Leslie told me it would happen. “Give it a few days, Little Cat, and you’ll get used to this."

“A few days?” I think, and suddenly I fear this will be our lives forever.

“Three days, Kitty, just give it three days and you will be happy again."

Leslie over promised and under delivered in this situation, as even as we pass day three, she is still lethargic and complaining of mild sea sickness. Andrew is dragging himself through the galley cooking, and I am still sliding across the floor collecting dust bunnies with my belly fur. Andrew is forced to install a sticky note to remind him not to step on me as I am both lethargic, and under foot.

Then, on day five, some thing magical happens. I wake up to a soft sunrise, the water glowing pink and blue as the sun crosses it's surface.

“Kitty! Do you want a fish!?" Andrew is calling me over with more pizzazz than I think strictly necessary until I understand exactly what is on offer.

A fish!

With wings!

It’s a bird! It’s a fish! It's a bird fish!

It’s like everything I love wrapped into one package!

...well, its not a gecko or a rodent, but yeah! It’s a BIRD-FISH!

I grab it from Andrew’s hands and carry it around in my jowels. It's still alive, and it flaps it’s tail furiously to get away. I pounce my right paw atop its wing and sink my freshly sharpened predator teeth into its silver scales and soft underbelly. Delicious!

I make short work of the bird-fish, then proceed to lick my fur to spread that delicious, fresh fish and salt water small all over me. Oh, divine. Bess, you would LOVE it. The bird-fish is much better than those stinky, little dry ones you love.

Maybe this sailing thing isn’t so bad.

One evening, I decide it would be nice to sit on the human nest. Can I join you? I slink onto Andrew's body and settle into a pile of pillows. To my happiness, the pillows tuck my body in place and I can finally snooze without resisting the movement of the waves. I have one of the best sleeps of my life snuggled into Leslie's shoulder, pinned between pillows.

That night, I’m feeling chipper, and I decide I’d like some fresh air. I creep up the stairway and into the cockpit, where Andrew invites me onto his lap. I sit there for a while, then climb onto the cabin top where it's still protected by the dodger. It’s nice. A red glow of Andrew’s headlamp lights the cockpit against a silver white light of a moon that dances along the moving ocean. Everything is always moving out here, and the moonlight sparkles and streaks across the water. Looking forward, just past Sonrisa’s sails I see the brightest star in the sky - Venus - acting like that guiding post for Peter Pan himself: “first star on the right, and straight on until morning.”

I take a deep breath and search the air for the smells I know. I instead what I find confuses me. I smell...nothing! Absolutely nothing. I mean, I can smell Sonrisa, and Andrew, and Leslie, but I do not smell anything else. No cars, no dirt, no bugs, no mice, no smoke, no plastic, just nothing, nothing and nothing. I sniff and sniff and sniff until Andrew hears all the snuffling coming from my nostrils and pets the back of my neck. “What do you smell, Kitty?"

I smell....NOTHING!

This is different. I don't think I like it when things are different.

Some days, we sail under this big red, white, and blue balloon. It crackles like paper while Leslie lifts it like a giant cobra out of the front hatch. But, it seems to smooth out the motion and we glide along the waves instead of rock and wallow with them. I love that sail. Sonrisa seems to love it, too.

Each night, Leslie clatters around with her camera - the sky producing a light show. Leslie shouts and points one day as she caught sight of a dolphin doing a full and complete back flip off in the near distance. Too fast for pictures, though.

Later that afternoon, I stretched from tail to nose atop Leslie purring lengthwise along her belly. “This passage making thing -- it is beautiful and horrible all at once.” I explain, employing that special style of feline telepathy I can use to insert my thoughts into the minds of creatures around me. She pets me and scratches me under the chin.

“It's funny, Little Cat. I think you are going through all the same things any sailor experiences on their first long haul passage. You are doing so great.” I basked in the warmth of her praise, glad again I chose this life - even though I had no idea what I was choosing.

We were just settling into a nice nap when Andrew yells something from the cockpit. “FISH ON!” Leslie jumps out of bed, and I plop into the pool of pillows and blankets. Grabbing her life vest, she climbs the stairs and goes out into the sunlight. I squit up above, there is jostling and rustling, fast talking, and a bit of high volume excitement. I get a little scared for a minute. What’s happening?

Suddenly, my nose is greeted by the most beautiful smell! Fish, fish, fish, fish FISH! Fish for days! Fish for weeks! Fish! I start singing my joy, my rapture from the bottom of the stairs. “MOW! MOW! MEEEYOOOW! MYOW!" Good job, Andrew, Good Job! Don't lose it, Andrew!

I can hear Leslie bossing Andrew around about the gaff hook (a big, hook on a pole with a sharp point, much like a human size cat claw) onto which Andrew is trying to capture that lovely fish I smell. Then, I hear a thunk on the deck and flip-flopping on the roof above me. Andrew pops down below and rustles in the liquor cabinet, then climbs on deck again with a bottle of rum. “Just kill it with your teeth! Bite it’s head!” But, Andrew and Leslie slosh their rum in his gills instead, and I can no longer hear the flip-flopping on deck.

I do not know what they are waiting for, but Andrew seems to be wrestling with the fish up stairs. Just let me at it, just let me eat it! Come on...

I climb the companion way and peek out. It's then I see the reason for all this struggle.

IT WAS THE BIGGEST FISH I’VE EVER SEEN! He also had very pointy teeth.

I almost pass out with joy.

Eventually, Andrew manages to cut slices of the fish for me using his weird floppy paws and a tool he calls his filet knief. Not my strategy, but it worked. I am so excited that I sit on my back legs and do my best impression of a prairie dog. Andrew seems to think this is funny, and he rewards me with an other bite of fresh fish.

I can do this, I don't think I mind the sailing gig afterall.

On the morning of day eight, the wind and waves are so calm that I decide to give the solar panel another brief attempt. It was still scary, but I took just a moment at sunrise to appreciate that I can once more smell land on the horizon. It’s with a sweet sorrow in my belly that I realize my nose is twitching with the tang of dust and diesel exhaust. I sneeze.

Then, I slide down the winshield, retreat back into the cockpit and curl up into Andrew's lap. I rub my cheek on the back of his hand to say “thank you, I'm glad we are here."

In response, he scratches my ears and says, "Your first passage is almost complete, you are definitely a sea lion now."