(Photos can be viewed here and here)

“Rose! Wake up! Plane leaves in 3 hours and we need to grab the cats and get moving!”

My response was a grunt. It was six am, and I’d been trying to sleep since 1 am and I was in no mood to move even my pinky finger, let alone my entire body. My mother shook me gently, and still… I made no move. So she dropped my 15 lb cat on me. That made me sit up rapidly.

“Alright! I’m up. Let’s move.” I squawked, rubbing the points of contact my fat black cat, Buffy, had made.

It was our last day in my home city, Seattle. We’d been staying in hotels and houses, juggling cats, car sales, friends, family and our furry beasts for two months. That flight was to take us from Seattle to San Francisco, where my mum and I would meet my dad and we’d stay for the next week; arriving on the 9th of September and departing on the 16th.

After I’d gotten hurriedly dressed and ready, we began the ordeal of trying to give our cats some “Cat-Chillax” medicine, which we were to inject into their mouths – quick and easy! Gilligan, the younger of our two cats, seemed to handle it reasonably well, Buffy… well, I ended up being more sedated than she was. We scooted them into their little carriers, Gilli in his cat-backpack and Buff in her rolly-bag, complete with little flag.

As we exited the foyer of the hotel, I thought of what the heck we were heading into. Just the day before, I’d been with one of my dearest friends, screeching and giggling and causing mayhem. She’d sent me a farewell text that morning, wishing me safe travels and love. For not the first time, I wondered why are we doing this? I was groggily awoken from these melancholic ponders when my mum told me the taxi was there. We stuffed our cats in and then sat down, and I picked at a burr on my cardigan.

I was nearly thirteen when we left, and I kept thinking about how I was going to miss Bri’s thirteenth birthday. The second one I would miss in 11 years. Sadness I’d felt then was the same that I’d felt when everyone had gone back to school a couple weeks before that day. Many of my friends had asked “What school are you going to? Where were you today? Did you move away?” I’d been remarkably private about what my family had decided to do, only letting 5 families – besides relations – in on it.

The airport was bustling, even in the early hours of the morning and everyone seemed to be zooming around us, but I think that was the exhaustion speaking.

After the eventful circus known as “Customs Con Cats,” we were on the plane and peacefully flying. I watched some movies, but my mind inevitably wandered to San Fran. I hadn’t been there since 2015’s summer, 3 years and change. I wondered how much it had changed; for all I knew, Alcatraz could’ve been converted into a 5 star hotel. (It wasn’t.)

San Francisco

We landed and meandered about the airport, trust me, we got some wacky looks with out two cats. And my pink hair. He he he.

Sausalito was wonderful, not to mention going across the Golden Gate Bridge, via chatty Uber. In the car on the way, I leaned forward to my dad and offered him a stick of gum.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get more before the flight home.”

Only after I said it did I catch my fumble. Odd. This was – and still is – my first time flying somewhere far without flying back. Or even going back.

The next few days were spent catching ferries and flushing my American money into bizarre gifts for friends. Most of which I ended up keeping, since I can’t just give them as souvenirs when we arrive in Seattle. Because, I realized with a jolt, we weren’t.

On day three, we went to Alcatraz! Last time in San Francisco, we hadn’t been able to get tickets, but this time we – through a stroke of genius – managed to score them! It was eerily capturing, strolling through cells in which people screamed to be released from, knowing we could jump on a ferry off the island whenever. I recommend doing the tour if you get the chance. No one guides you – you can have guides if you want though – and you can leave every 30m minutes by ferries that have food and drink.

San Francisco drew to a close, and we started to secure things and prep for my first open-ocean sail. As we dodged the many boats in the Rolex race, – nice timing, I know – the swell gained. That there was my first bit of boat terminology, and not everyone reading this will know the meaning, so check out my Land Lubber Dictionary! It’ll help, trust me.

Going under the bridge was eventful. A race, tourists, a whale ( I saw a rock) and rapidly growing swell. We were “rockin’ an’ rollin'” and I was having none of it. It was the first real swell, besides a horrible time in Cattle Pass, I’d ever experienced.

A while later, we made our debut into Half Moon Bay. A five hour day sail, and a 20 minute drive, on a good day, from San Francisco. We spent two days in Half Moon Bay, enjoying the fish and chips in the cute town. It was cold but curiously cozy in the main town of Half Moon Bay, and we loved it.