Castaway Critter

 
This past week saw me sniffing along the lovely shores of paradise, Panama City Beach, Florida, in a return trip to my favorite vacation hot spot. Last year I squeaked all about PCB’s nightlife in my blog Margarataville, but rather than hitting the club scene this time, I ended up – accidentally – getting shipwrecked.
 
The sugar-sand shores of the southeastern United States are, in this humble rat’s opinion, the most beautiful in the world, but they do have one problem: sand fleas. In an attempt to escape these infernally itchy insects who like to fix themselves in my fur and feast on my flesh, I decided to scuttle aboard the M.S. Muenster, the beach’s tastiest dinner cruise ship, as a stowaway. (By far, they host the best cheese-tasting parties on the gulf; hence my attraction.) Things were going swimmingly when, during the second course (just as the Gorgonzola and Asiago were making an appearance), our seafaring steed ran aground on a sandbar adjacent to Shell Island, an undeveloped islet just off the coast. The captain was able to keep the passengers calm for a while, but pandemonium ensued when they discovered that, because it was a natural habitat, the island had no Port-a-Potties and the M.S. Muenster likewise didn’t have enough life boats to get everyone back to dry dock. (I thought they’d have scratched a page from history with the terrible events of the Titanic’s sinking, but I guess they were more concerned with the menu than matters of survival. Not the captain’s wisest choice.)
 
Furtunately for me, however, scampering to shore wasn’t a problem. It just so happens that Shell Island is home to one of the world’s largest populations of bottle-nosed dolphins, and with their superior echolocation abilities, they had no trouble finding my S.O.S. squeaks of distress. (I didn’t even have to break out my ratty-paddle!) From there it was a simple hop, skip, and scurry to dry land, and an even quicker splash into the pool of a local motel – had to wash those sand fleas off.
 
So as the captain and crew of the M.S. Muenster continue to take heat from the marooned passengers for their unsqueakably pawful planning, I wish everyone the best and hope they make it to the mainland before they have to go potty. And once they’re back I’d advise them to invest in a jumbo-sized fleaswatter: they’re just as great for disciplining neglectful captains as they are for squashing those flesh-feasting sand fleas!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob