Nemo... Captain Nemo.

Nemo is a Jules Verne hero, a cute animated clownfish with an Australian accent, and... our cat.  Okay, I won't go into another drawn out naming story.  But, I must describe life aboard Columbine from Nemo's point of view because he plays a large role in defining our cruising life.  He is, according to the vet, "big boned."  Having a ship's cat has historically been seen as good luck, probably because of their role in keeping other peskier animal numbers low.  From what we've seen so far, Nemo doesn't seem to take this part of the job very seriously.  His role is primarily comic relief.

We found Nemo at our local SPCA animal shelter in 2003.  He was one of several kittens that the shelter housed in a common area right next to the dog pens.  This was not an ideal setup because the dogs were making a huge racket.  Thankfully, this shelter moved and has upgraded its design to be much more appropriate.  But, we found Nemo hiding under a carpeted pyramid in the back corner of the pen.   The SPCA volunteer helping us warned that Nemo would never socialize well.  "You'll never see him.  He'll always just run and hide," said she.  Well, we didn't believe her.  We decided that he would be just fine as long as he had a quiet place where he could be the king... er, captain.  We took him to Columbine, and we  hardly saw him for a week.  He was tiny, and he found all manner of hiding places on the boat that we never even realized he would have access to.  Even though he is much larger now, he still surprises us sometimes.

Travelling with Nemo to foreign ports will be... a giant pain.  We're not willing to put him in quarantine, and that could prove a major deterrent to entering any port in Australia or for spending much time in New Zealand.  Even if we were willing to quarantine Nemo, the cost could be prohibitive. 

Nemo is a true boat kitty.  He hates land, and he knows which boat in the mooring area is his.  The few times we've taken him to shore, he has howled all the way there and back until we started nearing Columbine again.  We took him to the beach one time during his first year to play in the sand.  Well, he ran and hid in the thorny bushes lining the beach, just like the SPCA volunteer told us he would.  Luckily, we had his harness and leash on, so we could easily fish him out of there. 

Nemo is also not fond of the water.  Yes, we've had to fish him out of the bay a few times, but thankfully not for years.  We've heard stories of some cats that actually choose to swim.  Not Nemo.  We did try giving him swimming lessons during the first couple of years.  Those were traumatic for all involved and didn't accomplish much.  Glenn and I learned that Nemo swims just fine, but his navigational skills suck.  He will swim for the first object he sees that is taller than the water.  That's fine, except when that object is the smooth, slippery, fiberglass side of the boat.  He completely ignored the netting we had placed over the side of the hull not more than 3 feet away.  Our solution is that we don't let him outside unless we are around. 

Nemo's hobbies include napping in the sun in the cockpit, napping in the chain locker on the life jackets, and snuggling between Glenn and Cynthia in the smaller-than-a-full-sized bed.  He also enjoys stalking his archnemesis, the shore crab that has taken up residence on the rudder.  He understands the words "tuna," "fly," and various forms of "Nemo."  He challenges himself nightly with an intense exercise regime that starts with a sip of water and maybe a munch of kibbles, followed by a quick dash through the boat, up the companion-way ladder, picking up speed as he flits up the deck to the bow and then back again.  Using the cabin top as a launching pad, he sails through the air over the mainsail boom gallows.  Activating his gravity acceleration device, he lands on the canvas covering the cockpit area with a thud, that shudders the mizzen mast and shakes the entire boat.  The light in the kerosene lamp downstairs flickers.

It's a tough job, being a boat kitty.