Theo versus the Rooster

       How do I even begin to tell this story?

     Gangster cat versus Rooster. Theo, our adorable gangster cat is king of the household. His meow is final. And that was even before he met up with Bad Boy JoJo at the baby shower. Although Mico and Sienna can be terrors at times, they know that when Theo meows, the fun is over. He can't be ignored. They stop what they're doing. 

       But out in the real world, would Theo continue to reign supreme?

       A few weeks ago, when Theo came with me and my three sisters to visit my other sister--who lives in a former Amish home that she's been renovating for the past year in Virginia--Theo had two goals. To meet JoJo (which he did) and to meet a rooster face to face.

       This was totally my fault. I happened to mention that my sister Caroline had chickens and a rooster. 

       The inside house tour came first. We oohed and ahhed as we walked through her house, marveling that she and her husband had installed walls, added electricity and water, heating and cooling, and literally transformed the space into a work of art.  My sister Caroline loves plants, and they lined the windows. She had clippings in a specially designed wall hanging.

       

          Theo ho-hummed his way through the first and second floors. He exchanged pleasantries with his two cat cousins, but he seemed unusually interested in her small sitting area. The pillows had the imprint of roosters. That's all Theo needed to see. 

         He was eager to get outside. He wanted to meet the Rooster. 

         I continue to marvel at how Theo knows so much about things he's never before encountered. Where we live in New Jersey, not too many people have chickens in their back yard. Few have a rooster. So why was he so determined to meet a Rooster? Was this destined to be an all out struggle for species dominance?

         So I did my research. Modern Farmer did a wonderful expose on the difference between a hen and a rooster. 

        A hen lays eggs. A rooster doesn't. A rooster has a larger wattle, that elongated fleshy skin that hangs under the beak. A rooster also has a more pronounced comb, that fleshy red crest on top of a chicken's head. A rooster has larger and pointier neck feathers called hackle feathers. So far I'm not concerned, but the contrast soon becomes alarming.

       Roosters are stronger and have more stamina than hens. They are more assertive. Bossy. Their legs are thicker. Some roosters develop pointed sharp spurs on their legs which they can use to defend themselves.

       "Where is this rooster anyway?" I ask my sister Caroline.

       "What do you mean? He's with the hens."

        "In a fenced in area?" I ask. I hope.

        She laughs. "Oh, yeah. If he wasn't fenced in, he'd probably run away."

        I glance over at Theo. He's swaggering with us across her gigantic yard (she has acres and acres of land). Is this a good idea? Should I give in to this crazy idea that he has to meet a Rooster?

        Suddenly, Theo spots a groundhog running along the edge of my sister's property. The little guy is running around 100 miles an hour. I half pray that Theo takes off after him. Theo is fast, but not that fast. Maybe then he'll lose interest in the rooster.

        But no such luck. Theo is interested, but he's no fool. He shrugs his shoulders and turns his sights to one thing and one thing only--the chicken coop. The rooster.

        I feel like we're at the OK Corral and this is going to be a showdown. 

        As we move closer, we hear the tell-tale cock-a doodle-do. And he's loud. All riled up about something. His rooster call is deafening.

         Finally, we're there. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the fence. But then I see the Rooster . . .

        

       who has puffed himself up, as if ready for a life and death encounter. Theo oh so casually moves closer to the fence. 

         Is Theo safe? "Don't get any closer," I almost cry out. But I don't. Theo goes nose to beak with the rooster and begins to sniff. The rooster stops squawking. 

         Then Theo walks away. 

         That's it? No life and death struggle? 

         Don't tell me that this is another example of inter-species communication. Cats and Roosters? 

         "I had to do it, see?" Theo explains when we're safely back in New Jersey. No chickens. No roosters. But seriously, who is this cat anyway?

