Indignant in Ibiza: Diary of a Cat Imprisoned on a Sailing Boat

23rd April, Sant Antoni de Portmany

The humans have upped the ante in their efforts to madden me. After weeks of being surrounded by water, I am once again within leaping distance of land, and yet prevented even from taking a short stroll around the marina; I have tried every possible means of exit, but every one is closed to me. I am beginning to suspect they are in fact trying to keep me on board. Previously, I had concluded that they were merely incompetent rather than malicious.

My suspicions are confirmed when they forcibly strap me into a harness and take me outside themselves. I try to remain impassive, but cannot help but feel a rush of joy at the wood beneath my paws and something other than salt in my nose. Ultimately, I decide the humiliation of a harness is worth a fleeting taste of freedom.

Fleeting being the operative word. I'm trapped inside again within the hour, and despite my guerilla warfare tactics am kept there for hours. But no matter, the humans, who still believe me to speak only Spanish, intend to stay for several more days. An opportunity to explore is bound to present itself at some point.

30th April, Cala Yondal

Disappointment all round. Only one opportunity for escape arose, and the leap to shore was such a terrifyingly long one I didn't think I would manage it - and was so surprised to find I had done I was still getting my bearings when Male Human slipped a hand under my belly and deposited me back on the boat in an unbearably undignified fashion.

On the other hand, I'm not wholly convinced I could have made it back to the boat again, so perhaps it was for the best.

At any rate, I won't get another opportunity now; water surrounds me again, and even the entertainment to be gained from nearby fish cannot compensate for my despair. After hours of engine noise, which made me sick to my stomach, Female Human came to see me, offered her hand in comfort and, to my shame, I accepted it. At that point any reassurance, even from my captors, was worth having. At last, we arrived, and I was at least permitted to stroll about the deck and roof, which afforded me a reasonable view of our location. Trees, beautiful, beautiful trees, perfect for climbing, ring the shore and fill my heart with longing. I could almost feel the bark under my claws just staring at them. Irritatingly, however, other boats are nearby, with other humans who tend to emit high pitched squeals when they see me, so I choose not to stay out for long.

3rd May, Cala Saona

Another day, another interminable period of engine noise. I cannot decide whether to be grateful that I am becoming accustomed to the routine; it is beginning to seem almost normal. The rumbling begins; I confine myself indoors, dozing fitfully through the vibrations; every so often one or other of the humans appears to fuss over me (something about the stress of the situation makes this universally welcome) and eventually the noise vanishes and I can poke my nose outside to inspect the new surroundings.

Interesting prospect afforded by the current locale. The land is too far away to be of interest, but I would swear I could see below the water to ground beneath it. That, however, is not the interesting part; I am far more intrigued by the vast numbers of fish to be seen. For my entertainment, the humans tore up half a loaf of bread into crumbs which they tossed into the sea, causing the fish to leap almost out of the water, so tantalisingly close I could practically taste them. Still, one thing I cannot complain of is being underfed (the humans are amusingly well trained), so there is no need for the fish to be anything beyond a pleasant diversion. Although a fish supper would make such a delightful change.

13th May, Sant Antoni de Portmanay

Back in port again, but my situation is, if anything, more frustrating than ever. My access to land would be much easier than on our last visit, but I am not allowed even into the cockpit without a harness on. I have tried making the jump complete with harness, but it is painfully uncomfortable and I was secretly quite glad to be retrieved by Male Human.

From what I have gleaned from my captors, I was lucky to avoid a day-long spate of engine noise while they made their way to another island entirely (why, I can't imagine), but the hours of engine we did have, combined with the vastly unpleasant movement of the boat, were not much better. Never have I been more glad to hear the engine go off; the day's journey made everything else I've had to endure seem positively enjoyable by comparison.

Anyway, I have been able to investigate another area of the marina, and one unfortunate altercation with a dog notwithstanding (I believe I may have injured Female Human, but she could expect nothing else in preventing me making my escape) have discovered it to be satisfactorily diverting. As ever, I need more time to explore it properly - and to be permitted to explore other boats as well, which Female Human is tediously determined against. The downside of the outside world currently is the preposterously strong wind which, while unable to knock me off my paws, ruffles my fur in an infuriating manner.

18th May, Port Roig

Female Human seems to think the above picture of our current location is superior to any taken of me. There's no accounting for taste, I suppose. I'm beginning to feel quite relaxed; always a danger sign, in my book. I must remain vigilant, for how else to improve my lot? Even I can admit that it has been a pleasant few days, however, with patches of sunlight to sleep in and distant birdsong to provide an exquisite mix of stimulation and impotence.

The only factor to mar this agreeable existence is the troubling habit the humans have spontaneously developed of throwing themselves bodily into the water. I can only hope they do not expect me to come to their aid if they drown. I have watched them in consternation, conscious that these two bumbling, fur-less creatures are the ones who can open the cupboard doors, but thus far they have successfully hauled themselves back on board and seem none the worse for wear.

This behaviour does serve as a reminder that I must not become complacent, however. A cat in my position cannot afford to forget that she finds herself a dependent, and that liberty is, and will ever be, the only means to security. But for now, I bide my time.

