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. 

Theo's Revenge

         Maybe we can just stay in Antigua forever.

       Dan is discovering (and I already discovered) that Antigua is a magical place. The temps are in the low eighties at this time of year in January, but a cool ocean breeze makes it possible to enjoy the sunshine without breaking a sweat.

       We leave Theo at our villa with his chow and snacks, go to dinner in a lovely out door restaurant, and now--just the two of us--get to enjoy Antigua at night. Technically, we are in the parish of St. John's, in the northwest portion of Antigua. It is the capital of Antigua, founded in 1692, and has a population of close to 60,000. 

         We can't resist taking a photo of our villa and of the pool that sits in front of where we're staying. 

 

        

      As we walk back from dinner, we feel like we've left Kansas (so to speak) like in the Wizard of Oz and are following the yellow brick road (in our case it's a pale white) towards a place filled with palm trees and Caribbean magic.

 

          The dream is short lived. The next morning we go to breakfast. I'd like to say that Theo's almost encounter with the bird--who we now realize was a pigeon--is forgotten. But I can tell that Theo has forgotten nothing. 

          He is gazing around--not at the beautiful scenery--but rather he is acting more like a spy in enemy territory. Expecting at any second to be ambushed. On high alert. 

         I try to calm him down. "We're going to breakfast. There's nothing to worry about."

         He looks at me as if I am delusional. 

         I order the Eggs Benedict but Dan orders the Antiguan breakfast--an interesting mixture of foods which includes salted cod. Fish. Theo begs for a piece, and it is in that moment of feeding Theo that the nightmare begins to unfold. 

          

         Suddenly a bird swoops into view--an unwanted visitor--and this time it is the Carib Grackle. And why am I surprised? His reputation has preceded him. So, this is the bold bird who will fly into a restaurant and steal the food right off your plate. 

           Carib Grackle hasn't seen us yet, but Theo has seen him. He immediately freezes. His normally sweet eyes turn into laser beams as he spots his new arch enemy.

            And then it happens. 

 

            The Grackle flies to a table close to ours and pretending not to notice Theo, begins his reconnaissance--searching for anything edible that he can scoop up and take back to his nest. He is a forager, a scavenger, eager to collect any food left over from the family who's just vacated the table. He spies the bread basket.  

              

             I'm thinking at this moment that this is a good development. Grackle eats the bread. Theo eats the fish. I glance down and Theo, super suspicious, has one paw protectively over the fish as if he is anticipating the Grackle's next move. 

      

         Would he dare? Steal the fish from a cat? And not just some ordinary cat. Theo has a reputation. He's a gangster cat, and he's not likely to take an enemy invading his territory lightly.

           I lean down and pet Theo for reassurance. He's sitting at my feet, partially under the table. But he isn't eating. He's watching. He's waiting. 

        

           "Eat the fish, Theo," I say, but Theo waits. Obviously, he knows the bird kingdom better than I do, and sure enough before I can say another word, the Grackle flies to the railing. He pretends to be grooming. He pretends to be totally unconcerned about Theo and his fish. 

            

           This bird was smart, I realize later.

        My guard goes down. Dan is eating his breakfast, and I sit back, about to finish mine. Too much worry about nothing. 

  

        A flash. A scuffle. Theo reacts better than I would expect. Carib Grackle swoops down low, as if he thinks he can swipe up the fish in his claws as he's flying by. Theo, one step ahead, sits on top of the fish.  He then raises his right paw like a fist to fend off the invader.

        The fight over the salt cod is over in a mini-second. The Carib Grackle flies off to another table. Theo relaxes and begins to eat. 

        Dan says, "What just happened?"

 

        "I'm not sure," I say, "but I think it's over, and Theo won."

         "For now."

         We glance down at Theo. "Well?"

          Cats can't smile. But if they could, I bet you he would have a big fat smile on his fishy face.

