Cats, not meant for the sea

Back in the bad old days of February, when I was missing work every other day to drive Bitey to the kitty neurologist in Orange County, I got to the area way ahead of time. What does one do with a cat in the car when you're 45 minutes early?

As I pondered this question heading towards my exit off the 57, I remembered a question the boyfriend, in his infinite curiosity, asked me one summer. We were sitting on the beach in Hermosa, looking out at the vast expanse beyond.

BF: What would Bitey do if he saw the ocean?
ME: He would FREAK OUT and run away.
BF: Really? I mean what would he make of the waves? The sand?
ME: He wouldn't. He would overpower you and take off at lightning speed, with his ears flat against his head towards the nearest thing he could hide under, and never be seen again.
BF: Oh. Okay.

As I thought about this question that February morning I realized had missed my exit on the 57 and was headed to Newport Beach. With my cat, who now had no use of his back legs.

And, I'll admit, I was curious. What would a cat do at the beach?

So I drove all the way to Newport Beach, into the parking lot right up against the sand, just north of the pier where those kids from The O.C. eat lots of pancakes and never get fat.

I parked the car and took out Bitey's soft black carrying case. Predictably he meowed in protest. We went and sat on the beach. Silence. Slowly I opened the zipper.
A little orange and white head peeked out, then rapidly retreated. I pulled him gently out of the carrier. He began to make a particularly loud wailing noise. I saw the thoughts of the people around me as clear as if they were on a banner towed by a biplane...Who IS this scrubby looking girl and why does she have a CAT on the BEACH???? Of course, this being California, no one said a single word.

I put Bitey in my lap. He struggled to get back in the case, but I held him tight.
I tried to get him to look at the ocean, and he stared for a while, looked at the birds, then struggled some more to get back in the case. I let him get back in and zipped him up tight.

I sat for a little while longer, looking at the water. I wondered if Bitey could even see the ocean, if it even had any meaning for him...the way you wonder when you hold a cat to a mirror and they stare into it, unimpressed: Are they so blase because they see and understand their reflection and wonder what the fuss is about? Or is there no cognitive recognition of what they are even seeing...do cats recognize themselves?

We packed up and walked back to the car...I drove to the doctor's office, and straight into several more months of doctor bills. I guess any sane person, (after first asking why someone would spend so much money on a cat with a fatal disease), would ask why I made that trip.

I don't really have a good answer. I could joke and say that the boyfriend's curiousity is like a slow incubating virus. First you think it's silly, three weeks later, you're starting to wonder.

So the closest I can come to a better answer is that in this case it's less about the cat and more about the ocean. Defying reason and logic, the sea makes you believe that no living creature should go his or her or its whole life without one brief glimpse.

Bitey has seen the sea.