, and tried to determine by her sweet mews what she would want.
     Pika would be safer with Enid or Sean and Ann than on the boat, no question. Except when we were underway, Pika was happy to be with us. She seemed to accept her duties as Third Mate (sleep a lot and greet people, purr and roll over for tummy rubs). She explored new areas on the boat each day and even got brave enough to walk the gunwale all the way around the boat. She jumped up on the roof, and embraced the new locations of her potty, her food, and her water. The more I thought about her not being with us, the worse I felt. Scott said he would leave the decision up to me, only saying that he would feel bad if she weren't happy not being with us. I wasn't worried about that part because Enid seemed a warm, intuitive person who looked like she knew how to rub a cat's tummy. And Pika knew and liked Sean and Ann. But whichever way I decided, I felt like a bad mom.

            The weather cleared and we went out for a cruise. We tried out a new way to ensure Pika would be safe and have her with us, and it seems to be working. Before Scott starts the engine, I put Pika in her pink life vest. The effect of this is that she melts to the floor. She becomes Liquid Kitty. Every time I put her vest on her, she flops to the floor. If she does move, she walks like a drunken sailor, taking a few steps then falling over. In this temporary stuporous state, I scoop up her limp body and pour her into her carrier. The carrier gets positioned in the wheelhouse between Scott and I, where she can see us. I fill out the log book and where it says “crew”, I write in Scott, Tris, and Pika or simply S, T, P.
     I'm amazed how well it works, how safe she is, how quickly she forgets her entrapment. As soon as I undo the snaps on her vest upon arrival at a new marina, she acts like it never happened.
     I'm ever grateful to John, Enid, Ann, Sean, and Janet, and my nieces Treese and Briget who were willing to care for her too. 
     I also can't imagine being on Green Eyes without our resilient Third Mate.

Scott and Tris

Aboard Green Eyes in Petoskey, Michigan