Fishing with the boys
When I awoke the next morning, the sun just was poking its
round orange head up over the mainland. The rest of the crew was still snoring
away, recovering from a really good time at the Two Harbors bar last night. I
was hungry as usual and decided to look for breakfast. Being a natural
hunter-gatherer, I fell upon this task with gusto, and was quickly rewarded
with a small pile of discarded bait that had been missed in the boys rush to
get off the boat and to the bar last night. I preferred fresh, but desperate
times call for desperate measures.
“Ewwww, Salty! What are you eating?” Stormy asked, as his
bare feet marched across the deck.
Is this a trick
question? I meowed.
“That’s disgusting! Couldn’t you have waited for
breakfast?”
Apparently not,
I responded between bites. He stomped over and quickly threw what was left of
my prize overboard. I guarantee that’s
going to cost you, I howled. Maybe
not this minute, but you will pay.
“Just relax, you big baby, and I’ll cut up some fish for
you, and if you’re quiet, I might even add a couple of squid to it.”
All right but make
it quick. I growled. You know how I
get when I’m hungry. He knows I can’t be held responsible for my actions
when I’m in this famished condition.
By the time we'd fished our way back to the marina, the
sun was low enough for the dry, windswept Santa Monica Mountains, to cast long
shadows over the city. Doc, our fearless leader, declared the fishing trip a
huge success and I had been commended for my self-control on the calamari
issue. Stormy chose to forget our earlier incident, which is just as well,
since it didn't sit well with me either. If you know what I mean.
Chuck joked that, "Cats will eat anything; they just
can't keep it down.”
That's feline
profiling and I resent the implication, I howled in protest. I can too keep things down. Well, at
least most things.
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