I really hoped that adventures were more like prawns. But that didn’t stop the nervousness from growing, especially as I learned more about the tour, where we were going, and what would be happening while we were away.
‘I’ve got the itinerary through from the publishers,’ Dad said one day, waving a few sheets of paper stapled together at us.
‘Let’s hear it then,’ said Mum, as she put my prawns in my bowl.
I was torn: prawns or listening to the details of our adventure? In the end, I tried to do both. The prawns were delicious, as always; the itinerary less lovely.
In summary, the plan for our three weeks in China seemed to be: take Gobi to lots of lovely places, where there would be lots of people wanting to see her and make a fuss of her, wherever we went. And nobody to pay any attention at all to me, or my big adventure.
And that was the big problem: this was supposed to be my chance to show Mum and Dad that I was more than just an indoor cat, that I could be adventurous, too. But it still seemed very much like Gobi’s adventure, even though I was along for the ride. How was I going to prove that I was the superior pet if everything was still about Gobi?
I sat at my window and ignored the world outside for once, thinking hard instead. There had to be a way to have my own adventure, surely? One that was all about me.
I just didn’t know enough about adventures yet to figure out how.
By the time the day finally came to leave Edinburgh for Portsmouth and the ferry (via London, for some important, last-minute publisher meeting for Dad and Gobi), I’d started to go off the whole idea, really. I sulked in my carrier in the car, dozing off as we drove.
And when I saw the ferry, lit up brightly against the darkening night sky, I was certain this was a very bad idea indeed.
‘It’s huge!’ I stared at the giant ship up ahead of us. It was bigger than our house, by far. I’d never even seen anything so big. Travelling by car was one thing – I quite enjoyed a car trip – I wasn’t convinced I was going to enjoy this journey.
Gobi barked her agreement. ‘Isn’t it brilliant?’
‘Brilliant’ wasn’t quite the word I’d been looking for.
‘How long are we going to be on it?’ I asked, still eyeing the ferry suspiciously.
‘All night!’ Gobi said it like that was a good thing.
Was the ferry the adventure? Because really, if we had that whole giant ship to explore, what more adventure could we possibly need? Maybe we should just turn around and go home – after all, Ragdoll cats were indoor cats. Not ferry cats or aeroplane cats or even China cats. I missed my window. And my prawns.
But just then, Dad put me in my carrier to take me aboard, and going home was no longer an option.
Adventures also seemed to involve a lot of people frowning at paperwork. Before we were even allowed on the ferry, a man had to glare at some paper, then run the same magic device thing over me that they sometimes used at the vet’s.
‘That’s to make sure we’re who we say we are,’ Gobi told me, from where she was being checked at the next table.
I hunkered down back inside my carrier and glowered. I wasn’t enjoying being in Gobi’s world. At home, I knew everything and she didn’t. Where the warmest spots to curl up were. Where Mum hid the dog treats. The best blankets for snuggling on. The ideal time to interrupt Dad’s programmes when he was watching TV. How not to get trapped underneath the house playing hide and seek.
When Gobi had arrived home with Dad, I’d had to teach her everything about our home, our lives, our family. Here, things seemed to be the other way around.
It wasn’t natural.
Once we were on the ferry itself, I started to feel more at home. Mum and Dad had booked us something called a ‘pet-friendly cabin’. (I didn’t want to know what made the other cabins unfriendly towards pets.) It had two narrow beds, a window, and a door that opened onto a small bathroom. As soon as Dad let me out of my carrier, I hopped up onto the little table under the window to look out.
I’d hoped it would feel familiar, like all the other windows I’d stared out of over the years. Instead, I looked out over an expanse of endless water, and shuddered.
It looked hundreds of times worse than bathtime.
Behind me, Mum laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Lara. You’re safe in here, the water can’t reach you.’
But I wasn’t about to take her word for it, so I jumped back down onto the bed and made myself at home.
Dad was standing in the open doorway, moving a bag from the hall into our cabin, when another lady appeared outside, with another pet carrier. She smiled at Dad as she passed, then she stopped, stared inside our cabin, and her grin grew even larger.
‘Look, Cleo! Another Ragdoll, just like you! And staying right next door to us. How lovely to meet fellow discerning pet lovers! It can be so lonely travelling alone.’ She lifted her carrier so her cat – Cleo, I presumed – could see me. We surveyed each other with steady gazes. I couldn’t get a really good look at her, behind the bars of her carrier door, but if she was a Ragdoll like me, I was sure she must be gorgeous.
When I tuned back into the human conversation again, Mum was saying, ‘Would you like a drink? Dion was just going to pop to the cafe for a hot chocolate for me,’ to Cleo’s human and, before I knew it, Cleo was out of her carrier and onto the bed with me.
‘Ooh, that sounds be lovely! I’m Jennifer, by the way.’ Cleo’s human bustled into the already cramped cabin, and took a seat on the end of my bed.
I meowed a welcome to Cleo. ‘I’m Lara. And the dog is Gobi,’ I added, jerking my head towards my sister pet.
‘Cleo,’ the other Ragdoll said, not even acknowledging Gobi.
I liked her already.
‘I’ll just go find the cafe then,’ Dad said, looking bemused. It was just as well he left – he’s a tall guy, and the cabin really wasn’t all that big for all six of us.
‘So, are you off to France on holiday?’ Mum asked, settling onto the other bed. Gobi was already asleep beside her. It was very late, I supposed, but I’d slept so much in the car down, I wasn’t tired at all. (I don’t know what it is about car journeys, but they always send me to sleep. I was hoping the ferry might do the same, but already there were so many strange noises and smells, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to settle.)
‘No, just passing through,’ Jennifer said. ‘We’re flying out of Paris tomorrow.’
‘Us too!’ said Mum. ‘We wanted to have the animals with us on the plane.’ And we wanted to be there with them. I still remembered Gobi’s tales of travelling in the hold of a plane in China. I shuddered just thinking about them.
Jennifer nodded. ‘Exactly! I really don’t like to fly without Cleo. And until Britain lets animals travel with passengers instead of in the hold, I will only fly out of Paris.’
At the other end of the bed, Cleo rolled her eyes, and settled her head down on her paws. I padded closer – other cats were usually far more interesting to talk to than humans.
‘You don’t look very excited to be going on this trip.’ I took a spot close enough to Cleo to talk, but not so close as to crowd her, and began nonchalantly licking my leg.
‘You wouldn’t be either, if you were travelling with her.’ Cleo jerked her head in the direction of Jennifer, sitting behind her.
‘Oh, look!’ Jennifer clapped her hands together and beamed. ‘They’re talking to each other!’
Mum smiled, too. ‘Oh, Lara’s quite the chatterbox. Especially when Dion is trying to