The watch on the schooner Mudcatrings 3 bells as the sun sends bright tawny beacons of newness skittering over the wavetops in Mudcat Bay. Strong coffee (laced up with some chicory from Peg and some brandy from Dave's stores) can be smelled wafting from the galley. Far out the bay, the lonely chuff of a lobsterboat is heard making its way down the line.

Dawning stirs the seabirds, who rise up to scout for their own kind of breakfast. There is a small breeze running off the bay, barely noticeable, meandering through the centuries-old stand of pines on the point where Mudcat Island faces the sea.

Catters stroll out of the piney woods where some of them have spent the night discovering the comforts of untrrammeled affection.