Tales from the Deckpaw – A Cuthbert Catwatch Society Story



Tales from the Deckpaw


The moon hung low over Cuthbert, casting silver light across the old rail yard. Willow sat balanced on a weathered crate, idly chewing a twig. Nosey lay sprawled on her belly, tail twitching in excitement.


And there, on his usual perch atop the railroad ties, Old Tom gazed toward the horizon as if it still held the smell of salt and storm.


“You ever wonder, young’uns,” Tom began, “how I come by this weathered hide an’ this here clouded eye?”


“Yes!” Nosey burst out before Willow could even open her mouth. “Was it a dog? A hawk? A—”


“Aye,” Tom rumbled, “’twas a hawk, a dog, an’ the sea herself — all in one day.”


Willow raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s not possible.”


Tom grinned, slow and knowing. “When ye’ve sailed the Magnolia Belle, anything be possible.”

The Stowaway Kitten

“I was but a strip of a kitten,” Tom continued, “huntin’ rats down at the docks. One stormy night, I slip aboard a cargo ship, hidin’ in the shadows, thinkin’ I’d scored a feast in the galley. Next thing I know, the sun’s up, the tide’s out, an’ the land be disappearin’ behind me. I’d stowed away, whether I meant to or not.”


“The captain could’ve tossed me overboard, but instead he says, ‘Every ship needs a mouser. Welcome aboard, Deckpaw.’”



Nosey’s eyes gleamed. “You were a real ship’s cat?”

“Aye,” Tom nodded. “From that day, I learned the ropes, the tides, an’ the taste o’ salt spray in me whiskers. Rats feared me, gulls cursed me, an’ the cook… well, the cook never knew where his shrimp vanished to.”



The Storm




“One summer, a storm rolled in — not yer everyday squall, but a hurricane, roarin’ like a thousand angry hounds. The waves rose taller than the town hall, an’ the wind could strip the fur right off yer back.

“I clung to the captain’s shoulder, eyes sharp as a harpoon point. Then — crack! — a boom swung across the deck, near took the mast with it. I saw a lantern tumblin’ toward the oil barrels, an’ without a thought, I leapt! Knocked it clean into the drink.”



Nosey gasped. “You saved the whole ship?”

“Aye… though I lost the sight in me starboard eye when the mast splintered. The crew said I was an old cat from that day on — not by years, but by the grit in me bones.”


The Last Voyage


“When the Magnolia Belle was retired, I came inland with a merchant, followin’ the scent o’ fried catfish an’ adventure. Been here ever since, keepin’ a weather eye out for trouble — an’ maybe a bit o’ shrimp if I can find it.”

Willow smirked. “So, was all that true?”



Tom’s good eye twinkled. “Aye, lass… though a wise cat leaves room for the imagination to fill the sails.”


Nosey let out a dreamy sigh. “I want to be a ship’s cat someday.”


Tom chuckled deep in his chest. “Then mind yer paws when the sun dips an’ the shadows grow long, for the tide waits for no cat.”


And with that, the old sailor closed his eyes, the sound of distant train wheels blending with the ghostly memory of waves.


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