I was never a cat person.

I still have a scar on my left index finger, the gift of the irate Siamese who scratched me when I was four.

And I was allergic to cats when young. I was allergic to many irritants, actually, but cats were among the worst. My eyes would itch, then leak and swell, and finally, my sinuses would shut down completely, leaving me gasping like a carp.

I grew out of most allergies by the time I was 30.

But I still avoided cats.

Habit, you know?

Daisy was intended for daughter Jessica, until Jess started school in another state and had to leave Daisy with me.

I don’t claim Daisy was ever my cat. I’m uncomfortable using that possessive pronoun to identify any fellow beings, and I’m equally uncomfortable with the label pet. But Daisy and I found close companionship in the 14 years we were together.

Then, she died.

I lost my mom two months before, but we were well prepared for her passing, Mama and I.

But Daisy’s?

Hers was one more loss than I had prepared to endure.

I’d left Daisy in stepdad Cliff’s care for a week, while I attended an astronomy event in Big Bear, California. The same event, in fact, from which I was returning when I had the life-changing encounter west of Flagstaff with the bicyclist who inspired the Pedaling Astronomer Project.

Daisy died — trembling in my lap — the night I got home, and I felt I’d betrayed her for even considering a multi-month bike journey she could not join.

Worse, I wasn’t there for her in that last week, when she surely needed me most.

On Father’s Day the next year, daughter Rachel brought Kitt Kato, the attack kitten.

Kato and I were companions for just 11 months,

Until I abandoned her to Rachel’s care and pedaled away at the May 2016 start of this project.

When I returned 21 months later, Rachel and Kato were by then devoted companions, as were hound Annie and Kato. Very much a family, full and complete, those three.

Ever forgiving (or forgetting), Kato greets me kindly when I visit. More likely, sweet Kato would show affection to any dusty old man.

Before I began my initial bicycle journey, Ian, the bike-shop owner who supplied the Big, told me about another perpetual bike traveler, who attached a trailer to his for the two adult cats who accompanied him.

I had, by that time, logged thousands of local miles on the Big, preparing for my first out-and-away journey, and I’d already concluded that among my greatest challenges would be packs of dogs.

Alone, dogs were rarely a serious threat. Most just ran beside the Big with tongue-flailing grins, rejoicing in the chase.

But when in packs, they were often emboldened and dangerously aggressive — even without cats in tow.

I couldn’t imagine subjecting Kato to that.

But, still, I should not have left her.

Eight years hence, Rachel often texts short videos of Kato, always captured doing something achingly cute.

And I know she’s happier with Rachel and Annie.

And I’m still not a cat person.

I swear, I’m not.

But damn, damn, damn,

I miss Daisy,

I miss Kato,

Terribly,

Still.

Which leads me to wonder, Was I wrong?

Not as to Daisy. I console myself that she lived an ideal house-cat life, at least until her final week.

But with Kato, hindsight reveals she and I could have explored bike travel together had I introduced her to that setting when she was still a kitten. I later met enough cat/human bicycling companions to accept that, if they figured it out, Kato and I could have too.

Yes, dogs were sometimes a challenge, but dog packs hassle me sans cat, and not nearly so frequently as my practice experience in Louisiana foretold. I discovered since that poorly socialized dogs were regular nuisances only in Louisiana and Georgia, so my pre-journey sample of one state was not at all representative of the continent as a whole. Plus, I now have tried-and-true strategies for distracting dog packs from chasing the Big.

Given the actual obstacles to bike travel I’ve since managed to overcome, if only because I had no choice once out and away, I’m now confident dogs-vs-cats would not have been the insurmountable challenge I initially feared.

Why am I revisiting cat companionship now? Because I’ve committed to yet another too-long journey, but this one is by kayak, and dogs rarely challenge kayakers.

The Big will remain my primary vehicle — I can’t paddle to the grocery store, even when here in pirogue-friendly Louisiana — but I can launch a kayak just two miles from where I’m sitting, paddle it 300 river miles to the gulf coast, then east through Florida along the Intercoastal Waterway, then north along the Atlantic coast to the Hudson River via another series of inside passages, then west on the Erie Canal to the Great Lakes, then make my way back to Louisiana via the Mississippi, which circular journey will take me and a cat companion about a year — little more than half the duration of my longest bike journey.

It’s just a big, leisurely, 6000-mile waterway circle. So big, in fact, it’s known by the thousands who’ve already navigated it, and the thousands more who yet will, as The Great Loop.

A cat might enjoy that voyage.

Right?

And if a cat can thrive in that setting, perhaps she and I can figure out how to safely navigate land together via the Big, as well.

I don’t seek cat companionship because I’m lonely; the more primitive the mode of travel, the more numerous and fascinating the resulting human connections, and my versions of bicycle and kayak travel are primitive indeed. But I miss the unique companionship of a cat — independent yet devoted, aloof yet affectionate. Dogs are great, too, but are more clingy than is my taste. Sure, cats can also be manipulative — vindictive, even — but I value independence above purity of motivation.

Bottom line: Although I’m still so not a cat person, I miss the companionship of a cat enough to seek another.

Finally.

Although none of that is why I’m sharing these thoughts with you. I’ve written this, because I want your advice. Is it selfish and/or irresponsible to consider subjecting any cat, no matter how adventurous, to a year-long kayak journey.

Really.

I’m asking you.

Is it?