  

Three Rapscallions And the Partial Eclipse

    I'm a big fan of eclipses. I've never yet seen a total eclipse--where the world around you turns totally dark--but I never miss the chance to see what I can see when the fateful moon lands in front of the heavenly sun. The area you're standing in darkens. You look up and that usually round sun is no longer round--now it has taken on the properties of a partial moon--that tiny sliver that sits so confidently in the sky.

     It's exciting. It's magical. Even though I know it's science, pure and simple. Back in the day my dad, an electrical engineer, ran a company to market his products, his inventions. Some of those electrical trancells and diodes ended up on NASA rocket ships. I have a fond memory of sitting in our living room, staring at the tiny television screen, when Neil Armstrong, an American astronaut, landed on the moon. I felt proud. My dad was helping make that possible.

     So I've always been infatuated with the planets, the moon and those things we strive to understand more about. And, yeah, I guess I did my fair share of talking about the eclipse.

     The three rapscallions, who usually only seem to be listening when there is talk of a snack, must have been tuned in. Because . . . just as the eclipse was launching a show, the three of them lined up at the patio door to look outside. Theo, Mico, and Sienna, the three rapscallions.

      I'd warned them they weren't going to see a full eclipse. I told them that New Jersey was not in the pathway that ran from Texas to Maine.  Still . . .

      Was it pure coincidence that they were lined up as if I were giving out snacks, patiently waiting, looking out over our patio and then up . . . 

       Clouds rolled in, but they didn't obscure the beauty of the moment. You could see the sun--that unusual sliver of the sun--as it fought to maintain its presence in the sky. The moon continued to move in front of it, but the sun fought valiantly to shine through. And then it faded from sight.

        

       Later, when the sun reappeared, I asked Theo why they wanted to see a partial eclipse. He's a pure tabby of few words. First, he jumped onto a table and glanced out the window. "I had to do it, see?"

        I understood exactly what he meant. 

Bad Boy JoJo and the Play Gym

      T he news thrills us! My niece Leah is having a baby. We can't wait (my sisters and I) to drive down to North Carolina to go to her baby shower. 

     Baby showers are the best! All those cute outfits--miniature golf attire or baseball caps--yes, she's having a boy--inspire a room full of ooohs and aaahhs. 

     At first, I don't even think of bringing Theo along. After all--baby shower? And truth be told, he has no interest in miniature outfits or ooohing and aaahhing anyone. But he knew that besides Leah and Michael (and the baby), there are three other meows that live there--Vera, Plum and JoJo. Theo has no interest in the girls. But he desperately wanted to meet JoJo face to face.

    He'd heard things. JoJo is what we call a bad boy. Always into trouble. The day of the shower was no exception--knocking things over, disappearing with whatever was put out for company. Finally, my sister Caroline had to put JoJo under lock and key. A time out. 

    "Are you sure you want Theo to meet JoJo?" Leah asked. "He's a real handful and who knows what could happen."

    I considered. Could one meeting with a bad boy cat change Theo's personality? Yeah, we call Theo the gangster cat, but he's as sweet as pie. 

     Be positive. So there we are arriving at my niece's house. The three of us. Oh, excuse me. The four of us. Three humans and a cat.

      The food is delicious. Games are designed--guess how many M&Ms are in the baby bottle and design a block for the baby to play with. 

       

And while I keep busy, Theo sulks. He keeps giving me the stink eye. He wants to meet JoJo. He marches up and down their  stairs, then finally settles down. (This is Theo's version of the events later relayed to Mico and Sienna.) 

       

 

      Finally, JoJo is let out. Theo has just come down the stairs for a snack when JoJo appears in all his glory at the top of the stairs. 

          I could tell you that the room gasps. But that wouldn't be true. Everyone is so into the shower, no one notices JoJo being let out. 

       Except Theo, of course.

       

           And there they are--sniffing and eyeing each other up. They disappear up the stairs for a moment, and I can't help but think they are hatching some kind of plot to overthrow the baby shower. Now, I feel partially responsible and rush up the stairs. The two of them are huddled together in the nursery. The new baby play gym  is turned completely upside down.

