Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 34: Part 1

When I said we were "borne back ceaselessly into the shore," I wasn't trying to be poetic. What I meant is that we crashed on the rocky shoreline just a few miles south of the dock. Driving a boat was probably as easy as driving a car, but I'd forgotten something very important: I'd never driven a car. I'd always had roommates or public transportation or parents. My bad.

The boat splintered into millions of pieces. It happened so fast. Catsby and I plunged into the Atlantic Ocean. We were underwater for what felt like minutes. Although we miraculously surfaced together, our ordeal wasn't over: we'd been swept out to sea. I immediately worried that we'd be attacked by a shark or a giant squid, but remembered that all marine life was extinct due to pollution.

Unfortunately, drowning was still a distinct possibility. I latched onto a passing piece of debris—the door to the cabin. I placed Catsby on it, while I treaded water. Catsby shook himself off and stared at me, as if to ask when I would be joining him on the door. I shook my head. There wasn't enough room on it for both of us.

"We'll make it," I said, shivering. Despite the record temperatures we'd been experiencing, the sea was a cold bitch in the dead of night. "It'll be a few minutes, but someone will be here."

I couldn't be sure—it could have been nothing—but I thought I saw a small tear ran down Catsby's face.

"Don't you do that," I said. "Don't say your goodbyes now. You're going to live. You'll go on to make kittens and watch them grow up. You'll die an old cat, warm in your cat bed. You hear me, Catsby?"

He cocked his head, as if to suggest he was indifferent to what I was saying. Perhaps he—like all cats, I suppose—didn't understand English. How I wished my dearly departed furry friend was still around to bridge the gap! Maybe he didn't really speak to cats; maybe it was just another of his outlandish stories. His palace of lies had come crumbling down. If he'd still been around, I wouldn't have been drifting at sea anyway.

"Promise me you'll live. Promise me you won't let go."

I reached a hand out to Catsby. He made no move to put his paw into my hand. Instead, he lapped at the fur on his stomach. He started hacking almost immediately, and spit up a wet hairball in my face.

"I love you too," I said, wiping it away.

We drifted along the choppy sea for a while—minutes or hours, I don't know. How long could I tread water? Even if I were strong enough to swim, it wouldn't have been of any use. I couldn't even see the shore in the darkness, so wouldn't have even had any idea what direction to swim in.

We bumped into something. The butler's lifeless body. I'd never even learned his name. Or maybe he told me, and I'd just forgotten it. Maybe he didn't have to die in vain. I pulled his floating corpse closer, and patted down his pant pockets. I felt something long and cylindrical.

I pulled out the laser pointer and breathed a sigh of relief.

I could shine it into the night sky. Somebody would have to see it. I pressed the button on its side and an explosion of red light shot straight up into the air, cutting through the darkness like Darth Vader's lightsaber through Luke's arm.

Catsby's eyes followed the darting red dot in the sky carefully, but he wasn't stupid. He made no attempt to jump off the door—water was no place for a cat. Hell, water was no place for a human being. If God had meant for us to swim, he'd have given us fins. That's why I was never a fan of Aquaman. He was unnatural, a heathen abomination. The silver lining to drowning at sea would be that I wouldn't live long enough to see an Aquaman movie.