Thursday, June 17, 2010

The Adventures of Timmynocky the Sailor Cat, a true story

Those of you have visited my website at will familiar with Timmynocky, the junior of our two cats here on the Kalmar Nyckel. We are here at Harborfest in Norfolk, Virginia, so if you are, stop by, ship visition is noon to 1730. But I digress.

Timmynocky is normally allowed to roam free when we are in port. He knows how t find his home and returns for food, which is provided to the cats only at regular scheduled times so we can secure them when it'stime to leave. Timmynocky was allowed off his leash and went ashore Thursday night. I was last watch of the night and stayed up a whle on account of teh heat. Timmy returned about midnight in the company f two beautiful young blonde women. They were very concerned about his welfare. They found him a mile and a half a y, caught him, and called the number on his name tag. That is the ship's office number, which is not o at midnight. TImmy escaped them, and they went in pursuit with the intent to take him to a shelter.

For two hours they pursed the cat. He eventually arrived back at the ship, jumped inthrough the gunport, and disappeared in a huff. I could tell he was annoyed. The young women then told me about what a great cat he is an how worried they were for him, etc. They told me about his capture and escape, and grabbign teh fronts of their blouses, pulled them around and showed me how he can left his pawprints all over them. Now I happen to be gay, but I am not blind, and the actions of shapely young women flapping their shirts nad drawing attention to the way TImmy had his paws all over their breasts is one of those memorable moments in a sailor's life. I was thinking to myself that the straight male members of the crew would be envying the cat. I excerted my self control and remained politely bland and appreciatve of their concern for the cat.

Next day captain put Timmy into his harnes in addition to his callor and made a new tag. A ship's business card with the ship's cell p[hone number and an explanation off who and what he was, beginning with the words, "I am not lost," was affixed. Next day, I was the recipient when a rather handsome pirate from the pirate tavern courteously returned the cat, even though he had only been thirty feet from the ship. Apparently, "I am not lost" and "I belong to the ship right in front of you" is not sufficient. Once again I thanked Timmy's rescuer, and privately told him appreciated his consideration in bring home a suitable man. However, it was a public festival so I was obliged to express my thanks to the hansome pirate in the customary way.

Friday night Timmy once again appeared with a beautiful young woman on his arm. I was visiting the Godspeed that evening, and looking over the rail, I saw a woman with Tim in her arms going by, so went ashore and received him. This time, Timmy was in trouble with the law. The Nofolk police had apprehended him and explained to her that pets were not allowed at the festival, and that all pets had to be leashed and harnessed. They said if he was picked up again he was going to jail. I mean, Animal Control would take him to a shelter. So this young lady wwalking the waterfront looking for his ship. I received Timmy back, thanked her, and carried hiim homde.

we were far along the waterfront and Timmy was purring up a storm and totally relaxed in my arms. You could tell he was w pleased with himself and thoroughly enjoying his run ashore. Once we came within sight of the Kalmar Nyckel he tensed up and began to resist. I shanghaied the cat and brought him aboard against his will. He had a few words of cat profanity for me as he was brought before the officer of the watch. The officer of the watch was not inclined to humor the shore police, and asked if they were harbor patrol or regular police. I reported that I didn't know, but they had side arms. Reluctantly the mate curtailed Timmy's shore leave.

Timmy was confined to the brig by being leashed and secured to the ship. He was in a royal sulk and gave me and the mate the "you-effing-traitor" look. The mate apologized profusely to him. "Sorry, dude, but it cost a hunred bucks the last time we had to bail you out."

Is this cat a true sailor, or wh? He goes ashore, picks up women, gets busted by the police, and thrown in the brig. He has a more exciting life than the rest of the crew combined.


Posted while aboard S/V Kalmar Nyckel

Thursday, June 03, 2010

If Shoes Could Kill... they probably would

Devoted followers of this blog (all three of you) know that my obsessions are wooden sailing vessels and tanka poetry. Occasionally I do stray into other topics because sometimes the urge to shout, "Hey, everybody, there are gerbils in her boots!" is too overwhelming to resist. Click the link above and see what I mean.

If giving gerbils concussions with every high fashion step you take isn't enough, enjoy all the other outrageous shoes featured at:

Some people spend their time writing bad poetry or sailing ships that require more labor than giving birth. And some people spend their time perverting footwear.