Chatham island was even tougher than New Zealand, and not one coconut tree. So I'm still here. I've been hiding out at the bottom of Kennan's sleeping bag. His toes are almost always there so it stays nice and toasty. Sometimes he even reads aloud to me and I get to fight dragons and escape goblins with him.
Everybody has these nice new NZ wooly underwear, but no one bothered to get me any, my fur is supposed to be my advantage. They could have at least picked up a couple pairs of gloves and a tale warmer in that nice no-itch wool, I don't have much fur at the extremities.
Yesterday, Kennan was gone for longer than usual. I ventured out to sneak a peak, turns out it was sunny. Margo caught me on deck and forced me to do calisthenics with the kids. She had us stretching our legs in ways that rat legs are not meant to stretch. Then Capt'n Fraingck started a riggers lesson in the cockpit. The kids had these nice thick 3-strand lines to work, but he gave me a lanyard project for attaching whistles to the lifevests. Do you know how many lifevests we have onboard? A lot more than there are people! And he gave me this fine braided nylon cord - try splicing that! When I complained that splicing line this complex required opposable thumbs, he barked, "Use your teeth, sailor" Isn't that sweet, he called me sailor! Do you think that qualifies as a promotion from stowaway to deckrat?
-Scurvy-
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