Lucky to be You -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

Orange Cat has been taking Blue Cat on various adventures.

When Blue Cat tells Orange Cat how lucky she feels, Orange Cat smiles his sincere smile with crinkles around his friendly grey eyes and says --

-- simply --

"Yes, you're lucky to be you."

After much debate, Wednesday's adventure ended up being a day spent on the ocean, doing our best to stay in the meager shade offered by our small boat, and (in between naps) keeping our eyes peeled for dolphins, whales and turtles.

Which usually looked something like this:

Blue Cat leans against side of boat, legs curled awkwardly beneath her, carelessly basking in the sunshine and floating off into nap land.

Orange Cat leans over and pokes Blue Cat.

*poke, poke, poke*

"Cat, look! A dolphin!"

Blue Cat's eyes flutter open and she scans the rippling blue, silver horizon in search of the aquatic mammal. 27 out of 32 times, she misses the aquatic mammal 100% because A) she's abysmal at finding things at which other people are pointing, C) her eyes are still full of nap and D) dolphins are erratic ocean ninjas.

( B) was when she fell asleep again mid search)

Sometimes she manages to orientate herself in time to see a turtle, though. Which always results in great rejoicing and moments of, "Cat, I see the turtle! I see it! ahHA! Now I've seen turtles laying their eggs, baby turtles bumble, tumbling into the ocean for the first time and an adult swimming far offshore. I'm witnessing the entire life of turtle."

My Slovenian friend and I have decided that while dolphins are the undisputed ninjas of the ocean world, turtles are the cats. Because every world needs cats, and turtles fill the cat role admirably well. It's endlessly amusing to watch these ocean cats nap at the ripply surface, sunshine glinting off their slippery shells... and just when you begin to panic that you might actually run the ocean cat through with your motor, she darts under the salty water in surprise as the rumbling engine jolts her out of her fine reptilian daydream.

I'm sure her eyes are full of nap, too. 

The tour commenced around 11:00 (early morning, Puerto time) with two of Pepe's friends bumbling down Calle Morrelos in their dilapidated old pickup, causing the lazy dogs and strutting roosters to reluctantly move their sorry asses to the grubby roadside.

Without batting a single eyelash, I lunge/leaped onto the worn back tire and into the seen-better-days back of the pickup. Joining me was Orange Cat, an English couple and four large fishing rods.

So many childhood fantasies being fulfilled. Goodness. Best thing about living in the country as a kid (besides all the mountains I got to climb and the hotdogs I roasted over smokey twig fires atop said mountains) was getting to ride in the back of trucks without worrying about the police pulling us over. 

But here?

Back of the truck?

Normal (if not posh) mode of transportation. 

We waited on the beach for a few minutes while our guide wrangled up a boat.

And then we were off.

"I'll be here. Waiting when you get back," our guide's uncle with arms so long his hand swung at his knees bid us farewell. "You have water? Yes? Okay. You catch fish. You see. Big fish. 40 kilos, 70 kilos. Mahimahi...  Catch fish and I bring them back to hotel. For you. Okay? I'll be here. See you in three and a half or four hours."

Four hours? Whoa. That. Is a long time. 

Our sinewy sea-bronzed guide (who spoke nary a word of English, but with arms of normal length) baited the four lines and flung them out behind us as we chugged along through the choppy water.

I'll be tremendously surprised if we catch a single fish, given my luck at the fine art of holding a rod and waiting. I am one cat who simply cannot catch fish. Oh dear. 

But after over an hour and a half of tourists going to sea, sea, sea, the line to the far right bent low, low, low.

A fish! I'm not quite the fisherman's bane I thought I was!

The sinewy guide motioned me forward to take the pole.

This is the epitome of tourist fishing. Someone else baits the hook, sets the line, moves the boat and catches the fish. But once the fish is good and caught, they stick the pole in your lap to make you feel like you caught a big one. 

So.

Nearly trembling with excitement and shock at my not-so-bad luck after all, I started reeling in El Big One.

Whoa! This dude. Is heavy. Cat's gonna eat SO much fish toni -- 

"It's a turtle!" my boat mates shouted as the ocean cat's flipper flapped in distress.

"Oh no..." I moaned and lowered the fishing pole.

The sinewy guide motioned for me to raise the rod.

I shook my head and handed it back to him.

I just... can't... 

Nausea that had nothing to do with motion sickness filled my body.

The guide tried to pass it on to the rest of my reluctant mates, but we all shook heads forlornly in unison. Sinewy guide shrugged namesake shoulders and began to reel in the turtle.

The hook had nabbed this poor lady on the shell. Once the guide had removed the hook (and asked if we wanted photos taken with the turtle in distress), he plopped the disoriented, bleeding ocean cat overboard. 

*floop*

And then the dolphins played so close to our little boat that even my eyes full of nap couldn't miss them.

Orange Cat and Blue Cat experienced their first dolphins in the wild.

"I love watching animals play. Watching animals having so much fun with life."

But although the dolphins jumped and darted and shimmied this way and that in what looked like pure, unadulterated joy, the waves did not have the same effect on Sarah.

This is what motion sickness looks like. 

On the way back to land, we managed to reel in three fish... but after hauling aboard a bleeding, frightened turtle, our spirits were a bit dampened.

So there were seasick cheers of, "yay... umm... fish!" and our hungry looks were directed more towards land than towards the flopping, silver scaled fish.

We didn't ask for the fish to be brought back to Casa Kei. Pepe doesn't have knives sharp enough for cleaning fish and none of us really had the stomach fortitude to chop off fish heads and clean out fish bellies, anyway. Not after four hours of  sitting in a rocking boat filled with sea turtle sadness. 

"What is the plan, Cat?" Andrej asked as soon as we landed. "Frozen yogurt?"

"Well... we could have our late lunch first," it was after three and I hadn't eaten since five that morning. Girl was starving and wanted nothing more than a huge plate of food in front of her (a plate of food she didn't have to decapitate and de-entrail with dull knives first).

"But if we eat first, we might not have room for the frozen yogurt. So, frozen yogurt first, lunch later?"

"haha... Priorities of Cat. You don't mess around Andrej."

"No, not with frozen yogurt."

So we shared a grande frozen yogurt at Kühl and examined my sunburn while we licked our spoons.

"I feel a little red, Cat," I told Andrej. "I'm so brown that I didn't think it was possible to get burnt again. But I did it. Thoroughly. Goodness. Go me."

We ate shrimp at a restaurant with an empty terrace overlooking the ocean. And even though we'd just spent four hours looking over the ocean, drinking a glass of wine, eating guacamole and devouring a plate of shrimp with the ocean in front was, um, not bad.

"I'm going to miss your life, Cat," Andrej said as he VIBSed his wine.

"Lucky we still have another week together. Boy only had four days," I sighed, missing Boy but feeling so grateful for the company of Orange Cat.

"We're going to be friends for a long time, Cat."

"Yes," Andrej held his glass without drinking, like the pro VIBSer he is. "A long time."