December 5th - Whatever happened to November?

05/12/2008 by Brigid.

After a feverish first week of planning and list writing, John, myself and the two cats set sail for Blighty once again to do the rounds before Christmas. And, like last year, we caught everyone on the hop. Gone are the days when John and I started our Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve, and I must admit to a certain perverse pleasure when people say “Your present is on order”, or “I haven’t wrapped it yet” or “I left it behind”. We still have some way to go to beat the arrival of my mum’s Christmas card (some of our friends got theirs during the second week of November), but we can still smugly sit back and enjoy having all but completed our Christmas list.

In fact, there is no need for anyone to worry. One good thing to have come out of the credit crunch is that a lot of people are cutting down on their spending at Christmas. Along with, I suspect, many other families, we have started to give only token presents to the adults, reserving a proportionately larger part of the budget for the younger members. And that’s, perhaps, how Christmas ought to be. No more headaches trying to think of imaginative or useful presents for brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins. Ours can now expect a local apéritif, bottled fruit, chocolates, or tinned pâté. A contribution to the Christmas feast. No ‘thank you letter’ required. And don’t worry that I am giving anything away. It is hard to disguise a bottle, tin or jar, even with the fanciest of wrapping paper and ribbon!

Having seen everyone we needed to, we spent a few days’ holiday in Ireland. The weather was cold and wet, but the air was clean and the welcome, as always, warm . As for our summer holiday, we rented Faha Cottage. It is not exactly the plushest of accommodation, and would never make the grade with the Bord Faílte (the Irish Tourist Board), but it doesn’t cost much and the owner welcomes us with an irresistible mixture of stale chocolate treats and a couple of tins of Whiskas for the cats, and you can’t say fairer than that. Besides, on a clear day, we can see the Cliffs of Moher on the Atlantic coast, about 10km away.

Following the demise of Speedferries’ Dover – Boulogne service, we booked our homeward passage direct from Ireland to France. Rather than crossing from Rosslare to Pembroke or Fishguard, and facing hours on the road followed by another ferry from Dover to Calais, we booked LD Lines’ Rosslare – le Havre ferry: a 20-hour crossing.

Poor Tig and Foggy were never cut out to be ‘ship’s cat’. We did what we could to get them some anti-seasick pills before we left, and hoped that the promised kennel on board would be more comfortable than the car. Some hope. Having charged us the exhorbitant sum of £73 to accommodate the two cats, we discovered that the ‘kennel’ was no more than a dog cage on the car deck. Arguably, they would have been better off in the car. However, knowing how unwell they get at sea, we couldn’t leave them couped up for 20 hours. There was only one thing for it. They would have to share our cabin.

Of course it is completely interdit to smuggle one’s pets into the cabins. However, I am not my mother’s daughter for nothing. I well remember her carrying our dachsund puppy in a shopping basket for the Swansea to Cork trip when I was a child. Overnight, he ate a hole in one of the ship’s blankets, to which my father infamously quipped, “Don’t worry, if anyone asks, I’ll tell them my wife had a fit”.

The brightly-coloured American pet carrier I use looks quite like an ordinary holdall, if one closes the canvas flaps over the mesh panels. So I completed the deception by draping the cats’ fleece blanket (lurid green) around my shoulders like a shawl, allowing it to fall over the carrier, partially concealing the wriggling contents. While the ferry was bright and clean, LD Lines are principally a freight operator. Consequently, it was a long walk from the car deck to the limited passenger accommodation. As I emerged from the seemingly endless passage from the stairwell to the reception area, the bag’s occupants suddenly started to stir violently. I looked down. Foggy had managed to undo the zipped opening. I had apparently walked practically the whole length of the ship with a little grey cat’s head poking out of the back of the bag. So much for subterfuge.

Thankfully, we avoided detection and, once safely in the cabin, the cats seemed to settle down remarkably well. Perched on the windowsill, they stared into the night sky. The only features visible against the dark sea where the white horses. Eventually, they curled up, one on each bunk, and went to sleep … Until about 4am, when we were woken by the unmistakable sound of a cat throwing up, as Tiggy deposited his dinner under our bed. A few minutes later Foggy did likewise.

Although they perked up briefly midway, the poor cats were sick for most of the voyage. But they did make an astonishingly quick recovery as soon as the ferry docked in le Havre, and are now, undoubtedly, as are we, very pleased to be back at home.

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