I stay a while after the race and catch up with a few friends at the Cats’ Collective.
I am sitting quietly, thinking about the race and hoping Otto will manage okay. They often encounter rough seas and strong winds on the run down to Hobart. I hope he keeps his lifejacket on.
The news is of strong southerlies straight out of the Heads. The boat is briefly featured in an update from the video stream at the Cats’ Collective.
A photographer from the daily rag spots me and wants a photo. He asks me about Otto, who is pretty well known, I gather.
I’m unsure whether he is actually interested in my photo or is surveying the food options as he gobbles down some of the gourmet treats. I can’t work out why they have stacks of cut oranges, as they aren’t my kind of food. I help myself to some creamy-looking canapés labelled “chicken” but tasting more like anchovies. The photographer takes several of these canapés, and the plate is nearly empty.
As soon as they notice the photographer with me, three other cats join us, introducing themselves and insisting on buying me a drink. The photographer photographs all of us. He knows my name for some reason and asks me for personal details of Otto as a kitten. The sandy cat, Augustus, turns out to be a local yachting identity.
The other two cats know Augustus, and the photographer’s name, it turns out, is Neville. The other two cats are Tabby Thunderbolt and Bruno the Bruiser. Everyone calls Bruno Bru, and Tabby is addressed as Tabs. We soon become immersed in a discussion of who is most likely to win and what times they will achieve in the race. However, I refrain from lodging a bet.
