April 28, 2024, 07:18
High 73ºF/ Low 54ºF, blue sky, pressure 1028 mb, waning gibbous, menstruating
At the start of the week, Cypress was grumpy.
Her immediate needs were met, but the dissatisfied tone remained in her meows.
We’ve all been there.
Cypress, the cat formerly known as Buffy, joined our crew when she was 1.5 years old and stationed at PetSmart in San Diego, California. The addition of a cat had been a topic of conversation and research for several months, and in July 2021 the stars aligned National Pet Adoption Week with some land-based errands. We traversed the sea of strip malls to “have a look” and met the spunky buff tabby who is now keeping my legs warm as I write.
We claimed Buffy as a companion and a mouser on her official PetSmart paperwork and she has gone above and beyond in both capacities. In Panama, she caught a boa constrictor in our bed and later defended the ship when a wild cat twice her size stepped aboard at 4 AM. Her friendly presence above decks invited conversations (and fish scraps) from many locals in Central America and curious sailors all about.
Cypress’ demeanor is a mirror, a barometer that reads the pressure on board. Her nervous system is attuned to her environment and picks up on every little thing. She likely lived on the streets for her first year—it’s a bit of a mystery how she passed from one animal shelter to the next. She is vocal and happy to do her own thing. Knowing her takes a bit of patience. I learned that she will almost always settle down after me, and this has helped me cultivate a calmer home and grow a longer fuse. It is easier to do this for her sake, rather than our own.
Time slows down on an ocean-going vessel and priorities are clarified. My presence on land seems to be here, there, and everywhere. I’m easily distracted by the has-been and may-never-be, losing the thread of the here. It wasn’t long ago that we were taking it three days at a time. Our voyage was filled with moments that emerged uncertainly by the second and minute, either through awe or danger or both. Living on land allows things to accumulate, which can feel steadying and stifling.
The cycle of the moon is always helping me with this sort of thing. 29 days. Concise, yet spacious. Waxing and waning, creating and clearing, embarking and arriving, always flowing. The moon is waning until May 7. During that time I will tend to a few things and have the opportunity to stand in front of a crowd and tell the story of our voyage. Be in touch if you are near Easton, Maryland, and would like to join us for the event on Thursday, May 2!
I am enjoying finding and creating the new rhythms of life on land. It is usually a joy to do more in a day. I enjoy creating new standard operating procedures that should stick, at least for a little while. I like seeing people week over week and being able to follow up on what they shared last time, to offer more than a “wish I was there!” or “wish I could help!”. It gets tiresome to be away from those we love the most, even when the distance is in the name of a fantastic adventure.
Anyways, I’m losing the thread, and time is running short again.
Cypress was grumpy at the start of the week and the cause was not clear.
I spent some time with her and discovered that at least at this latitude and this year, she lets go of her winter coat in the last week of April. After a little attention and a good brushing, she was much herself again. I too accumulated some layers to get through the colder season and this mid-spring time feels like as good a time as any to let them go.
It’s been a month since we were last onboard Azimuth and a week since I wrote about foraging green pinecones at the marina. The pinecones have turned brown and many have fallen to the ground, another shedding process to make way for whatever comes next. If you have a pet, give them a brush this week!
I ❤️ Cypress!!! I'm sure you've experienced many interesting challenges with her on land and at sea...