Feral's not real fond of the skiff, but we take her on short rides to get from one place to another, as she always enjoys exploring new places. When we take her out in the skiff she often perches on the bow or stands at the side of the skiff, paws on the rim, and I sometimes fear she might jump out—but would she really jump from the frying pan into that watery fire? No, surely not when she can see the fluid liquidity of the water we are moving through. But I have always kept a plan in the back of my mind for what I would do if she did jump, or if Rick fell overboard for that matter (for Feral I'd jump in after her; for Rick I'd extend my pinky and give him hell if he got me wet).
As we were breaking through the ice today Feral was in the front of the skiff, climbing on top of the bow as the ice crunched and groaned giving way to our motion; I feared this meant she was considering jumping out, so I held on to her. I mean, to a dopey cat the ice probably looks like terra firma, and surely is more pleasant than this noisy, bouncy skiff (which was not bouncy at this slow speed). Rick was actually heading through the ice towards an open part of water for easier maneuvering . I had been making pictures, and somehow between my holding on to Feral and letting go to reach for the camera SHE F**#ING JUMPED ONTO THE ICE! She jumped onto the ice and started walking away from the skiff! Sh*t! What the hell can you do? The ice wouldn't hold my weight to go after her. Of course we frantically called to her, but do you think there was any way she was going to come to us as we tried first firmness and then cajoling? I tried saying, “Feral, NO!” in that bossy voice I use on Rick, but she continued heading away from us, exuding Pure Cat, doing whatever the hell she wanted. And right now what she wanted was to walk directly towards shore, looking back tauntingly over her shoulder at us, twitching her tail in that nyaany-annny-annn-yaaaa manner cats have when they ignore humankind's useless commands.
Oh my god I felt sick inside as I ordered Rick around and god knows what I was saying and I was afraid that if we followed right behind her it would scare her and cause her to move faster towards the edge of the ice and I don’t really remember what we did as we watched her walk farther away from us towards that open span of water but I know we weren't moving and I know we were calling to her and I was freaked and freaked and panicked and thinking about where she would go and what she would do once she fell through the ice and if she'd end up under the ice and it was terrible terrible terrible and absolutely terrifying!
What seemed like an hour probably took less than a minute. Feral kept walking towards the edge as we did whatever we were doing, and then it happened. She stepped onto thin ice and was in the water in a matter of seconds. SH****T! She was about twenty yards from us and I was calling to her as Rick barreled through the ice to get to the open water and Feral was flailing madly, head above the water, ears flat back, trying to get a grip on the pieces of floating ice and screaming that short, piercing yowl of hers when she is terrified. She kept grasping at ice, gaining no solid ground, and at one point her little head went underwater after a wicked piece of ice ditched her, and I was ready to jump in after her, but by now we had almost reached the open water. It wasn't until then that we could actually hear that heart-wrenching scream of hers; clearly this little puddy did not realize that screaming while struggling in ice-cold water is not a good way to conserve one’s energy, nor to avoid taking in great gulps of salt water.
I am literally trembling as I write this. Once we were in the water Rick was able to bring the skiff towards her and I was calling to her, and she was looking at us and paddling madly and screaming madly and I tried to reach her from my side and as I leaned over the water she was too far away and I was telling Rick I couldn’t reach her—where’s the halibut net when you need it—and then he managed to get the stern close enough, and he reached in and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, scooped her into his arms, and handed her off to me. OH!!!! God, how I grabbed that wet, scrawny little pudster and wrapped my arms around her on my lap, hunching my body over her to warm her, never ever to let her go. She didn’t say anything at first, but sat there, hunkered down, letting me sqeeze the water out of her paws, while I gasped out another of what was probably a torrent of commands, “Home, Rick, we’re going home.”
The ride back was quick but long, if you know what I mean, and occasionally Feral would quiver and even muster a few feeble Yowls of the Wild, just for good measure. When we reached the dock I never let go of her, never helped Rick tie up and abandoned him, leaving the cameras, the shovels and everything as I headed up to the house with my soggy little ward. We had pulled out a towel stashed with my cameras, and had wrapped it around her, and as she and I got halfway up the boardwalk Feral wriggled out of the towel, ready to walk the rest of the way up the boardwalk herself. She followed me, trilling and trotting behind, just as she would on a normal day, as if she had not just narrowly escaped joining the sea stars at the bottom of the bay. Is this resiliency why cats have nine lives?
Once inside, the monumental chore of licking herself dry in front of the fire began. May I rub you down with a fresh towel first, Your Highness? “Nnnnnnnuuuunnnnn!” was the response, just as a two-year-old declares “I do self!” and so I left her to her grooming and just sat and watched her and tried to gain my wits back from wherever the hell they went. I’m telling you, I’ll have no problem evacuating an airplane if the time ever comes, but if I had Ms. Bueller on board with me I'm not so sure my priorities would quite be where they belong.
And now Feral is dry, has been lying by the fire, has grabbed a nibble of food, has drunk water deeply from the bucket in the small bathroom, and after that last cool drink she's retired to her bed upstairs. I think I’ll take a valium or two and go join her.
She is such an amazing cat. Glad she was rescued safely!
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