clover j. gardener, word-person

Every afternoon the Captain picked which boat he would take control of for that day.

He was a spindly Oriental Shorthair, with the classic elephant ears and mournful expression. He was awkwardly proportioned in a way that always made him look slightly underfed. His lean figure was a frequent topic of debate with the older sailors at the marina, who’d watch countless passers-by toss the Captain a morsel from their lunch, or an extra fish from that day’s haul.

The conclusion was usually that the extra weight mostly went to the Captain’s large and bulky head. Though some liked to claim that they’d seen him running up and down the docks late at night – working off that day’s snacks, it seemed.

Jokes aside, everyone who stayed at the marina for more than a year learned to treat the lanky cat with the upmost respect. A good Captain deserved nothing else, after all.

He started his day at just after eleven, slinking out from one of his many secluded sleeping nooks. Under the ramp that led to the dock’s main walkway, or in the odd crawlspace above the parking attendant’s booth. Occasionally he could be found curled up in a disused, broken down newspaper box, framed by decades of graffiti and flicking his long tail back ad forth.

Wherever he’d spent his night, the Captain would wake up, have a stretch, and make his way down to the front of the dock. There he would sit, staring out at the bay. Occasionally his ears would twitch, but for the most part he would be absolutely still in thought.

The Captain’s thinking time was never to be disturbed. That was one of the first things the resident sailors would teach the newcomers.

Once he had his fill of the thoughts, it would finally be time for the Captain to pick his vessel. He’d pad slowly down the main walkway, pausing at a sailboat or a catamaran. A bass boat or a pontoon. Kayaks were rarely to the Captain’s tastes, and jet ski's were even less appealing. When he’d find a suitable boat, he’d approach from the side and hop on board with full confidence.

Sometimes the sailors wouldn’t notice him until they’d already pulled out into the water. Sometimes they’d see him and (Unsuccessfully) to shoo him off. For the most part, those who were picked by the Captain tended to silently accept his authority for the duration of their time on the water.

He liked to sit wherever would put him as close to the water at possible. The spray of freshwater as the boat moved down the river didn’t bother him. He actually appeared to enjoy it – his eyes closed and his tail trembling in excitement the whole time.

If the boat stopped, he’d open his eyes and let out a quiet honk of a meow. And then, if he gathered they would be stopped for some time, he’d move on to his inspection.

The Captain would take his time looking over every part of whatever boat he chose to ride out on. The Horseshoe Peak Marina was mainly used for fishing, so he’d have the bulk of the day to make sure everything on board was up to his expectations. And strange as it was, on more than one occasion a sailor would notice the Captain stiffing at a cracked turnbuckle, or lingering near an inboard engine right on the verge of overheating.

Somewhere along the line, that’s why people started calling him Captain. And as much as someone might joke about the fish he’d beg for, or even steal from boats when the sailors weren’t looking, no one dared argue whether he was worth his title.

He never stepped away from his patrol over the docks until the last boat was back in its space for the night. Sometimes someone out on the water would get a little turned around, what with the the veils of trees and the ambiguous coloring of the rocky peaks. If someone steering had a worse sense of direction, it’d be easy for them to miss the right turn and end up steering up and down the same expanse of water. Or, even worse, follow the wrong arm off the shoreline and wind up drifting dumbly around Eastsound and Orcas Island.

The risk didn’t sound likely. Someone would have to be shitfaced drunk or dumb as bricks to wind up that far down the river without the skill to find their way back. But even those who’d worked boats for decades would still sometimes speak as if the only true reason why they made it back in one peace was the gawky, big-eared cat that kept vigil until nightfall.

This, perhaps, was a fable meant to justify his presence. To preserve the marina as a home for him – which was crucial, even though none of the patrons were quite willing to explain why.

The Autumn that year had been modestly rainy, but the forecast for the weekend was predicted to be little more than cloudy with a slight breeze. The Greenburn River was mainly populated by fishing boats looking to capitalize on the last days of the Summer Steelhead season. By the afternoon the Captain had waltzed out from that night’s sleeping spot, but he didn’t go about with his usual choosing of the available boats. Instead he went straight to the end of the dock and stood watch.

There was a solemnity to his figure as he sat, still and surprisingly grim. Even the spray of the occasional crashing wave didn’t evoke its usual peace in him.

