Rumi Comes Unmoored (Part 2)

The upside of having traumatized my cat with the plane flight to Portland was that introducing him to my floating home was relatively non-eventful by comparison.  Well, at least to start, anyway.

By the time we made it past two airplane flights, one metal detector, one determinedly-helpful Texan, two beers, a 20 minute car ride, and a series of marina ramps in the Oregon rain, Rumi was more-than-happy to be out of his carrier inside something at least vaguely house-like in appearance.

This charitable attitude lasted about twenty minutes into him casing the joint.  Then he started to ask increasingly pointed questions  Non-cat-owners may be skeptical about my ability to translate a Balinese, but for the believers amongst you, the chatter went along the following lines:

“Oh thank Bastet!  We’re back inside. Hey, check this out!  There’s even a litter box.  Was wondering when I might see one of those.  Pardon me for a second, here…  Ah.  Much better.

Now how’s a chap supposed to get something to eat around here?  Oh, I see.  Kibble over here.  And water.  Mrpmh!  Chomp. Slurp.  Uh, you don’t happen to have a beer lying around anywhere, perchance?  Oh well.  No worries. This will have to do for now.

So where in the world are we exactly?  Oh never mind.  You’re no help.  You don’t even know where they keep the beer here.  And if I ask you, you’re likely to stuff me back in that dreadful carrier.  (Sniff.)  I’ll just have to check things out for myself.

Interesting.  Interesting.  Hmm.  Smells like birds.  (Dinner, perhaps?)  Oh, hey!  A koosh!  Don’t know where it’s been, though.  Better drop it in the water bowl.  You can never be too safe about that sort of thing…

Hmm.  Nice views out the window.  Warm spot of sun.  No small children or dogs in sight. Not too bad, all things considered…  just… where exactly is the REST of the house?  And where did they put the furniture?  How’s a cat supposed to nap around here?”

At which point I received an inquisitive yowl of inquiry and piercing blue-eyed stare.  And no matter how many ways I tried to explain that the two rooms and bathroom were all there was, he simply didn’t seem to get it.

Rumi spent most of the first night walking a puzzled circle through the doors of the house trying to figure out where the other rooms had got off to. About every fifth lap through the house he’d stop by the sleeping loft, stuff his paw up my nose long enough to wake me up and inquire again about what exactly was the deal with the place.

Sometime around 4 AM I decided it probably was a really good thing I hadn’t bought a Tumbleweed or Rumi would have found himself stuffed down the compost toilet in my desperation to get a few hours sleep.

Oddly enough, the fact that our new home was situated on the water didn’t register at all with the cat at all until Day 2.

Just before lunch, Rumi was lazing on a sunny window ledge in the front room when a fishing trawler roared by at top speed.

Rumi’s ears flattened and his eyes bugged out of his angular little head.  “That’s a BOAT.  What the freak is a BOAT doing tearing through our front yard?!”

And before I could field that question, the wake from the boat hit the house, rocking it violently from side to side.

Rumi hastily scuttled from the window sill to the floor where he did his best impression of a two-dimensional object until the worst of the rocking had stopped.  Then he looked up at me in abject horror.  “Oh you have GOT to be kidding me!  You’re telling me we’re on water?  WATER?!!” he finished with a squeak.

I tried to scoop Rumi up into my lap to comfort him but he was having none of it.  Instead, he scurried to his carrier and tucked himself inside. If he could have figured out the zipper I’m pretty sure he would zipped himself in, too.

Managing to reassemble some small modicum of dignity, he blinked once sagely and then informed me: “You can take me back to the airport, now.”

Needless to say, Rumi spent most of Day 2 having the feline version of a nervous breakdown.  I guess that’s understandable considering he’d just discovered his new home was built upon the most hated (to him) substance on the planet.  And I, the one who was usually at his every beck and call, was the one who’d taken him into this very personal version of Cat Hell.

I think what probably saved our relationship was the ducks.

Sometime in the late afternoon of Day 2, our local momma duck and seven ducklings swam lazily by.  Rumi was able to catch a glimpse of them from within the confines of the carrier.  He might have been able to resist Momma Duck by herself even though she was, by far, the biggest bird he’d ever seen.  But the ducklings were just too much.

Rumi was back up in the windowsill chattering in monosyllabic feline lust before he knew what hit him.  And even after they drifted away he had no interest in going back into the carrier.  He was just so blown away by what he’d seen.

That ended up being the only duckling sighting on Day 2, but a heron swam by about fifteen minutes later.  And then a Pomeranian in a kyak a little after that.  That pretty much clinched the deal.  Grudgingly, he told me it might be okay if we hung around and checked things out for a few days.  I just wasn’t to go getting any crazy ideas about baths being okay for cats while I was on this whole water kick..

Since then, Rumi’s favorite place to hang out is in the window by my desk.  Periodically he’ll ask me “Will you get a look at this?”

I suspect we may have just found his personal version of cable TV.

(For the die-hard Rumi fans, I’ve attached some rough footage of both Rumi and the ducklings below.  Be forewarned that I’m still trying to figure out how to manage the camera without making viewers seasick.  Especially when juggling a leash at the same time.)

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