The Sleeping Black Cat
by Dave Barth 1980
This story was written for my "significant other," Carol Mikesh, in 1980. The theme for this story came about when I tried to get Carol's cat, Felix, to
take a nap on my chest the way our family cat, Tiger, had napped on my Dad's chest when I was a child.
The black cat was sleeping peacefully on my chest. It was the first time that he had ever slept on anyone's chest, let alone mine. He just didn't like sleeping
on gently heaving chests. Not that he had suddenly changed his mind. He hadn't. But the circumstances were different now. He had fought it as long as
possible, but he had finally gotten too tired to fight it anymore and had curled up like a little kitten and gone to sleep.
Five hours ago the two of us had been aboard the Citation SP, a small business jet certified for single pilot operation. I had let him roam about the jet, hoping
he wouldn't cause any trouble by getting beneath the rudder pedals or causing some ruckus during an instrument approach into Miami International. He had
behaved perfectly, enjoying the unfamiliar surroundings, inspecting every nook and cranny for whatever might lurk there. I had thought about somehow tying
him to the copilot's seat so that I might watch him and be able to give him oxygen if we had the unfortunate experience of depressurization, but I couldn't figure
out how to get an oxygen mask to stay on his furry head. In any case, I decided he could survive better than I for the couple of minutes it would take to drop
down from 26,000 feet if anything happened to the pressurization.
He had completed checking the interior by the time we were over Baton Rouge and was fast asleep in the copilot seat beside me when we landed at Miami
for fuel. Our final destination was Nassau. The over water portion of the flight would take less than an hour. I set his litter tray out on the airport ramp, keeping
an eye on him to make sure he didn't decide to take a sudden excursion that would route him beneath the fuel truck or a baggage train.
His name was Felix, after the comic character. He could still be a comic, even at his ripe age of nineteen years. I had heard that one could equate a cat's age
to human age by multiplying by seven, making him 133 years old. That didn't seem reasonable, but he had slowed down considerably in the past couple of years.
The activity around the airplane didn't seem to bother him. I was relieved he had used the litter.
We boarded the plane once again, just himself and me. We took off before noon, behind a Europe-bound 747. The fog had cleared since our arrival, and the
weather was perfect, with a light breeze out of the West.
We had climbed to ten thousand where we left Miami departure and contacted center for clearance to fifteen. No use climbing higher than that for this short hop
to the Bahamas. About forty five minutes out of Miami, it happened. I felt a very slight shudder in the plane. I had immediately flicked the autopilot to standby
and taken over manual control. The hair raised on the back of my neck. I had all the required over-water safety equipment, but I certainly didn't want to have to
use it. Then it came again. A slight jerking motion along the longitudinal axis; the sort of motion one feels when a car is coughing or running out of gas. Suddenly,
the engine warning lights flashed. We were losing power in number one. It was winding down, supplying less and less power. Well, I had been comforted by the
fact that we had the other one. I recalled a joke I had heard about a four engine jet losing engines, one by one, and the captain letting the passengers know
that it would take longer to reach their destination as each engine stopped. When they had all quit, one passenger quipped, "We're going to be up here all
night!." It didn't seem as funny up there at fifteen thousand feet with one engine out. Our airspeed stabilized at 310 knots. I wondered what could possibly
be wrong. The fuel that we had taken on in Miami?
Then engine number two went. As it spooled down, I knew we were committed to a watery landing. Fortunately, it was Summer. The islands were visible,
but there was not any way we could set up for an approach. The runway was not even in sight yet. I mashed the mike button and gave the particulars of our
situation to center. The calm voice asked, "Seven seven papa papa, do you wish to declare an emergency?" I thought about how the cat would make barely an
appetizer for a shark waiting down there in the warm, blue waters. I didn't want to think about the shark's main course. I answered, "Affirmative."
The Citation glided down silently. It looked like we would be able to get close to the shore. I wanted to set it down as close as possible to the beach.
No chance of putting it down on land. Too much in the way of trees, hillocks, brush, and pools. It was strangely quiet in the cabin with both engines dead.