         

            

            

The Little Sleeping Devils

       It all started when Mico and Sienna found out that Theo was the chosen one. The one picked to follow in Chuck's footsteps. The one who would be going on the next long distance, air plane in the sky flying trip adventure. And they would be staying home.

        Theo has gone on a few one day trips so he's used to car rides, backpacks, behaving himself as much as he can. He buys into the whole idea that traveling and being the star of Hot Blogging with Chuck is an honor and a privilege. Sort of.

       The conversation goes something like this: 

      "Can I sleep on the plane?"

       "Yes."

       "Will there be extra snacks?"

        "What kind of snacks, Theo?"

        "There has to be snacks. See?"

        "All right. Extra snacks."

         Theo always gets straight to the point. 

         "Do they know about my going?"

         Theo is no dummy. He sees the suitcases on the bed. He sees the extra food stacked up on the counter. He knows I've been in contact with the cat sitter. He's put two and two together. On the other hand, the kittens are clueless. They have no idea what a suitcase is and what it means and how it will affect their lives. 

          Until they do. 

          "What does it mean, Theo? Are they coming back?" Mico wants to know. 

           "Of course, we're coming back," I want to shout, but Theo is in deep conversation with Mico. Theo's the alpha cat and needs to handle the questions.

           "This time I'm going. See? Next time, maybe you can go."

           What? That isn't the plan. 

           "Are you coming back, Theo?" Mico asks again.

           I glance into the room. Theo has draped his arm around Mico, big cat brother style. "It's called a vacation. It doesn't last long."

           That's the truth. 

            And, so I think the matter is settled. It isn't. Theo's last statement that next time Mico can go rattles Sienna. Because . . . now she wants to go. Of course, I don't know this until all hell breaks loose. 

            First, they avoid each other. Two kittens, who can't stand to be apart for longer than a mini-second, now are hanging out in separate rooms and barely meowing with each other.

            Then, they are chasing each other through the house like a bunch of wild banshees. First a steak of white and gray. Then a streak of orange. Down the stairs. Through the hallway. Across the living room. Treacherous turn into the kitchen. Through the hallway. Up the stairs. It sounds as if we have 100 kittens racing through the house. 

            Finally, the fight. On the master bed. Which by some stroke of luck I've covered in a green blanket to keep their cat fur off of the comforter. Now it can protect the comforter from any blood stains. if it gets to that.

            It doesn't. It seems the "fight" is only a wrestling match between two spoiled kittens who both want what they can't have. 

            Theo later tells me he solved the entire problem (he caused.)

            "Well, what happened?"

            "I grounded them. See?"

            "And no snacks?"

            Theo looks horrified. 

             "Where are they now?"

             "Sleeping."

        "Like angels," I want to say, but I know the truth--those little sleeping devils!

Theo's Gangsters at Play?

      One week later. You might be thinking. How is it going with those New Year's resolutions?    

        The jury is still out. I've been exercising more. Reading more. Eating healthier. Watching less trashy TV? Oh, you want to know about the gangster cats . . . how are their New Year's resolutions going.

        Are they begging for more snacks? Playing more? Sleeping more? Let's examine the evidence. This evening for instance. I hear Sienna on the stairs, engaged in some life and death struggle with an inanimate object that doesn't look like anything in particular. I call it playing. You tell me.

       Sienna says, "I'm honing my mouse catching skills, mom." 

       The day before Theo, Sienna and Mico are engaged in more active pursuits. "It shows up out of nowhere. See?" Theo says. "What are we supposed to do? Flashing colors and lights. Going here. Going there. Banging against walls. Under beds. It's possessed. See?"

        Mico said, "We think it might be after our snacks, right Theo?"

        "Oh, so in other words, you weren't actually playing with that mouse toy your aunt gave you for Christmas, you were  involved in a major investigation."

          

          Theo doesn't answer. He only strikes his typical gangster pose.

         And then there is the flopping fish incident. Sienna says, "Two giant fish suddenly appear. Out of water. They don't say anything. Just flop around."