Those who caught sight of him murmured about what it usually meant when their leader braced himself as he was right now. And true to their prediction, the rain started soon after that.

It was a misting at first. And then a drizzle. Soon it was clear the day was ramping up to the kind of downpour that would make peaceful sailing an impossibility. So one by one, the boats went back to the dock.

The Captain began to meow his honking meow. He’d put in effort to be far louder than he usually was. He would quickly dart to an approaching boat, squeaking like a long-abandoned dog toy, and wouldn’t leave the port until he was sure everyone on board was safely back on land. And then he’d do that again and again, personally providing a safe escort to everyone out on the Bay.

It wasn’t a disastrous storm by any means. But the Captain was good at his job, and the sailors expressed their reverence as they packed to head back to their cars. They’d thank him for keeping such a close eye on things. They’d bow their heads or nod at him in knowing respect.

At one point he approached a woman lingering by her jet ski to check something on her phone and meowed his disapproval at her lolly-gagging. She looked up at him, eyes widening, and quickly slipped her phone into the pocket of her raincoat.

“Sure, Captain,” she said. “Of course, Captain. Sorry about that.”

He followed at her feet as she walked up the ramp and to the parking lot. She didn’t notice him trailing her until one of the older Marina patrons called out to her from his truck nearby.

“Captain’s keepin’ an eye on you, Sophie!” He laughed.

She noticed the big-eared cat. He was mostly hidden underneath the body of her used sedan, with only his large head sticking out. He clearly struggled to keep his eyes open in the rain, and yet he continued watching her.

When they locked eyes, he honked – a little softer now.

“You –?” Sophie looked around the lot, which was now mostly empty. “...You need a place to crash?”

She’d never had a cat before, and wasn’t sure how to approach inviting the Captain into her car. But when she opened the passenger’s door, he was quick to see her offer and hop inside. He shook some of the excess rainwater off and steeled himself again.

Her studio apartment wasn’t far. She lived alone in one of those newer complexes built barely a mile from the docks. The Captain could find his way back to the Marina easily if he wanted to. Or, if it worked out better, they could drive back together once the weather cleared up.

Sophie explained all of this to the Captain, who was more preoccupied by sniffing the warm air blowing from the dashboard vents. It felt strange to discuss logistics with a cat. Even stranger to genuinely feel that the cat was somehow following along with her plans.

The ride home was considerably longer than she’d expected. The sudden rain looked to have been enough to get most of Sunderville to drop what they were doing and try and get back to their homes. The people here were better drivers in bad weather than what Sophie had seen in Oakland or Palo Alto. But with small towns in Oregon, people could be so goddamned courteous that she sometimes longed to pull dangerously onto the shoulder to pass someone too kind to be reckless.

Dazed at yet another red light, she drifted into a sort of sleepy aggravation. She switched off the heat and carded a hand through her damp hair.

Beside her the Captain honked. With the tedium of driving, she’d completely forgotten he was there.

She looked at him, watching how he’d propped himself up and was prodding his head against the rain-speckled glass of the window. He bonked his forehead against the surface one more time, looked over at Sophie, and meowed again.

“Oh, you..?” She remembered all the times she’d seen him enjoy the misting from a passing wake or breaking wave. “Yeah, all right. Thought you’d have enough of that, but – all right.”

Sophie pressed the switch on her door to roll down his window. The whirr as the glass slid down made the Captain flinch at first. But once the breeze came in, carrying droplets of water that already began gathering on the fake leather seats, he began to understand.

He poked his head through the opening in the window. Then, realizing he didn’t need to do that to feel the water, he sat back on the seat and raised his head to sniff. Satisfied with things, he closed his eyes. The action, to Sophie, looked a lot like a deep sigh of relief.

She told the others at the Marina that she didn’t care about the Captain’s aversion to jet skis. He was just a cat, and at the end of the day she didn’t pay her membership fee to try and get the approval of some weird-looking stray. But watching him now – seeing his small moment of pride – Sophie was willing to accept how much of an honor his presence felt to her.

With another press of a switch, she rolled down her own window. The rain breezed in to catch against her cheeks. It was cold, but it was the wind that was cold and not the rain. The rain, compared to everything else outside, was surprisingly pleasant.

Sophie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly though her nose. The tension in her shoulders relaxed.