          "What happened here?" I demand.

           JoJo doesn't say a meow.

           Theo meows very softly, "I had to do it, see?"

           "Had to do what, Theo?"

           The plot slowly unravels. JoJo has talked Theo into climbing into the new baby play gym. JoJo figures if Theo (all ten pounds of him) can fit into the gym, the baby can too. 

           "That's when it tipped over?"

           I quickly upright it. 

           "Is everything okay up here?" Leah has suddenly appeared like magic in the doorway.

          I can turn the both of them in, but why spoil my lovely niece's baby shower. 

          "Oh, yeah. The boys are bonding. And JoJo is telling Theo all about the baby."

          Leah smiles. "Good boy, JoJo."

          When she's gone, I rush over and wipe the gym clean of all Theo's cat hair. "Stay out of that baby gym. I'm surprised at you. You could have been the hero here."

          Theo rolls his big eyes. "Mom, you don't understand. I had to do it, see? JoJo pressure."

           

          

           

Mico and The Drain Stoppers

      We've never lived with a cat like Mico. He's cute as a button, faster than a speeding bullet as he careens around corners, and as wily as a fox. He looks like an angel when he's sleeping. When he's awake, this perky one year old rapscallion is always hatching a plot--to secure more snacks or more toys.

       Well, the truth is everything Mico sees or smells is a toy. 

        After Theo solves the missing mouthguard case, Dan and I put ourselves on high alert. 

        "We can't leave anything out."

         "Absolutely nothing."

         "Agreed."

        We think we're smart. We have the immediate situation under control. But then the unthinkable happens. Two drain stoppers in two different sinks upstairs disappear. Drain stoppers? To explain how mysterious this is (by this time we have a sinking feeling in the pit of our stomach--no pun intended--that Mico, that dextrous nymph is somehow involved) you must realize that Mico must have taken his two front paws, brought them together and lifted the stopper out of the hole that it sits while balancing himself in the sink.  

        We canvas the entire house. All the usual haunts--under beds and behind dressers. We check, of course, the stairs where Theo found the mouthguard.

       No drain stoppers. Nothing is ever easy.

        Every time I use the upstairs bathrooms, I feel sick inside. It's an eyesore. The sink drain sits there, totally exposed. 

       Finally, in desperation, we discuss in whispers how to solve the problem. 

       "What can we offer Theo to get him to help?" Dan asks.

       "Maybe we can sit him down and just ask him."

        Dan laughs. But it works. Theo, within a matter of seconds, finds the missing drain stopper for the hall bathroom. I feel so grateful I let him eat a Tuna and Scallop Churo all by himself. 

         Practically on hands and knees, we beseech Theo to find the other drain stopper. The one for the master bathroom. Theo shrugs. 

         Days go by. No drain stopper. We imagine that Theo is engaged in intense negotiations with Mico, trying to discover where he's hidden it. 

         Three mornings later I'm in the kitchen putting out three bowls of food, but only Theo is pacing back and forth, slipping between my legs, impatient for his food. 

         Where are Sienna and Mico? We check all the rooms, under all the beds, in the closets . . . and finally turn to Theo, who by this time has eaten his breakfast.

         "We give up. Where are they?"

         His eyes get bigger than usual.

         "With the drain stopper," I guess, half kidding.

         Theo leads us up the stairs, down the hallway and stops at the hall bathroom. He nods. "I had to do it, see?"

        We look in. The room is totally empty. Except . . .

         "You don't think . . ." We whisk the shower curtain aside. Two guilty kittens stare back at us. Sienna and Mico. 

          And behind Mico--the drain stopper.

          Theo explains, "I told them it was today. See? When I was going to turn them in."

          I grab the drain stopper. Sienna is watching me. Mico is pouting in the bathtub, refusing to come out.

 

        Then it hits me--I've got the stopper, but I can't put it back in the drain where it belongs--Mico will take it again. So, in the drawer it goes. And the sink drain sits there, STILL totally exposed. 