         "They make this weird sound," Mico chimes in. "I chased them down the stairs." Mico still has this wide-eyed look on his face as if he'll be traumatized forever.

          "Flopping fish. You're referring to those fish I brought home from Costco as a present. I suppose you're going to say it was your sworn duty to apprehend them," I say. 

           The upshot of the entire conversation is that these three gangster cats insist they're not playing more, they're only doing what they have to do--practice their mouse catching skills, investigate strange objects that suddenly appear in the house, capture flopping fish. And, as for sleeping more?

           "Not us", they meow in unison, just before Mico hops into his big luxurious bed even though it's two o'clock in the afternoon. 

             

Theo and the Waterfall

     Most cats hate water. Or let me put it this way--they would prefer not to get wet. Theo, the little gangster cat, is a cat of a different breed.

   He's never met a water fountain he didn't like to drink from, a bathtub he didn't like to swim in, a puddle he didn't like to stick his paw into. How far would he go?

    We decide to make Theo's day, so to speak, and introduce him to a magical place where water is king. 

    Imagine a beautiful fall day. The sun is shining. Leaves are just beginning to turn. We are entering what is called the Chimes Tower District. An historic bell tower sits atop a fifty foot waterfall.

    Constructed in 1929 by Pierre du Pont, this 61 foot tall stone chimes tower was based on an ancient fortified tower du Pont saw at Chatillon-Coligny on the Loire River in France. Du Pont then bought chimes from a company in Chicago--the largest set of chimes he could find--twenty five tubular chimes costing close to $16,000--and installed them in the upper chamber of the tower. The chimes were replaced several times over the years. Finally in 2000 a Dutch firm created a 62 bell carillon for the chimes tower, which still exists today. 

 

    So you are likely to hear at any given moment the sound of rushing water from the waterfall and/or the sound of chimes playing music as you make your way along the path. It is an enchanting place. 

    Now I forgot to mention that Theo is a musical cat. When either Dan or I are practicing piano, he is usually perched on the rug nearby, listening. It doesn't matter if we're playing Bach or the Beatles. Occasionally, he jumps up and plays the keys himself.

    For now, though, all we can hear is the waterfall. The chirping birds, the usual rustle of the leaves falling--nature at her best in the fall is drowned out, literally, by the magnificence of the water as it cascades down, never-ending, propelled by some hidden pump. The sound is both captivating and mesmerizing and it lulls you into a different world.  

    Dan and I walk along the path. Theo is listening and sniffing. He can both hear and smell the water, but I think he's standing a little too close to the edge, gazing out at the water.

    "You think everything is okay, right?" I say to Dan.

    "Sure, why not?"

    We are totally alone. We don't for a minute think that Theo is a suicidal cat. We don't for a minute think that Theo would ever jump off the bridge into the frothy, turbulent water below. 

    "You don't think he looks a little too interested in that water?"

    "Well." Dan shrugs. "He is a cat, after all. They tend to be curious about everything."

     That comment unnerves me. I stare at the water. It's a big drop down. 

    "Call me crazy, but I'd feel a hundred percent better if you pick Theo up. Just in case. Who knows? He might just impulsively do something crazy."

    Dan knows me by now. He leans down to retrieve Theo, and it's at that very moment that the chimes go off. Now they're on a schedule. They chime about every quarter of an hour. And they're loud. If you've never heard them before, if you're not expecting the sound of a very loud chime to resound through the air, to even overtake the cascading waterfall . . . you'll be taken back. 

    You might even lose your balance temporarily. "What's that?"

    Later, we realize that that's what must have happened. When Theo hears the chimes, he freaks out. He's used to the sound of the waterfall. He's into all the water gushing downward. But the chimes are just too much. 

     So, imagine Dan is grabbing Theo by the middle. Theo tries to get away. There's a bit of a skirmish. 

     I'm afraid that if Theo breaks loose, he might skedaddle off to who knows where. 

