THE SHIP’S CAT

Northland Age, Volume 1, Issue 10, 11 December 1931, Page 9

THE SHIP’S CAT

Monarch of all he surveyed Ginger, the ship’s cat, sat sunning himself in the cook’s galley one day when the Britannia was in dock in London. He had no particular desire to go ashore. His home was on the rolling wave, and he was the darling of the crew, being a stately orange-coloured cat , with a ruff and a fine foxy tail. Life was more interesting in the little sea world than on the tiles in London. Ginger had really forgotten how a cat behaved itself on land. For him the long journey in cargo boat to India and back made up his life. “Honey, are you watching the animals come aboard?” said Ba, the black cook, to his favourite. “There is none to touch you, not one, for looks and behaviour, and bravery too. All the dogs we ship have to run wide of you.” Kennels were shipped, carrying a pack of beautiful hounds, dogs with long, soft ears and intelligent, kind eyes. Ginger watched with interest, not a little glad that they were in kennels. But these were sentiments he kept to himself. The next day the boat put out to sea. Ginger would have to find his sea legs again. Even with four paws it is not always easy to walk the deck in high seas. He was occupied with his morning prowl. He stopped a little uneasily. What was that yelping and scuffling of paws? Suddenly down the deck came the hounds in full cry. If they could not hunt a fox a ginger-coloured cat was the next best thing. Like a flash Ginger darted forward; but the hounds, weary of their long lie in the kennels, were full of excitement. All hands came to the deck. They could do nothing. Ginger must save himself—it was not safe for anyone to pick him up. Through the cook’s galley went Ginger, the hounds following a fraction of a minute later. Ba, scared out of his wits, leaped to the highest shelf, and armed himself with a pan. He trembled with fright, more for Ginger’s sake than his own. Through one door, out through the next they went. Ginger was lost to sight. Round the deck once more they tore. But this time Ginger had outdone them. He looked down upon them from the top of the mast. Safety at last. Heaven be praised for the art of climbing! In time the hounds’ excitement died down, and the keeper was able to kennel them. Never again were they allowed to take their morning exercise except by ones and twos, and then only on leads. Ginger, little the worse for his fright, took up his position again as the ship’s darling, with as much dignity as he could after such a humiliating experience. “Let them learn that here, at any rate,” he mused to himself, “hunting is not allowed.”