Lynne Barrett-Lee - Able Seacat Simon

And there were others, some I’d known, some I’d barely got to know yet – off to different postings, new adventures, exciting places. And in their stead would come new sailors, often pink-cheeked and so innocent-looking they barely seemed men yet, their kit sharp and clean and their caps fresh from their boxes – they were called ‘boy-sailors’, and very aptly so.

But by far the biggest change – and the most upsetting personally, was the news that Lieutenant Commander Griffiths was leaving us. I found out quite by chance, too, when I wandered into his cabin just before we were about dock in Hong Kong one day, and came upon him packing up his things.

Being now so much a sea cat (or salty sea dog, which the captain had once called me, rather confusingly) I tended to make myself scarce whenever the Amethyst docked. Once we were alongside a wharf, I had quickly learned, there would be a period of noisy mayhem – people flooding aboard, stores being loaded and unloaded, sailors to-ing and fro-ing and generally being busy, in that way that was peculiar to being in a port. It was the part of the ship’s routine that, though still routine, never felt so to me. Quite the opposite.

Unlike Peggy, who seemed to revel in the fuss strangers made of her, I preferred to nap my way through the chaos, only emerging back on deck when I could hear the reassuring throb of the boilers making steam again. Who knew what might happen when in port, after all? Just as George had taken me from the dock to start my new life, who was to say that someone might not just snatch me off the Amethyst and take me right back again? Or, less dramatically, but also more feasibly, that I’d accidentally curl up in something that was destined to be returned to land? A basket of laundry, perhaps. Or a trunk. Or some box or crate or bundle. It could happen. No, not likely, but I never ruled it out. I didn’t dare to, because I’d dreamed about it once. About the stomach-churning business of waking up, confused, and seeing my home moving away from me; my dear Amethyst , steaming into the distance, getting smaller and smaller…

It was silly – so silly – but the feeling never really left me. And I didn’t think it ever would. At sea I was happy. On land I had not been. Not since I’d found myself alone and so afraid. I couldn’t imagine living on land ever again.

Glad as I was to reach the captain’s cabin and escape the mayhem, once inside, there it struck me anew. My beloved captain, who I couldn’t quite believe was leaving us – leaving me – was looking just as he always did when the Amethyst came into port. He was as smart and shiny as the pins the men furiously polished, and as straight and tall as the Amethyst ’s mast. As was the custom when entering port, he had dressed for the occasion and was an even more shipshape and Bristol fashion version of his normal self.

He smiled when he saw me, and I wished, as I did sometimes, that I could find a way to have him tell me what Bristol fashion did mean. I wondered if I’d ever find out now. ‘Well, well, come on in, my little friend,’ he said, patting the bed covers on his bunk. ‘Come to say goodbye, have you? Bless you. I’m going to miss you.’

He reached down to stroke me, in his usual firm, no-nonsense fashion. I knew he dared not pick me up, though. My white fur had a habit of shedding when he was dressed in his dark clothes; even more so than the black did when he was decked out in his whites. So I sprang up onto the bed so I could at least be close beside him while he gathered together the last of his things. Sadness came over me. I knew I would miss him terribly.

‘You know what, Simon?’ he said, reaching out to slide a hand down my back again. ‘For two pins, I’d pop you into my trunk and take you home with me, you know that?’

I purred as loudly as I could so he would know I understood. I’d have also liked to let him know that a part of me would like that too, even as I was in no doubt that my home now was here. How would they cope with the rats without me? Who would the men confide their secrets to? How would Jack manage without me when he was all alone at night doing his watch, with only his Morse code machine to keep him company?

But I think the captain knew that too. He continued to stroke me, staring out into space for some time, before starting to pick carefully at the sticky tape at the corners of the small collection of photographs that were clustered above his bed. From the captain to the Chinese mess boys – it seemed to make no difference. Everyone on board seemed to have a collection such as this: pictures of people and places they missed. And, in the captain’s case, of several cats, too. I wondered where they were now – what might have become of them. ‘That’s the thing with cats,’ he said eventually, perhaps reading my mind. ‘You’re so supremely adaptable, you felines. Fit yourselves in just about anywhere. Plop you down wherever and you just get on with it, don’t you?’

I thought about how little my mother would have expected that I’d be living anywhere other than Stonecutters Island, and decided he was probably right. I had always imagined I would too. Yet here I was.

He rubbed the little cleft beneath my mouth, and then smiled at one of the photographs, which was of two little girls, sitting in an armchair. He put it down on the bed beside me, and started on another. This one was a boy, who I thought must be his son. How did he feel to know they were so far away? ‘And this here,’ he then said, ‘is Peter Puss.’ He placed another picture on the pile, of him standing in uniform with a cat draped over his shoulder. ‘He’s a she,’ he went on. Then he grinned. ‘I know. Confusing, isn’t it? Ship’s cat on the Brissenden, while I was serving as lieutenant. Just after the war ended, that was. Feels like a long time ago now… Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that .’ He tapped the picture. ‘Now there’s a cat and a half for you, Simon – she even had a litter of kittens while on active duty. How about that?’

He added a couple more pictures to the pile. ‘You know, us sailors aren’t that different to you cats, really, are we?’ he mused. ‘We go where we’re posted, we fit in and get on with it. Just like Peter Puss here. We do our best. That’s the naval way, you see.’

Captain Griffiths had been in the Navy for a long time. He’d fought in the war. He’d captained a famous ship called the Riou . He’d been courageous, and for his bravery the Navy had given him several medals. He had done his best. He was clearly a fine captain indeed.

But, to me, he was a man who’d been kind, and I would miss him, and I worried about the new captain who was coming to take his place. Would he like me? Would I like him? Would he give me a ‘roving commission’ too? Would he want me to accompany him on his rounds?

There was no way of knowing, and not much I could do about it, either, so I’d just have to do what Captain Griffiths said – get on with it. And it wouldn’t be long now, anyway; I could feel that the engines were slowing. We’d soon be docking in Hong Kong. And soon after that, I’d find out.

He was nearly ready. The small pile of photographs was almost complete, but for one picture that he was removing from the bulkhead particularly carefully. It was clearly old, and I had a hunch it had been stuck up on many a ship before this one. He finally freed it, and placed it down on the pile with the others, before seeming to reconsider. He picked it up again.

‘I never did tell you, did I?’ he mused, tapping a finger to my nose. Then he smiled a strange smile and lifted the picture closer to his face. He touched it lightly with the same finger, and then nodded towards me. ‘You know who that is, Simon?’ he said, holding it out again, for me to look at. It was of a young, beautiful lady (the ‘darling wife’ he sometimes spoke of? Or some other person? Perhaps his mother?) and cradled in her arms was a bundle wrapped in a shawl. It was a baby. I knew because I’d seen lots of pictures of babies now – even a couple their young fathers had yet to meet. ‘That’s your namesake, that is,’ said Captain Griffiths. ‘That’s Simon.’