A Small Quiet Day in the Pacific

The sky turned grey today. Not dramatically grey, not the sort that demands a photograph of a brave man facing weather. Just a low, even cover which removed the distinction between morning and afternoon unless you were paying attention to meals.

The sea remained manageable. A little more movement underfoot, nothing that required me to reorganise my relationship with breakfast. I walked a shorter route than usual, stayed on the approved sheltered sections, and returned with cold hands and the satisfied air of someone who had done enough exercise to justify sitting down again.

Container had already made that decision on my behalf. She was on the chair beside the desk, with one paw extended into the precise area my elbow normally occupies.

The arrangement

I moved the chair a little, found a position on the bunk, and opened the book I had borrowed from the ship's shelf. Container watched this without enthusiasm. Apparently the point of taking my chair is diminished if I respond by finding another place to sit.

After a while she came over and settled against my leg. No announcement, no elaborate circling, just the practical warmth of an animal that has decided I am useful furniture. I read three chapters with one hand resting on her back and made no attempt to turn this into a significant achievement.

There are days at sea when the report is mostly the absence of things. No port. No competition. No nozzle in my hands. No imaginary engine requiring a gearbox we have not priced. Just the ship's steady sound, a book, and the occasional awareness that I am being transported across a very large piece of the planet while sitting quite comfortably.

Lunch was soup and good bread. Elena said it was a lighter day after the barbecue. This did not prevent dinner from involving a proper roast chicken and potatoes that had been given the amount of attention potatoes deserve. The world menu is apparently entitled to visit a familiar kitchen occasionally.

I did not go to the bridge at dawn. I slept later than intended and decided not to manufacture an excuse. In the afternoon Marco handed me a small packet containing two ginger biscuits and said it had been left for me.

No note. None needed.

I ate one with tea and saved the other for tomorrow. Container investigated the packet, found it professionally disappointing, and returned to sleep.

Grey outside. Warm inside. Nothing much happened. I am becoming quite good at appreciating that without immediately trying to repair it.