Introducing Nimo

Nimo, whose name is the result of an unfortunate spelling mistake, came to us only six days old. By then he had been handed in to the vet for euthanasia, taken pity upon by the vet's nurse, and brought to the shop where Lisette works as a motorcycle mechanic. When she called to ask if we could take him I was initially sceptical of accepting such a burden in the situation we're in, but I changed my mind once I saw how perfectly he snuggled up in the palm of my hand. Thus, from before he opened his eyes, Nimo has found himself in, on and around boats. As kittens at that age need feeding and all sorts of care four times a day, this involved commuting with Lisette to work in the 10' Trifoil we were using at the time. That might be a harrowing experience to most humans, as we are after all talking about the very same boat that broke my mother-in-law's back in relatively light chop, but Nimo paid no heed. He would simply curl up in the mass of towels inside of his cat carrier and be fast asleep by the time we arrived in Moss.

Ever since he was quite young, Nimo has enjoyed stealing the sardine-sized fish the terns will sometimes drop on deck as they maneuver to swallow them in mid-air. He will lurk on the wheelhouse roof for hours, and pounce before the birds can swoop down to reclaim their catch. It was only two days ago, however, that he had his first experience with larger fish. This may sound strange, as a guy living on a boat must find favorable fishing conditions every now and then, if only by accident. Surely, I cannot be so selfish that I've never given any to the cat? While it is true that I often find myself in the midst of a school of herring boiling to the surface as the mackerel hunt them from below, they have never been presented Nimo for the simple reason that I don't much enjoy fishing. The times we've had friends over who do like to fish, what they've pulled out has always ended up on the barbeque, and mackerel coming Nimo's way has been of the boned and grilled variety. That is how, when my buddies Goffe and Magnus presented him with one they deemed too small for human consumption, Nimo found himself staring at something strangely familiar, yet unknown and threatening. He pawed it for a while, meowed some, then wrapped his face around it and started taking chunks out. Cats always seem to be able to figure out how to get at the tasty bits.

Keeping a cat on a boat has turned out to be way less trouble than people will make you believe. For example, Nimo swims much better than any dog I've seen. Having done so repeatedly albeit unwillingly since only a few weeks old, he doesn't seem to have developed the stereotypical fear of water, either. He'll still balance around on the railings, make impossible-looking jumps from one boat to the other, and every once in a while he'll fail. True to his upbringing, he will spend hours sitting on the swim platform or perched on the edge of the dinghy, attempting to catch surface debris. The only visible sign that he doesn't enjoy the life we've given him, is the extreme agitation he displays when we get close to land. Then, he'll be on whatever part of the boat that's closest to the shore, meowing in a most distinctive manner. When we dock, he jumps long before the deck hand deems it safe, and is gone like speeding bullet, only to return much later.

Another behavioral oddity is his habit with towels. One of his favorite activities when isolated from land is to abscond with a blanket or towel, even quite large ones, and drag it around the boat while howling almost as if in pain. When he feels that his victim has surrendered all resistance, he will rape it thorougly, sometimes for hours on end. Although I have been accused of perverting his innocent mind by putting him in a situation cats aren't meant to endure, I ascribe this more to his isolation from his mother while very young. When he was still a baby, he always wanted to suckle any protruding part of our anatomies, such as ears, noses, fingers, etc. As I've seen this behavior carried through to adult cats and found it not just discomforting but also somewhat painful, we discouraged it, and instead he started suckling any fuzzy object he came across. Over time, this slowly changed into the rape game we see today, and his favorite suckling blanket back then is now his favorite victim. Go figure.

All considered, while Nimo is anything but normal, he's both trusting and affectionate. He regularly crawls into our laps to get his belly scratched, he licks our faces by way of greeting, he follows us around on land like a dog, and he isn't at all apprehensive of cleaning himself while laying in my lap. While neither of these characteristics are unheard of in felines, I take their combined presence as a sign that he both trusts us and enjoys our company. Some people take his presence on our boat as a cue to accuse me of cruelty, shout abuse and make threats, but I'm not so concerned. It's not like he hasn't had plenty of opportunities to run away, but he always comes back. More importantly, I love him to bits, and I think the feeling is mutual. In the face of that, the opinions of strangers mean nought.