Water cats

The Captain

I'm currently sitting in a beautifully designed apartment just north of Victoria Park, East London. It belongs to friends of ours who are currently in Israel, who kindly lent us a spare key so we could use their shower and occasionally sleep in their spare room if the boat gets too cold.

I was meant to "work from home" today, which meant initially working from the narrowboat. But it rained heavily overnight, and throughout the day, meaning the boat's leaks (one of the little projects we are meant to tackle while we are guardians of the boat this year) were on overdrive. So we decampered to the flat with our things and spent the day here, working on laptops, drinking coffee, wistfully looking out of the window at the rain, at our friends' garden, at the imaginary cat I'd own if I lived here; wondering what it would be like to have a place like this to ourselves, with shelves filled with our books.

My boyfriend is flying to Spain tomorrow on holiday with a friend, for a week, so the boat move which we would have to do this weekend (narrowboats must move every two weeks in London) also had to be done today. I didn't want to wait until the weekend and do it on my own: I'm not quite confident yet in handling it by myself.

BBC Weather predicted a patch of dry at 5pm, so we left the flat and walked back to the narrowboat at that time and got set with preparing it for departure. A few minutes after untying, it started pissing down. Our next door neighbour was luckily home (their boat was double-moored to ours) and he turned out to be a lovely, friendly guy called Rob who didn't mind helping us untie and depart. I'd met his partner Harriet last Sunday and she'd kindly offered to lend us their bucket for the spring cleaning I was inflicting on the boat. Rob and I chatted about boat life, online boating forums and boating holidays outside London, until my boyfriend was all set with the engine and we were ready to leave. Rob had a kind face and I thought of how him and Harriet made a handsome couple.

Vanessa, the Spanish girl I'd first met when we'd arrived in Haggerston, wasn't around. Neither was the beautiful chimera cat I'd made friends with while we were moored in that spot.

I'd first met the cat just after we arrived, when she sauntered inside the boat one afternoon and curiously inspected every nook and cranny. After she'd tried to get inside the engine's box, I shooed her away. Later, after posting the obligatory photos on social media, I found out that an ex-colleague from work, Lucy, had come across the same cat on the canal path and had even stopped to pet her.

Excited about this coincidence, we agreed to meet up for a drink during the week, after work, and I'd take the opportunity to show her the narrowboat. Lo and behold, who do we spot on the canal path as we walked to the narrowboat? Cue more photos and selfies with the little thing. Someone online mentioned this type of cat was a good omen; others said they were rare. She did look to me like a living painting.

Lucy and I ended up bumping into my boyfriend on his way from work and the three of us decamped to a nearby gay pub I'd heard a lot about but never visited, The Glory. I was pleasantly surprised with the venue, the DJ, the clientele mix, the vibe. Their programme hints at many drag nights, many queer plays, many martini deals on Monday, and much more.

Then, on the following Sunday, walking back home loaded with freshly cleaned laundry, I spotted the chimera cat lying on top of our boat. I'd asked Instagram and Facebook that week what name we should give her and the most popular suggestions were "skipper" and "captain". The little captain did her usual inspection of the whole boat but, this time, jumped on the bed, curled up and went to sleep. I continued with my spring cleaning but once in a while I'd pop my head into the cabin and check on her: sometimes she'd open her eyes and look at me as if to ask "may I help you with something"; at other times she was completely lost in her dreams, her chin pointed up to the cabin's skylight. I wondered if she had fleas, and I wondered if we could add her to our adventure.

On one of our final nights in Haggerston, returning from a pint at The Glory, my boyfriend and I spotted her sitting in the middle of the towpath, just by our narrowboat. I called her and she came to me. Then she climbed the boat and circled my boyfriend's arms as he tried to open the hatch. I felt a little heartless but I lifted her small body and placed her back on the towpath. She looked back at us as if with indifference and then licked one of her paws. Then she scampered away.

Today, while we untied, while it rained, while we chatted to Rob, while we set off for Broadway Market -- our next home for the following two weeks -- I kept an eye out for the little Captain, but I didn't spot her anywhere. I have, however, bought some cat food. It's safely stored inside the narrowboat. The next time our paths cross and she comes inside, I'll be able to offer her a nice little welcoming meal.