         But we relent. Days later we reinsert the drain stopper with a new plan. Push the button to make sure it is lying flat in the sink. Then pour water over it so Mico will have to wet his paws to even get near it.

         Self satisfied that we've solved the problem, we relax. But . . . one day someone forgets to push down the stopper and put the water on top of it. 

          Yeah, Mico strikes again. This time Theo says, "Mom . . ." So now we have one drain stopper in the drawer and one drain stopper who knows where . . . 

           If Mico wasn't so cute . . .

         

         

        

         

          

The Case of the Missing Mouthguard

        We rely on Theo to keep order at home. He is the oldest of our three cats. In the beginning, Theo was not overly fond of Mico and Sienna. They arrived with some strong feral tendencies. Theo saw them as intruders on his space, his home.

      Theo was tutored by Chuck, the original rascal cat. But he had to establish his own identity. The title "gangster cat" is no accident. He proved he was more than capable of dealing with the two wild ones.

      

 

         Case in point--it is early, very early in the morning. Dan wakes up. It is still dark in our bedroom. Without thinking too much about it (and this is where he makes his BIG MISTAKE), he removes his professionally designed mouthguard and attempts to put it on the nightstand.

       He misses. The mouthguard falls to the floor. We hear it clatter on the hard wooden surface. 

       "Darn it." He reaches down to retrieve it. He feels around where he knows it fell. Gone. Vanished.

        Later we calculate that, perhaps, two seconds elapsed before he reached down for the mouthguard. Two seconds.

        We look everywhere. Lights are turned on. We're on our hands and knees looking under the bed, under the dresser, under the blankets even, doubting now whether we heard a clatter at all.

         An ugly thought pops into our collective consciousness. Michelangelo. Mico took it.

         But how is that possible?

         Slowly, we piece together what must have happened--Mico was under the bed (sleeping in the cat bed). He must have heard the clatter, immediately thought "I'm getting a new toy" and absconded with the mouthguard. 

         Eww. In his mouth. Geez.

         Now, the search expands--a full house search is initiated. First stop includes a thorough search of the guest room across the hall--under the bed--but no mouthguard.

         Time elapses. "We'll never find it," Dan mutters, clearly discouraged.

          We ask Sienna, Mico's sister, but she offers up no new information. 

         But, who wanders in--looking for breakfast. No, not Mico. Theo.

         "Hey, buddy. We need your help."

         A deal is offered--Theo will look for and hopefully find the mouthguard. We'll go downstairs immediately and make him a delicious breakfast.

        Theo hesitates.

        "And," I quickly add, "I'll give you a snack right this minute."

        Theo agrees. (I would have eventually offered the entire bag of Science Diet dried cat food if I had to.) 

        We start to tell Theo where we've already looked, but he's not interested. He eats his snack in one gulp and walks out into the hallway where he proceeds to groom. 

         "Look." I point at Theo with an accusatory finger. "The gangster cat is taking his own sweet time finding your mouthguard."

         "I think we've been scammed," Dan says. "He has no intention . . ."

         But we're wrong. Theo goes to the landing, looks down at the stairs that connect to the first floor, and starts going down. I'm about to call his name, when he stops, leans over and starts coming back up the stairs, carrying the gooey clear-colored mouthguard in his mouth. He drops it unceremoniously on the floor in front of us and saunters off. 

          We have two reactions. One--we're darned glad to have the mouthguard back. Two--we think Theo knew where that darned mouthguard was all the time.  

           But a deal is a deal. A magnificent breakfast is served. After all, he solved The Case of the Missing Mouthguard. And, of course, Mico is nowhere to be found.

The Allure of Fish

      I've had enough of Admiral Horatio Nelson, naval man extraordinaire. But Dan has promised Theo we will see more. Leaving Shirley Heights, we journey down to where the harbor sits, to the town that was built to provide for the needs of the military that were stationed there. 

