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.