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Da Crooze beginz!
It is just after dawn in New York City, and an aqua '57 T-Bird wends its way from the Village to the Upper West Side; there is little traffic at this hour, most of it delivery vans and trucks. At the wheel of the T-Bird is a petite, cream-and-white Persian cat, bundled up against the cold; the streets are lined with the icy, now dirty remnants of the last few snow-storms. She has scheduled a busy morning: meetings with all of the various crew leaders of the ship; checking provisions and supplies, meeting with Captain LeGrand - and then hopefully, a nap before the community arrives. The T-Bird pulls into the 79th Street Boat Basin, and Anaïs see's Cleo's yacht, the MV Purrbearer anchored in the Hudson: it is too large a vessel to dock in the Boat Basin and so ship's tenders take cargo and passengers to the ship. The basin is a hub of activity at this early hour: trucks are unloading supplies for the community cruise, and sailors from the Purrbearer are loading them into tenders. A uniformed tuxie-cat greets Anaïs: "Put your car in long-term parking, Ma'am?" She nods in agreement, handing him a few toonas as a tip, as a second tuxie takes her luggage to the ship's tender waiting for her. Two sailors, looking spiffy in their uniforms with "MV Purrbearer" embroidered on them, greet her. "Meow, Mme. Lachatte! Welcome back to the MV Purrbearer!" They take her luggage, fire up the engine, and the tender pulls into the river and heads to the ship. The tender pulls up to the side of the yacht, as it stairs are lowered; Anaïs climbs on board where she is greeted by Stevenson, Cleo's major-domo. "Welcome aboard, Mme. Anaïs! It is good to see you again! I know that you wanted to meet with the staff supervisors early, so I have gathered them in the conference room for your meetings. I'll have one of the stewards take your luggage to your stateroom so we can get to business immediately." Stevenson and Anaïs walk below-deck to the mahogany paneled conference room, where around the table are all of the yacht's crew supervisors: the executive chef, head steward, the purser and so on; Anaïs opens her briefcase, takes out her laptop and settles into the business of preparing for the event. Business-like, but cheerful snatches of meowed conversations can be heard: "Yes, the breton oysters are here, as well as the Chesapeake blue-point. Lobsters from Maine are on ice... Dungeness crabs too.... yes, ping-pong balls in Ms. Pitoonya's stateroom.... the mirrored stateroom for Ms. Sunrise, yes, yes... the large snack-bar for Mr. Sundance... rolls of paper towels and TP in Meowy's stateroom... a stateroom with an office and computer for Ms. Trudi... yes, the Chat Lunatique champagne is on board. Ah, and the sushi-bar for Hiura-san? Yes, it is here..." and so on until all of the details have been taken care of. It is now noon, and Captain LeGrand comes in as they are finishing up, and invites Anaïs to lunch with him and the first-mate so they can plan further details of the cruise. After lunch, Anaïs, tired from a day of meetings, goes to her stateroom and admires the view of the NY skyline; she daydreams and she thinks of the skyline of Paris and her college years - a skyline quite different when she was a young girl-cat. Tired, she draws the curtain, and curls up on a soft silk cushion to take a nap before the community arrives. She drifts off to sleep, and in her reverie, feels a gentle grooming of her head and a purr just like Tiger's. "I iz so proud of you going on like dis, picking up and leading a 'venture, mine luff..." She awakens, so startled that she has to get up and walk around the stateroom to make certain that she is alone but yes, the stateroom is empty and the door still locked. She goes to lie down again, and notices a large kitty-sized impression in the soft cushion, right next to hers, and three forget-me-nots that she knows weren't there before. She smiles, and falls asleep again, contented. -- Purrs, Mme. Anaïs “I love cats because I take pleasure in my home; and little by little, the cats become its visible soul.†Jean Cocteau, 1889-1963 2/11/2011 7:44:11 PM |
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