Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.
First, a thank you to oqiduan, for inspiring me to write this follow up on the misadventures of Jack's hapless kitty from The Incident of the Ship's Cat.
Mischief at Sea
(Mischief's POV)
Hungry… smell fish… squid… yummy…
Ick. Wet. Ick-ick-ickity-ick…
New captain… smells like squid… looks a bit chewy… need more tender-
Davy Jones was not a creature of sentiment. So it was odd that he kept the black tom cat they came across one night while pillaging a shipwreck. Perhaps he felt sorry for the poor critter, or he was reminded of his departed mama's pet. Then we recall that he is a heck of a heartless monster. Maybe it was because the Flying Dutchman had a problem with rodents, though they say rats are the first to flee a sinking ship. Whatever it was, the crew soon grew mistrustful of their latest feline recruit.
"Notice how he licks his chops like so when he looks at us?" Maccus asked his shipmate, Palifico who shrugged.
"He's a cat, and in case you 'aven't noticed, we all reek of seafood," Palifico replied before getting back to his work.
"Why does he shake his paws so?" The cat made a sound of disgust and lifted his paws in turn, shaking each one as he did so.
"Cats 'ate damp. Now git to work before Bosun takes a whip to you…"
It soon became apparent that the cat had an ear for music and yowled along to the captain's organ playing, much to the musician's amusement and the disgust of an overworked and sleep-deprived crew. Then the feline took a liking for organs of a different kind…
Weedey awoke one night yelling something took his ear off. Then Clanker lost two fingers off his left hand as he slept. Everyone agreed to keep their boots on in the hammocks after the Bosun lost all his toes in the space of a single night. That did little to help his mean streak. Every man was wondering if the ship was getting hungry and helping herself to choice morsels from her unwitting crew. The cat was finally caught one night in the act of running off with Hadras' head. Thankfully, owner and head were soon reunited as cat claws fared poorly on crab shells.
Afterwards the crew all agreed to put the cat out on deck and well away from their sleeping quarters to guard against the loss of more body parts. A few nights passed without incident, and then…
"Hullo, puss," Davy Jones allowed himself a small smile when he saw the cat crouched on his table, emerald eyes staring and tail swishing. It was time for a change of garments. He undid his breeches and tossed them aside before grabbing a fresh pair from his cupboard. That was when the cat struck.
"ARGH!" On deck, the crew dropped whatever they were doing and looked up in alarm. That cry sounded eerily like their captain.
Like a furry cannonball, the black cat ran out of the Grand Cabin with a squirming tentacle in his mouth. "Stop that wretched beastie!" Davy Jones yelled as he ran after the cat, pant-less? The crew averted their eyes. They had little desire to confirm their nagging suspicions where the morsel in the cat's mouth came from.
The cat's freedom was short-lived as the livid captain caught up with the furry thief and wrest the tentacle from his mouth.
"Load up the cannon, lads! This cat is going for a ride! I'm blasting his miserable hide to the Locker!" The crew gleefully complied.
Eagerly, they rammed the screaming cat into the ship's cannon under their captain's direction.
Many years later… in a small longboat on the Sea of Souls.
"Atchoo!" A periwig flew into the air and landed with a splash in the water.
"Bless you, Governor…" a young man fished out the said wig with his oar.
"Sorry, my boy… I am allergic to- atchoo!" the late Governor Weatherby Swann sneezed into his handkerchief for the umpteenth time. The departed James Norrington grabbed the black feline who was rubbing against the governor's leg with enthusiasm.
"Sorry, can't have you rubbing up against him like that, even if he did fish you out…" James scratched the black cat under the chin, earning a grateful purr. Given that Davy Jones has neglected the duties of ferrying souls to the afterlife, it was going to be a long time before either of them saw Fiddler's Green given their current vessel and utter lack of bearings in this foggy and unfamiliar sea.
"James, my boy… I believe there is another soul there…" Weatherby suddenly pointed in the direction where a red-haired and bearded soul was franticly treading water.
"Very well, sir!" James lifted his oar and started rowing. The cat took his position on the bench beside the governor, setting off another fit of sneezing from the poor man.
"Ahoy there! Hang on, my good chap!" Weatherby called out. Reaching the lost soul, James reached out and dragged the half-drowned sailor on board.
Davy Jones coughed and spluttered. He could not believe his luck. Surely they couldn't rescue a monster like him with a face like an octopus and… He stared at the hands pressed against the planks of the longboat. They were human hands. Trembling, he reached up to his face. He felt wet hair. The tentacles were gone. Somehow with his death and losing captaincy of the Dutchman, the curse on him had been broken. He was human again. Calypso… perhaps this was some small mercy on her part. The tears came. He could feel his heart pounding within his chest. He never knew how much he missed that sensation.
Davy Jones started when he recognised his rescuers, Governor Weatherby and Admiral Norrington. They did not recognize him at all.