     Maybe Theo thinks Dan is trying to throw him into the water. 

     Later, back at the ranch (well, it's actually a townhouse), Theo tells the story, leaving the part out about the chimes, the misunderstanding and the skirmish. His version to Mico (Michelangelo) is more like: "I see the waterfall, see, and it's big, see, and I'm going to go for a swim, see, but . . . mom and dad wanted to go home."

    "I wish I could see it," Mico said.

    "Maybe someday, kid," Theo says, in his best big brother meow voice, not giving away a thing.

    

    

Rascal Chuck and the Heliopolis House Adventure

             The gig is up, as they say. We have no option but to tell Noah the truth. Especially after Chuck lets out another BIG MEOW.

 

         “Yes. He’s our cat. Chuck.”

 

         Noah opens his mouth to say something. Probably, the usual. Cats aren’t allowed in . . . but he doesn’t. We’re long gone from the seminary and finally heading toward Dan’s house in Heliopolis. We all know that getting into the house, at this point, will be a long shot. There are always complications in Egypt. So, Chuck being there, amazingly, is less of a threat.

 

         Which is super good news because finally Chuck is interested in what’s going on. He wants to see the house. We have no idea why except that maybe we’ve been talking about it for the last year or so . . . Chuck maybe imagines it to be some grandiose structure, surrounded by catnip gardens.

 

         Anyway, all Noah does is nod and then the focus is on finding the house. Dan still remembers his address after many years. He’s said it out loud every so often. It always sounds totally incomprehensible to me. Luckily, he can spell it—in Arabic—and Noah has put it into his GPS so we find this illusive house without too much trouble. We park the car and hit our first obstacle.

         The gate keeper. Now, in America, you encounter a gate with a guard (and clipboard) only when you want to meet a very wealthy or very important person, and you usually have an appointment. Here, in Egypt, we have no appointment. The gate keeper only speaks Arabic, and Dan’s house now belongs to a church. 

 

         Dan’s Arabic has slowly been coming back since we arrived in Egypt, but it’s not nearly good enough to explain why we want to get inside the gate and see the house. Noah tries to explain in his faltering Arabic. For some odd reason, the gate keeper gets it and lets us through. Miracle #1

 

         He doesn’t even blink when he sees Chucky. Miracle #2

 

         But the house is locked. A phone call has to be made. To the head church guy. Who has to agree. He does. And then he has to find the grounds keeper who has the key. As we’re waiting, we’re offered a soda. It seems the idea that Dan grew up in this house enthralls everyone. In fact, a guy shows up out of nowhere insisting he used to play baseball with Dan. The guy with the key shows up and unlocks the house. Miracle #3

         

            We’re in. Chucky’s in. It’s only polite to wait for a tour. Dan is looking around trying to remember which room is which. The house is now a kind of meeting place for church officials, fund raising projects, etc. There is no sign of anything from when he lived there—only the  rooms are the same and yet different—the kitchen, dining room, the bedrooms and the porch out back. 

 

         Chucky, however, has taken a different view. He’s going to sniff out the entire place. Leave not a corner unsniffed. He is determined to get his fill as if he’s been comissioned with writing a report on this house once we’re back in America. He's also being very secretive about it. 

          We begin walking room to room. Dan is enjoying this trip down memory lane, gleefully recounting stories of how they belonged to the local swim club during the summer. Of how he used to take the local tram across town to take piano lessons when he was ten. 

 

         “Where is Chucky, by the way?” Dan suddenly asks.

 

         “Somewhere sniffing.”  

         Dan doesn't look surprised. 

         "What's going on?"

      

         "Well, I might have implied that there's a small garden of . . . " 

         Sure enough, Chucky has somehow found his way outside and is sniffing the perimeter of the house, in search of the supposed garden. Outside a bunch of boys are playing ball.

          "Is there any catnip back there, really?"

          "I had to find someway to keep him happy."