        Today, the town's been revitalized to serve a more modern purpose--stores for shopping and restaurants for eating. But, if you can ignore the hustling and bustling tourists, you can glimpse a world that existed 200 years ago. And, maybe, see some fish.

      "Imagine," Dan says to Theo, "that you were a cat 200 years ago. No cat food from cans. No such thing as Fancy Feast or Science Diet."

       Theo frowns. He doesn't like imagining that scenario. 

       "But there would have been a lot of fish," I reassure him. 

        Theo loves fish--any kind of fish (tuna, scallops, shrimp, white fish), and so he becomes an enthusiastic participant. The tour begins with a stop at a small two story building with light blue shutters. It is on the way to the water, where the fish and boats are. I'm excited. I like boats. Theo, of course, likes fish.

         "This store sells fish," I announce. 

          Theo thinks I mean real fish, the kind you can eat.  So he is raring to go inside and feast. Unfortunately for him, the fish inside this store are beautifully carved wooden fish, like the ones attached to the front of the building.

 

         Strike One--but still undeterred, Theo marches on. 

         We pass a brick building, which in years past housed the master shipwright, the guy who made all the repairs to the ships in the harbor. He was a highly skilled laborer. 

         Theo asks, "Are there any fish inside?" 

       Strike Two--and Theo cat walks a little slower.

          We pass the Joiner's Loft and Boathouse--which both housed the joiners and gave them a place to work. 

         

        Dan explains, "A joiner is like a carpenter, but a carpenter builds things out of wood and a joiner's main job is to connect wooden pieces without using fasteners, nails, screws or glue. They seamlessly join pieces together using the groove cuts they make. Nowadays," he adds, "a joiner is like a framer."

        Theo listens, squinches up his face, and says only one word, "Fish." Sadly I shake my head. "Not yet. But soon."

         We then move to a beautiful white clapboard house with light blue shutters. Two stories. This is where the naval captain lived with his clerk. It was one of the last homes to be built here in town.

       

         We come to the Copper and Lumber Store, a massive warehouse building with three foot thick walls, which stored copper sheets used to cover vessel hulls. An inner courtyard is open and provides ventilation to the wood stored. The seamen who worked  there slept in the upper story in hammocks. Before Theo has a chance to ask, I tell him, "No fish."

        

       

       The problem is you can smell the salt water and fish. Even I can smell it. Theo is sniffing the air, gazing in the direction of the harbor. 

        I whisper to Dan, "Keep an eye on him. He smells the fish. I think he's going to make a run for it."

       Finally, we are standing in front of the Officer's Quarters, where Royal Naval Officers who were waiting for repairs to their ships were housed. Interestingly, on the ground floor, there were twelve large cisterns holding a total of 240,000 gallons of water, which was collected from the roof. 

       Theo doesn't care. If the cisterns held fish, that might be a different story. But water? He can hardly keep his attention on the building in front of him. 

  

         

         

           

       We try to distract him by pointing out the cannon that is sitting a few feet in front of us. 

      

       We turn to head back, but Theo refuses to move. 

       "What do you think--I can conjure up fish with a magic spell?"

       When Theo wants something, he can let loose the most plaintive, sorrowful cry. It breaks your heart and compels you to do the impossible. 

        "All right. We'll see what we can do."

         He doesn't move.

         "We'll go down to the harbor right now," Dan says.

         Theo's ears perk up, and then he follows his nose. We have to half run to keep up with him. 

         "We're in big trouble," Dan says. "He's going to be expecting fish."

          Let's just say I'm smarter than the average bear. I smile.

          We reach the harbor area and Theo has stopped. We catch up to him.

          For once I'm prepared. I pull out a can of tuna with one of those pull off tops. 

          "Wow. I'm impressed," Dan says. "You outdid yourself this time."

            "Yeah, I figured tuna might come in handy. Or we'd be stuck down at the pier fishing."

            Anything for the gangster cat!