Birvidik

The wind picked up as we approached Yalikavak marina, which made mooring an interesting experience, but Liz is getting pretty good at the technicalities of boat handling; namely wiggling the wheel, waggling the throttle and woggling the bow thrusters. After The Unpleasantness at Kusadasi, we gave the lazy line a good testing with the engine, just to be on the safe side. We then relaxed into the luxuries of marina life - secure mooring, no worries about dragging anchors, easy access to shore, plentiful and convenient supplies and unlimited water and electricity. There was, however, the slight drawback of 55 euros a day, but we just put our fingers in our ears and shouted 'La la la la'. We washed the boat and ourselves with copious quantities of water, strolled into town for a pizza, wandered round the lively and colourful town, came back to the boat, crashed out early and slept like logs.

The next morning we got up, let Einstein out and settled in the cockpit with tea and coffee to enjoy the early morning. Einstein, of course, was thrilled to find boats either side and set off to have a good sniff and explore. She does this whenever the opportunity arises and usually comes back demanding food after about half an hour.

After about an hour and a half, Liz thought she really ought to go and see what Einstein was up to - we didn't want someone casting off and sailing halfway across the Aegean before finding a ginger stowaway throwing up on their bedding. There was no sign of her on the adjoining boat, or any of the boats nearby. Neither was she on the pontoon. Liz got out the sure-fire 'retrieve the cat' tools of the birdie whistle and the box of treats. Blowing the whistle and rattling the box usually brings her running from even the furthest reaches of a marina. No luck.

Liz started walking up and down the pontoons, blowing the birdie whistle and rattling the treats box. This elicited no cat, although she was the recipient of a considerable number of askance looks. ("Mummy - why is that strange lady walking up and down the pontoon, doing a really rather realistic impersonation of a nightingale whilst rattling a box, and shouting out the name of a well known, but deceased physicist?" "Shh dear. Just ignore her and with any luck she won't come over and try to engage us in conversation.")

As an aside, this has echoes of when our English Setter, 'Bones', escaped one night and Bob garnered some very dubious looks wandering through the nearby churchyard at midnight shouting "Bones! Bones! Come here Bones!" They can be very superstitious in Jersey. When he realised how his actions appeared he half expected a procession of retarded, disfigured, in-bred, flaming torch carrying peasants to march up to the house and burn it to the ground. All it needed was a thunderstorm.

However, to return to the subject. Liz did, eventually, hear a faint cry of distress. Casting off shame and self-consciousness, she continued up and down the pontoon which appeared to be the source of the cries until she homed in on one spot. Underneath the pontoon was Einstein; standing on a wooden cross tree up to her neck in water shivering uncontrollably. Liz lay on the pontoon, reached under and hauled her out by the harness. How the cat managed to fall off a metre and a half wide pontoon while the sea was flat calm is beyond us.

Back on board we towel-dried the shivering, complaining mess and then put antiseptic and tape on all the claw marks covering our arms and upper torsos.

That cat is bloody useless. She has the grace and co-ordination of Ted Bundy when they threw the switch on Old Sparky and the delicate, feline sure-footedness of Boris Karloff's Frankenstein.

Six down, three to go.

She'd never have survived in the wild.

It's a miracle she's made it this far.