I looked over at Felix. He was sitting in the copilot's seat, giving himself a bath, his long, pink tongue lapping his black fur. I wanted to communicate with
him somehow, to tell him to brace for a sudden deceleration, to tell him how much I thought of him. He was paying no attention. In a way, he seemed to
already know and understand, accepting what was about to happen in a calm, feline way. I moved him off of the seat and onto the floor, close to the firewall,
so that he wouldn't fly far when we decelerated. I turned off all electrical power. I wouldn't be needing it now, anyway.
I slowed the Citation to just above stall speed with full flaps deployed for the slowest possible touchdown speed. The belly of the plane contacted the surface
at the top of a swell, parallel to the waves. Very lucky. The books always recommended a landing on top of the swell, parallel to the waves, but accomplishing
that without power was pure luck. We skipped back into the air like a flat stone thrown across the surface of a serene pond. We were barely above the surface,
the stall warning blaring loudly in the quiet cabin. The Citation touched down again and plowed to a stop. The shoulder harness strained to keep me from
crashing into the instrument panel.
When the plane stopped, I saw that we were floating in the gentle waves, about three miles off of the beach. I unbuckled my harness and slipped out of the seat.
There was Felix, patiently sitting at the cabin door, waiting for me to open it. First, I dragged the sea survival kit out of the storage locker. It consisted of a bulky,
two-man raft, life vests, and miscellaneous articles packed in a pouch in the raft. I had never thought I would have to use this equipment, but now I was glad that
I always flew with it.
I planned to open the door with my right hand while I held Felix in the crook of my left arm. I didn't want him to get caught in the swirling water and not be
able to get out of the plane. As soon as I opened the door, the plane would sink rapidly. I knew I would have to work fast to get the raft out the door.
I loosened the dogs on the door, gingerly turning them, standing to the side of the door jam. Suddenly, sea water began forcing its
way into the plane. I was surprised how chilly the water was. I grabbed for the raft with my free hand, but it was being pushed around the cabin by the
foamy sea water. I realized I was going to have to use both hands to get it out of the plane before we sank. I turned to the door with Felix. I knew cats could
swim instinctively, but I had never seen Felix swim. I threw him out the door as far as I could. He was frantically pawing the air. I didn't see him hit the water.
I hoped he wouldn't get sucked under when the ship dived. I wrestled with the raft, trying to get it out the door. Even though it was uninflated, it was an armful
of heavy rubber coated canvas. I was mad at it for being so reluctant to go out into the ocean. Finally, it popped through the door. The water was rising to
the top of the door as I ducked under the surface to swim out.
I spotted the raft, below me, slowly sinking. I clawed my way down to reach it, hampered by my clothing. I found the inflation lanyard, a wooden handle
on the end of a short rope. I yanked it hard, hoping it would inflate the raft. I was running out of air, and I didn't know if I could drag it to the surface and blow
it up if the air bottle were empty. It suddenly inflated and popped to the surface, leaving me behind, under water. I swam to the surface and grabbed the side
of the raft, flipping it over on top of me several times before managing to board.
I began searching for Felix, yelling at the top of my lungs. Then I saw him. He looked like a water rat, slicked back fir, ears flattened against his head.
He was dog paddling toward the raft, swimming as though he had been doing it all his life. I pulled him aboard by the scruff of the neck and placed him in
my lap. He looked uncomfortable.
Felix shook himself, and I was pelted by fine water droplets flying off of his coat. The raft was very cramped. I could recline by laying back and resting my head
on one end of the raft and hanging my legs over the opposite end, my feet dangling in the water. My arms rested on the inflated sides of the raft. There was no place for
Felix except on my chest.
He looked perplexed. He kept walking in circles on my chest, occasionally putting his forepaws on the bulbous edge of the raft, looking for a way to get off of me.
After a few minutes, he gave up and sat down, looking me in the eye as if to say, "You got us into this, now you get us out."
The current pushed us toward an island, and Felix fell asleep on my chest, tired out after the events of the day. By the time the sun was setting in the ocean,
we had drifted to the surf of the island. The white beach and green palm trees looked like a picture from a travel brochure. There was no one on this part of the
island, but I knew we could walk to civilization.
Felix awoke to the sound of the surf and yawned. I picked him up, stepped out of the raft, and began trudging up the beach.