Well, That Answers That Question

We have some interesting wildlife out here in Belmont Harbor. Hordes of raccoon families, for one thing, led by parents the size of small grizzlies. The other night Mark and I came home and parked the motorcycle beside the dumpster where a family of seven was feasting on pretzels. The little ones climbed the fence as we neared, but their mom stayed put, munching away, keeping an eye on us. Pretty soon her babies returned. “Welcome to Flood Bros. Family Dining,” Mark observed.

Tonight I was out watering our garden (we have a garden on the dock – six tomato plants, basil, sage, dill, parsley, cilantro, and chives), when something resembling a small shark swam underneath me, between the dock and the boat. I looked down, thinking it was a large carp. But it was hairy...and swimming above water. And there were two.

A few nights ago one of our Venetian Night guests told us she saw something strange swimming in the water. “Not a raccoon,” she said, “not a rat, not a beaver – but like a beaver – they have them at the Shedd Aquarium.” “An otter?” I asked. “Yeah! An otter!” she said. We all told her there was no way there were any otters living in Belmont Harbor. But I tell you what – I saw them. Two of them. They were swimming side by side, and I followed them all the way to the end of the harbor, where they swam around a bit. The security guard came by. “What are those things?” I asked her. “Ducks,” she said, smoking a cigarette, not looking where I was pointing. “No,” I told her, “THOSE things.” “Oh my God…” And we stood together for a long time, watching the otters, trying to convince ourselves maybe they were beavers – but no, they were otters. Furry, long, with narrow heads and small teeth. (Note to Reader: they were not otters. They were muskrats. Mating muskrats. Cue "Muskrat Love.")



We walked with them as they swam back along the boats. I stopped in front of Mazurka and picked up the hose to finish watering the plants. Hunter and Leo had come out by that time and were roaming around. “Don’t you worry about those cats?” The security guard asked me. “That they might fall in?” “No,” I told her. “They’ve lived on the boat for a year – they’re pretty agile.”

Cats falling in the lake was an early concern. I knew from childhood (and mean boys throwing cats in the Mississippi River) that cats are good swimmers. We had a rough plan that if one of the cats fell in, we’d throw them a line or a hook or get the net or steer them toward the swim deck. Then rinse them off real good.

I finished watering the plants and took my bags inside and came back out in pursuit of Leo, who was making his way down the dock. The last I saw of Hunter – who is unfortunately the clumsy one – was him standing on the Harbor Dog, ready to jump on the Mazurka. The next thing I hear is him miss the boat – I turn just in time to see him miss one of the ropes and land in the water. He could swim all right, but he also cried like you’ve never heard a drowning cat cry in your life. I screamed for Mark – who was on the phone inside – and rapped at the door for him, running to get a hook. Hunter is swimming in circles and crying and gurgling water. I had half a mind to jump in for him, right where the muskrats had been. I extended one of the gaffes into the water, and Hunter grabbed on, but as I lifted him out he fell back into the water. I’m screaming to Mark, who is oblivious. I throw Hunter a rope (who knows what I expected him to do with the rope). He’s trying to climb up the flat walls, and slowly swimming toward a nearby swim deck. Just then, Mark emerges with the giant fishing net (it was hidden at the bottom of the lazarette), and fishes out the poor cat. He stumbles around a bit, then lets me pick him up, take him inside, and rinse him in the shower.

Oh, Huntie. Huntie-runtie. A little slow, he’ll probably forget this by the morning. For now, he’s got some bathing to do.