Delusions of grandeur

'There's something strange and special about travelling by boat. It's still quite early in the morning, and I'm on watch while Peter goes back to bed for a while. I feel a sudden sense of peaceful solitude, despite the roar of the engine and Peter's presence only a few feet away.

Looking towards a distant Ibiza

I go to stand on the back deck in the sun, hands on hips, and survey the world. There's land not far away, but sparkling blue stretches endlessly to the east, with no other boats anywhere in sight. I am in charge of this boat, I think, but what I really mean is, I am in charge of this ocean. Which is quite the excess of grandiosity when you're talking about the Mediterranean Sea.

It's a deceptive megalomania, too. In the face of the might of the weather and waves, feeling powerful is all illusion; it is only on days like this, when the wind is gentle and the sea kind, tht you could even imagine any equality between their majesty and your little boat.

So, it is unquestionable fallacy to take this sense of limitlessness and draw from it omnipotence. But it's a nice feeling.'



The above was written a few days ago, on passage, and sits in stark contrast to our current mood. Today, gloomy, we sit in San Antonio bay, Ibiza, under grey skies with strong westerly winds promised. We arrived here nearly a week ago, the boredom of the long journey at least broken up by the appearance of dolphins, and haven't moved since. It feels a little like being stuck in limbo, to be stationary again so soon after setting off.

We wanted a few days to relax, of course, but now less than helpful winds have trapped us. Willow sits on the back deck, staring at seagulls. Sometimes she miaows at us in disgruntled tones. We watch TV, read and play mindless video games. It's amazing how dispiriting a dull day becomes when you're living at anchor.

Somehow, Sardinia seems a very long way away.

Who needs to be brave anyway?

So much for plans.

It was much lumpier than we'd expected, coming out of Cartagena's harbour. Realistically, it wasn't a particularly heavy swell; but just one metre of swell when you're heading straight into it makes for an uncomfortable time. The cat didn't stop complaining, in alternating tones of fear, distress and indignation, for a good hour, and the motion was making us seasick.

It was not a promising beginning, and we had a very long way to go.

Napping: the best possible activity on passage

So with little ado, we revised our expectations downwards and made Torrevieja our destination instead, making for a much more manageable seven hour passage and the comforting knowledge that we could be anchored not long after lunchtime. When we started to turn north, the going became much easier anyway, the swell subsiding and Willow following my example and settling down for a nap. Nonetheless, a shorter day retained its appeal, and as the weather forecast is now indicating that we can't cross to Ibiza until Thursday, it doesn't make too much difference how far we get today.

The downside to Torrevieja is that it is one of the ugliest place imaginable. It baffles me that people look at this place and buy holiday homes here. Yes, it's sunny a lot of the time and it has a beach, but the same could be said of an awful lot of towns that don't look like this:



But the one thing Torrevieja does have to recommend it is its shelter. It's a completely enclosed anchorage, so even if the scenery leaves a little to be desired we'll have a comfortable night. Which is about all we care about today.

Leaving Cartagena, Take Two

When we arrived back in Cartagena, at the start of September last year, I remember feeling a profound sense of relief that we were here, 'home', and that we would have six months of blissful staying put before having to leave again. It seemed like such a wonderfully distant idea, setting out again - but now it's April and the moment is upon us.

Tomorrow, probably around 5 in the morning, we will cast off our lines and trundle out into the blue.

Now, this is not to say that we don't want to set off cruising again, only that the prospect becomes strangely daunting after months of comfortable security and stability in port. We're also planning on a 24 hour passage straight to Ibiza, rather than gently hopping up the Spanish coast before making the shortest crossing possible, with the idea of getting into the spirit of proper passages right off the bat. A fine and noble goal, but it can't be said that we're gently easing ourselves back into the travelling lifestyle.

It's been in some ways a very uneventful winter. We've spent our days lazily, for the most part, taking short strolls around the city, eating frozen yoghurt, reading in the sun. In an effort to do something useful, I helped out with an English class for local children, run completely free of charge by a friend from the marina (who was consistently described as 'crazy' for subjecting her beautiful flat to the ravages of half a dozen small Spanish children), which was great fun and not nearly as taxing as our friend's frequent apologies for the mayhem made it seem.

Our beautiful cat, Willow Cinnamon Pounce

Most significantly, we've been adopted by a cat, who followed us home one night in late September (with, admittedly, some encouragement) and has taken to life on board our boat with great aplomb. Whether she'll be similarly adaptable when she's on board a moving boat, or a boat with no access to land for her to explore, is another matter, but we're hopeful she'll cope fairly well. 

We've also made the decision to get married - which is a strange thing to say when you've been engaged for two and a half years. But we have Plans now, which is quite a step up from the vague ideas that preceeded them. As long as Sardinia is as beautiful as it's supposed to be, we'll be hiring a villa there and doing the deed in May of next year.

Our intended route for this season takes us quickly through the Balearics - although we might give Menorca a bit more time than Ibiza or Mallorca, as we haven't been there before - and then on to Sardinia, which will involve a two day passage, longer than we've attempted before. We plan to spend most of the summer in Sardinia and Corsica before heading back towards Cartagena in August, where we expect to arrive at the start of September, allowing us to fly back for the first of the year's weddings. It's going to be quite a weddingy 12 months!

For now, though, we just need to muster our courage and take to the sea. It is, after all, what sailors do.

Looking out to sea from Cartagena