Kinky Boots, our 8-month-old kitten who came pre-programmed with Scaredy Cat set to 11, has discovered a passion for two things: zippers and watching Harry in the bathroom. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing in there. She must be part of it. When she hears Harry close the bathroom door she gallops at top panther speed from one end of the house to the other, throws her body against the door, crashes in and observes whatever might be happening. She says, “I have arrived, you may begin.” I hear them talking.
She has mild interest in my bathroom activities and it feels like a consolation. She knows she should be fair in spreading her fascination around. She’s a diplomatic cat. A diplocat.
There’s a zipper on a couch pillow that bedazzles Kinky the way Starbucks does to cruisers in foreign countries. She can’t believe her eyes. She wants some. The pull tab on the zipper has exactly the right wiggle and swing to keep her coming at it with her soft gray paws. The zippers on my hoodie are likewise enthralling. The one zipped to my chest is especially fun because it comes with pets and nose boops.
The last time I wrote about Kinks we still had a long way to go in acclimating her to our safe, secure, not at all threatening home that terrified her in one way or another. She’s made tremendous progress. She’s still got what appears to be a primal instinct to flinch or dart away from absolutely nothing, but now she comes back immediately to say “Gosh, I dunno why I do that.” We tell her she’s a brave, strong girl. This past week she finally became a lap cat, first with Harry then a few days later with me. She stepped right into our laps and curled up like it was nothing. It was everything.
PUBLIC SPEAKING: NOT RELAXING
Harry and I spoke at the Seattle Boat Show last week. The experience reminded me of preparing for an ocean passage. We spent weeks putting together our presentation, practicing, talking it through, wondering what the weather would be like. Worrying.
We were early to the event center so we stopped for coffee and the first in a series of mildly alarming omens. I’m a decaf drinker to keep my irregular heartbeat only mildly irregular, and like most decaf drinkers I’m a complete paranoid about whether the barista is actually giving me decaf. The barista delivered our lattes, mine decaf, Harry’s full throttle, and they were lukewarm. My request for hotter lattes was an unforced error. I suggested the microwave, not expecting new lattes. The barista was displeased by everything happening and made new ones. My paranoia zoomed to max (11 on the Kinky scale). The new, hot lattes were delicious and a day later I could still feel the zzzt of caffeine in my body.
At the event center we were greeted by dogs. Lots of dogs, indoors, mostly on leash. It turns out our seminar coincided with Pet Day at the boat show. This didn’t bother me until the dogs started barking. What if the dogs barked through our presentation? Before our session began two women hurried in with two big dogs. One lady asked the other, “Are you done with your wine? Should we go get more?” They left bags on seats and hurried out with the dogs. I tried to judge the barklihood of these dogs but you know how it is with dogs. You just can’t tell.
Five minutes before our session began the room was empty except for two friends who’d come, possibly to heckle, though they put on a supportive front. I hadn’t considered that nobody would show up. I moved quickly through dismay and embarrassment and landed at relief. I decided it would be a better story to have nobody show up for our seminar than to have, like, three people. You know how tragedy and comedy sit beside each other. I became so invested in this horrible/humorous turn to our boat show speaking experience I was surprised when a flood of people flowed into the room. It wasn’t a big crowd (I mean, we weren’t the “Dungeness Crabbing 101” session) but it was enough.
The ladies with the dogs and the wine burst into the room after we started (leashes tangling around chair legs) and whisper-shouted “Is this the one about life jackets for dogs?” Everyone in the room sent them next door.
In our presentation I talked about how I got on board with the cruising idea, and Harry talked about what he did to help me get there. I heard myself do a nervy Katherine Hepburn shaky-voice imitation once, my nervy nerves shining through, and then it was over. Our audience asked good questions. They took notes. Our friends didn’t heckle. It was indeed low-key scary but like an ocean passage, it came to a satisfying end.
This week on Friday 2/16 the Port Madison Yacht Club is hosting us as we present “How to sail to New Zealand in five easy steps.” If you’re on the island, please come watch us do public speaking! (More info here.)
PEOPLE READING MY BOOK: OH GOD
Harry’s been reading the first draft of my book about our 2-year journey on the Pacific Ocean. In the days before I passed it to him I realized I was stalling. I’ve been working on this book for a while, and it represents a lot of unreasonable expectations. As long as the pages are in my possession and I’m the only one who can read it, it’s a brilliant book. It’s a best-seller. An instant best-seller. A story of exceptional insight, profound statements and hilarious anecdotes. The world has never seen something like this. As long as the world doesn’t see it, that is.
The instant someone else looks at my words on those pages, this fantasy castle crumbles. It’s now possible my book is borderline worthless. The sentences are awkward and jarring. There’s nothing special about my voice. The story lacks structure and there’s no reason for anyone to care about it.
I didn’t know it would be so hard to unclench my grip. I didn’t know it would feel so scary. My confidence was a freight train puffing clouds of nonsense and daydreams, pulling boxcars of experience, achievement, conviction and encouragement when it went off the rails. Now the boxcars are strewn about in a haphazard, unpleasant jumble. I’m not sure how to get them back on the track.
Thank god this is a long, slow process and I’ll have time to adapt. Just like Kinky, figuring out things are significantly less terrifying than they appear.
P.S. If you enjoyed this please tap the heart or leave a comment. This feeds the algorithm monster and helps me get more readers. Thanks for helping, cutie pie.
Congratulations. If Miss Boots has decide to grace your laps with her warm furry presence, she much have finally decided that you are reasonably agreeable, reliable, intelligent humans that she can trust her welfare with. You have reached the Nirvana and satisfaction of cat society. When Harry enters the bathroom sanctuary, Kinky is looking for mental stimulation and a chance to practice her hunting instincts. If he would fold up a piece of toile paper, string, short piece of nylon strapping or anything else along that line and slide it back and forth under the bathroom doo it will be 'game on'. She would also appreciate a bit of your servitude by giving her a brushing every day to establish a routine of affection. Cats live on a different plane that humans and are sent here to try and get us to slow down, stay in the present and pay more attention to what is more important like love and affection. After laps, she might graduate to the middle of your chest at night or sitting comfortable on the keyboard while you are feverishly trying to compose your latest blog. After all, what is REALLY important in Life?
There is nothing like a little public speaking to get the old adrenaline flowing. Think about it as marketing your 'best seller' and teasing them to want more of your exciting experiences on the bounding main. They are captive to your presentation and anxious to hear of your epiphanies, resolutions and self-consolation along the way. A glass of wine always does wonders for your self-confidence.
What do you mean, 'unreasonable expectations? You are just trying to get down on paper the experience of a lifetime that most people can hardly imagine. You get to throw in a little history and geography along the way. How many people have a clue where the Marshal Islands, a fly speck somewhere in the vast Pacific ocean, even are located as well as your encounters with the natives. They will be amazed that you didn't end up in a large iron pot, basted with coconut oil and served as the main course. Write it for your own satisfaction and let the World come along if it chooses. Your Father will still be immensely proud and heap boatloads of praise on his prodigal daughter who survived what must have given him a new crop of grey hairs. There is nothing like 'failure to launch' due to waning confidence on the results. Think about how the Astronauts felt sitting on the top of that rocket waiting for someone to light the fuse. Light your fuse and enjoy where the success and this literary journey will take you. Life is an adventure.
Thanks Joy, looking forward to your salty speaking tomorrow!