"Keep your – atchoo! chin up, man. Brandy?" Weatherby produced a flask from his coat. Mercer had failed to remove it from him when giving the poor governor the heave-ho over the side and into eternity. There wasn't much left but the liquor should help. The newcomer gulped down the few remaining mouthfuls gratefully. Then Jones saw the black-coated devil of the emerald eyes. The cat stared at Davy Jones, tail swishing. Something inside his feline memory clicked into place. With a hellcat scream, the cat launched himself at Davy Jones' face, claws slashing.
"Mercy! The cat's gone rabid!" Weatherby cried out.
(Mischief's POV)
Aha! Gotcha! Blow me from a cannon will you? Revenge is sweet! Next on my list, Fusspot Barbossa… Claw his hat to shreds… Now to shave Jonesy with my claws…
A few miles away, the newly-minted captain of the now-reformed Flying Dutchman was taking a breather after harvesting a few hundred souls from the aftermath of the destruction of Endeavour. Will Turner was discussing the route to the Other Side when the screams came out of the fog.
"Good grief, whatever's that?" Bootstrap Bill almost dropped the spyglass in his hands at them. Never in his years on the ghost ship under Davy Jones had he heard such a hellish ruckus.
"A soul in distress, pa- Mister Turner…" Will replied and caught himself just in time. "Set a course for them, helmsman… I'm sure the ship can take on a few more souls…"
"Aye, aye, Captain!" the helmsman replied.
An hour later, the Dutchman had found her quarry and the rope ladder was lowered to the longboat so that the passengers might climb on board.
"Will Turner? Is that you?" Weatherby asked. "Whatever ship is this?" the old man asked as he was helped on board by Maccus. He was followed by a red-haired man with a very badly-clawed face and James Norrington. The captain was on hand to greet their new arrivals. Will immediately called for a doctor to tend to the wounded man.
"Mr Swann, Admiral!" Will Turner greeted his father-in-law warmly before shaking hands with James. "Admiral, I owe you my thanks and Elizabeth's for aiding in her escape… what's that you've got in your coat?"
"A cat," James took his bundled coat, which was wriggling and spitting, from under his arm and unwrapped it. A bristling black cat dropped out onto the deck.
"Careful, it's viscous!" Weatherby scurried clear of the creature. Bootstrap Bill recognized the cat almost immediately.
"Why, it's little Mischief! Jack's poor kitty lost off the Pearl! It has been a long time, hasn't it, shipmate?"
(Mischief's POV)
Put me in a coat, will you? I- wait… Bill, Bill with the stinky bootstraps… Take me back to Jack! Or feed me at least, you ingrate!
Purring happily, the cat rubbed up against Bill's boots. Bill obliged by fishing out a piece of fish he had stashed in his pocket. Mischief immediately gobbled up the morsel.
"I think it likes you, Mister Turner," Will grinned.
It was traditional for a ship to have a cat, and the Flying Dutchman might have just found hers. His departed mother kept a black cat for luck back in England. He had to leave it behind when he became a cabin boy headed for the Caribbean to seek out his father. Now he was reunited with his father, he would like to have a black cat, for a sailor's luck, so his ma always said. They could put a basket in his cabin for the kitty, just like the one he had at the foot of his bed as a boy. Caught up in his memories of childhood, he did not notice how pale some of his crew had become at the sight of the cat.
The cat stopped rubbing against Bill's boots and sat down, studying the new captain through his green eyes.
(Mischief's POV)
Captain. Clean, not-so-stinky captain (sorry Jack)… looks kind enough. Do you need a cat, captain? I'm the one for you!
Will reluctantly pulled himself back to the present. He had to greet his passengers and set their fears at ease. "Gentlemen, welcome on board the Flying Dutchman… I will be setting a course for the Other Side so that you may be reunited with your departed loved ones in the afterlife- oh!" Will caught the black ball of fur that leapt up at him. A velvety black nose nuzzled his neck.
"What a friendly creature you are, Mischief," Will laughed. The crew let out a collective sigh of relief when they saw the cat did not attempt to maim or kill their captain.
Cradling the cat in the crook of his arm, Will shouted out the orders to set sail. He would need to seek out experienced sailors among the salvaged souls to help crew his new ship given some of Davy Jones' original crew had been lost the maelstrom. They were critically shorthanded. He would give the sailors a choice, with no lies. No unwilling sailor would be pressed into slavery on his ship.
"Come on, Mischief…" Will rubbed the ears of the black tom which had taken a perch on his shoulders. The new captain and new ship's cat walked off to speak with James Norrington.
Author's Notes:
At least Mischief now has a safe and happy home on board the Flying Dutchman.
A bit tricky getting into a cat's head. Never could guess what my Tam-Tam is thinking at times… like when she ran full-tilt into a glass door from a dead stop on the rug. I do know that most cats hate getting wet. Tam turns into a feline Cujo at the mere mention of bath. She also likes to nip my toes at times despite me trying to break that nasty habit of hers.