Thanksgiving closed with my crew eating pie and enjoying an annual viewing of National Lampoon Christmas Vacation. This left me with plenty of time to plan my next move. Just as my patience wanes, only then do my crew stretch their arms above their heads and turn in to bed.

Finally!

My whiskers twitch right, then left; they calculate the strength of the wind, the presence of the barracuda. I can sense his dorsal fin slicing the calm surface of the sea, I channel the energy of this fellow hunter. “You are fierce, Katherine. You evoke fear."

I tip my hips backward and stretch my forward legs before me, then I reverse the moment and stretch my back legs. The muscles of my shoulders ripple beneath my thick mane of white neck fur. It is pristine white, like the down of angel wings. I've been working on cleaning it all day. I give it a lick another lick for good measure. It is Oh Two-Hundred hours and Fifty Five Minutes and all the humans inhabiting my boats are sleeping; it is time to launch my next objective. I sniff and consider the words of my honored spirit guide and legendary military general, Sun Tzu:

“Attack him where he is unprepared. Appear where you are not expected.”

It is time to move. Silent, sleek, graceful. Moonlight glints off the magical fibers of my red which glow like gold, my black fur glinting like the gloss of obsidian. “You are powerful, Katherine. You control the fates."

I peek down the hatch that will be my entry point, Pete is laying on his back fully confident in his place in the world, making no effort whatsoever to protect his tender belly. Jen, is curled on her side the Creamscicle between them, her pink nose twitching with the pleasure of sweet dreams. Rage vibrates down my spine at this tiny cat's refusal to heed prior warnings. I have told her several times she must leave.

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move...

FALL LIKE A THUNDERBOLD!”

I wiggle my butt, launch forward, and burst into the center of the open square. I spread my legs and paws wide, my claws popping in every direction. I land just inches from the Creamscicles sleeping face, nested unsuspected between Peter and Jennifer. Her eyes pop open in panic and her feet tangle the bedsheets as they paddle to gain momentum.

I take chase. The Creamscicle doubles back, running amid the pillows and sheets, arms, and legs, and bodies. She attempts to take refuge by twirling circles across Pete's tummy, but I shall not be distracted by the theater of our war, I duck and weave between hands attempting to clasp at me, feet scrambling to take purchase, spin and circle, zing, zing, and zing!

Pete howls.

Jen wakes up screaming.

Pandamonium! Chaos!

Just as I planned.

“A clever general, therefore, avoids an army when its spirit is keen, but attacks it when it is sluggish and inclined to return.”

All four of us wrestle in circles atop their stern bunk until the Creamscicle bolts out of the room, through the hallway, and into the open chamber of Steel Sapphire's salon.

I sprint after her. “You are mine now little, tiny cat!"

Spin and zing!

Jen trails behind me, stomping and clapping her hands. “Katherine Hepburn!" She is very indignant. “Kitty! NO! Bad Kitty! Very Bad Kitty!"

The Creamscicle takes shelter under the navigation station chair, just the tip of her nose peeking out. I climb up the companionway stairs to get to higher ledge territory, sit back on my haunches, green eyes flashing neon rage as I stare Jen down. “Bad Kitty? No, Bad Human! Baaaad Human!"

This tactic shocks Jennifer who retreats back to her bedroom to robe herself in more armor. I take this opportunity to spring forth and chase Coco deeper into her hiding corner. By the time Jen returns with her shirt on, I feel as though I have made my point.

“There is no instance of a country having benefitted from prolonged warfare.”

As Jen continues to clap and stomp her feet at me, I saunter out from my post, look over my shoulder, and take my dear sweet time climbing out the companionway. My whiskers tip crooked as I give Jen a little smirk. I wave my tail in a question mark and shake my asshole in Jen's general direction.

“You little F%&!*er!" Jen exclaims.

Such language! I raise an eyebrow and then bat my eyelashes at her. I make a point to walk the entire "catwalk" up Steelie’s side deck as languid as I can be.

“Meeeeyyyyyiiiii Boat." I say, rubbing my face on Steelie’s shrouds as I walk past.

“Go back to Sonrisa, Kitty. Go on, go.”

I sit and look back at her.

"GO!"

I lick my right paw, curling it like a mitten to get the backside of my knuckles.

“Kitty! GO! SHOO!"

I'm bored, now. I leap across the abyss and climb up on Sonrisa's solar panel to soak up the moonrays and recharge my feline powers. This seems to satisfy Jen, and she retreats to shore up their defenses. She installs the companion way doors, closes their galley hatches, and retreats. “Too little too late, Jen!" But, I won't bother trying to break in now.

“The worst strategy of all is to besiege walled cities.”

Besides. Are they locked in? Or am I locked out. I make a circle around Sonrisa, and then decide it's high time I go take an explore of Erie Spirit. I've never visited Erie Spirit before, I should add another boat to my fleet, I think. I believe Erie Spirit is at least a distant cousin of Sonrisa, designed by her same Papa Bob Perry, but built by a different manufacturer. I bet she is a lovely boat. Free to leap across any vessel I choose, I stretch my legs across Steelie and pause over the hatch to listen to the strategic debriefing happening in the cabin below.

Oooh, the language!

I take my paw and loop it beneath my tail. I bring my voluptuous tail to my nose and give it a lick or two. I’m not offended. Pete always argues to Leslie that the C-Word is a term of endearment.

“Yep," Jen says, “we are locked up tight."

Chased...please. I departed on my own accord and of free will.

"Well, I will try to go back to sleep, I guess." Pete whines, but I can hear him begin to snore before I even saunter away. Steelie-Pete-Whiney-Pete-Sleepy-Pete. I saunter off and enjoy a good old fashioned explore, the barracuda following my circuit from the water below his fangs gleaming white, glinting in the moonlight just like mine.

As the sun began to rise, I completed my circuit and return to Sonrisa where I found Leslie, still awake, and alternating positions between hanging from her arms on Sonrisa's galley hatch, hanging her feet while pressing her hands and arms from Sonrisa's countertop, or literally just flopping herself over the countertop piled with ice backs on her back.

She makes sounds like a wounded animal. Honestly, I think she might be a wounded animal.

I sit back on my haunches and look up at her. “What is wrong?"

I can't decide if I am annoyed with this situation or sympathetic. If I were a dog, I'd have to kill her to save the rest of our pack.

“Can you purr, Leslie? I find purring helps.”

“Hi Little Cat. Did you have a nice night under the moon?"

I smile a little bit and think, “You have no idea.” I start to purr and turn figure eights around her feet.

“I love you so much, but I can’t bend down to pet you right now, Little Cat. Do you understand?"

I sit back on my haunches again and look up at her. I don't understand, not really. Why is she hurt? What happened? Was she crushed by a snake when I wasn't looking? How did I fail to prevent this? I am the keeper, the guard of bad energy and ghosts. I worry I've failed her, but I don't know how or when.

“It's okay, Little Cat. It's not your fault.”

She knows my thoughts.

But, it isn't okay.

I don't know if you know this, but cats really dislike major changes in our routines. It just shouldn't be done. I don't like new people, new cats, or new objects that look like snakes anywhere around me. But just as bad as adding new things, I don't like things being taken away, either. Especially not my humans.

A couple weeks after Thanksgiving, Andrew loads Leslie into Grin and took her away. I don't know where she is. Some nights Andrew comes home and we snuggle together, but Leslie's side of the bed is an open gap, a black hole where she is supposed to be. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable. Other nights, Andrew doesn't come home at all. Is he with her? Are they okay?

How long will my kibble hold out? I feel all out of sorts.