Position: North Pacific, approaching the date lineCoords: 40.00° N, 175.00° EStatus: At sea · Friday, 16 October
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Friday, 16 October 2026ContainerWalkingPacific

Followed Everywhere

North Pacific, approaching the date line · 40.0° N, 175.0° E

A grey tabby cat sitting beside a man's boots on a long walkway alongside stacked containers at sunset.

After yesterday, today felt like the ship exhaling.

Calm sea, broken cloud, a light breeze from the west. The kind of day where nothing happens, and you are grateful for it.

The investigation

I had decided to solve the mystery of how Container gets into my cabin. I closed the door last night and checked it. I checked the porthole, which does not open. I examined the ventilation grille, which would not admit anything larger than a determined thought.

At six fifteen I woke up facing the ceiling. Container was sitting on my chest, face lowered, watching me with polite concern.

I asked Marco at breakfast. Marco has been on this ship longer than most and knows everything. He thought about it carefully, then said, "She is a ship's cat," as if that explained everything, which I suspect to him it did.

Tiny's theory is that she does not get in at all, she simply has always been in, and only becomes visible at dawn. I said that was unscientific. He said so was my Mazda's turbo installation and that had worked out fine.

The long walk

I walked my usual few miles along the walkways this afternoon, and Container came with me for every metre. Two steps behind. Stopping when I stopped. When I leant on the rail to look at the sea, she sat beside my boot and looked at the sea too, which was more companionable than I would like to admit.

At one point I turned round suddenly to see what she would do. She sat down and looked at a container as though she had always meant to examine it.

Evening

A small celebration tonight. We crossed the date line at some point in the small hours, or we will, depending on which clock you trust, and there is apparently a tradition, which I am being told about in fragments and with suspicious smiles. I have been warned I may live a particular day twice. I have decided not to ask which.

Elena made a lemon tart. I ate mine in full, without sharing, which drew a round of applause I did not entirely appreciate.

Then I went back to the cabin, closed the door, and turned off the light.

I will let you know where she is in the morning. I think we both already know.