Hunter the Sailor Cat

We smuggled them away in the dark of night. Swooped them into the carrier, brought the food and litter box and made our way for the harbor.

Hunter and Leo - two brothers with long white hair and orange spots - came from the anti-cruelty society eleven years ago, when they were just six weeks old. They have all their claws, most of their teeth, some extra meat on their bones, and have never been outside.

It's hard to tell which one is the alpha cat. Leo is more agile, more adventurous, more likely to pick on his brother. Hunter likes to lounge around and get his belly rubbed, and doesn't always cover his shit in the litter box.

Cats have lived on board boats for centuries - they guard against rats. But I was skeptical these city cats would actually survive Mazurka.

The first night we let them out on deck, where they roamed for just a bit before making their way for the door. Hunter plopped in the middle of the bed. "So this is where you've been spending all your time," he seemed to say, and started purring. Leo retreated to a cupboard.

The following afternoon, in the brief window of sunlight, we brought them up to the fly bridge. Leo crouched low, mewing, uncertain of the rocking or his footing, and returned to the cupboard. But Hunter stood tall on the fly bridge, surveying the harbor, the wind blowing his fur back. He looked like a true sailor cat, worthy of the high seas.

You never know how living on the water will change somebody - even a loafing eleven year-old cat.

But sympathy pains got to him, and pretty soon, Hunter started hiding in the cupboard with his brother. Every unfamiliar sound frightened them. When I came home from work, they stayed hidden away, rather than greeting me at the door. They hovered low to the ground, ate thought they weren't pestering me for food as usual, and they ceased scrapping in the middle of the night. I worried they would never get used to boat life, even in a placid harbor.

Then one evening we started the engine and took the boat for a ride. I was certain this would send them over the feline psychological edge. They stayed in their cupboard the whole trip. Except at the end, Leo emerged slowly, with a familiar glint in his eye. We took him up to the fly bridge, by the wheel, and he started to purr. He was just waiting to be captain.

Since then, they are back to their old troublemaking selves, as if they've lived aboard Mazurka their entire lives.

I can see now why cats and boats go together. Besides the teams of mice and rats to chase, there's the maze of shelves and levels to climb; cats don't need a lot of space on the ground - they need space up. Hunter and Leo balance with their thick orange tails, and when the boat blows in the wind, they rock with it. There are small spaces to crawl into, dark places to hide. There are ropes and birds. There is always something going on, something to observe, something to get right in the middle of - like a coiled rope - and plop right down.