“He misses his sandbox? Monsieur le Chat, listen to that!"

The boat, any cruising boat, was simply too small for a pet. M. le Chat slept at the foot of Lindy’s bunk and resented a rival. Whenever they wanted to make love they had to lock the damn thing in the head, or it was swarming all over them, horny and purring. Mitch was surprised that it had left her bunk now.

Hell, it was all academic. They would throw in the cat as a premium when they sold the boat. Special, Christmas season only.

He looked at it uneasily. It was watching the lazarette, listening to the birdsong. The binnacle light, caught in its eyes, seemed to have set fire to its brain. Its glossy flanks began to heave with excitement. Slowly the ebony belly sank to the deck. One white forepaw rose absently. It was a sitting duck for a stray wave.

“Monsieur le Chat,” Mitch murmured, “there’s no goddamn bird! Il n’y a pas d’oiseau! Attention aux vagues!” Mitch was suddenly impatient to return below. He picked up the cat and spilled him roughly down the companionway steps. Turning back to douse the binnacle light, he noticed that Lindy’s safety belt was not swinging next to his under the canvas dodger. That was strange. She was unlikely to be wearing it in her bunk, and a year at sea had taught them to keep safety gear in place. She was better at this than he.

The cat scooted back up the ladder and brushed by him. It was heading aft again. Mitch grabbed at it and missed. He saw it spring at the lazarette hatch, slide across its slick surface, and thump into the leeward scuppers. The next wash of water could scoop it into the sea.

“Idiot,” he growled, lunging to recover it. He was apprehensive now, inexplicably nervous. He snagged the cat and this time carried it below, forgetting to turn off the binnacle light. He wanted overpoweringly to see Lindy scrunched naked on her bunk, bronze hair spilled, fine hips curving to her tanned legs and her poor, sea-scarred shins.

He tossed the cat into the head-compartment, slammed the door, and ducked forward. He brushed aside the curtain to the forward compartment. Her bunk-light was not on. The compartment was pitch-black. Shaken and frightened, he groped for the light, missed, felt in the bunk itself. He found nothing. “Lindy?” Tight with terror, he found the light at last and flicked it on.

The leeward bunk was empty. So was the windward.

“Lindy?” he shouted, checking the head and even the clothes-locker. "Lindy!"

A bolt of panic tore through him, paralyzing him. He began to tremble uncontrollably. He could not budge from the spot.