           "You're right. He was moping around. But you know, you gave him mission impossible." 

            "He should be thanking us."

           Now, of course, we feel incredibly guilty. 

           But all is well. The boys spot Chucky and run over to pet him. He is the center of attention. Which he loves. They decide to make him the mascot for their team.

            Chucky never finds the garden or the catnip. But the rascal cat is purring away and that makes all the difference. 

 

 

Rascal Chuck and the Hookah Pipe

        After we leave the mosque, we decide to visit one of the most famous tourist markets in Cairo--the Kahan el-Khalili Bazaar. We want to float down the streets and see the locals, the shops, the food, the architecture and become totally immersed in the Egyptian experience. The bazaar is located in Cairo's historic center and is home to many Egyptian artisans and workshops. There are street food vendors and small, traditional coffeeshops, the oldest of which dates back to 1773.  

     

      We're not sure how Chuck is going to react to the crowds so it's good we've come earlier before the bazaar is super crowded. Dan carries him around in his backpack as we walk past the shops. 

      Our pace is not exactly leisurely because--full disclosure--Chuck and I harbor this secret desire to smoke a hookah pipe, and we're on our way to a hookah shop. I don't smoke cigarettes. I don't vape. But there is something about the hookah pipe Chuck and I both find fascinating. 

        For me, it dates back to a film I saw years ago. Picture a very handsome Egyptian man and and English girl, in an open air restaurant, located on an Egyptian rooftop, smoking a hookah pipe. They are relaxed. He hands her the pipe. Luscious music wafts through the air. She's wearing a veil over her hair (in keeping with the Egyptian customs) that gently sways in the breeze. She inhales and a smile forms on her face. 

        For Chuck, it was probably something he saw on the History Channel.

        Egypt is known for having the best hookahs. Some people say that smoking a hookah, which is essentially a water pipe, is less harmful than a cigarette but that's not true. You are still literally smoking tobacco, which usually has either a fruit or molasses sugar added for flavoring. 

        Chuck and I are under no delusions. This is not something we should be doing a lot of (lung cancer, emphysema, etc.) but we intend to have one puff only. We want the experience. 

        "There they are, Chuck." 

        Our wonderful Egyptian guide is taking us to the store that sells the pipes, and there on display is the most magnificent array of colorful hookah pipes. We gaze in through the window in awe.  

      

        Luckily, there is a small room in the back where you can smoke a hookah if you want. Chuck and I are pumped. Yes. Finally. This is the day. (Dan, on the other hand, can't believe we're really going to do this.) 

        The store is amazingly small inside. We enter, walk through, and push aside a curtain to a small back room. Sure enough, there's a plain black scarred table with a hookah pipe, ready and waiting. The walls are lined with shelves, filled with stock for the store. Nothing romantic here. Nothing like the scene in the movie. I push away the momentary flash of disappointment I feel. After all, what did I expect? To push aside the curtain and end up in that same scene, to suddenly be transported to the top of an Egyptian roof?

        The steps are obvious. First, you need to fill the hookah pipe. Which has already been done. Believe it or not, there's a real art to filling your pipe--whether you put your tobacco in layers, mix it together, how moist or dry your tobacco should be, etc.) You then need to light the pipe and give it a chance to burn. 

        Our guide motions me over, and I pick the pipe up and bring it to my lips. As I inhale, the smoke that is generated from the hookah is warm. There is a bubbling sound. Smoke fills my lungs. I cough. I taste a slight apple taste. 

        (I actually cough quite a bit. Since I don't smoke cigarettes, any little smoke will set me off. So, for a moment, I almost fear the coughing which continues won't stop, but it does.) 

        And as for Chuck, the rascal cat, as he watches me take my one puff, (and literally cough my brains out) he becomes fascinated with the bubbles that the hookah makes.

        "Chuck, are you ready for your one puff?"

        No response. 

      "Chuck, this is your one and only chance."

         He jumps up on the table. I think he's going to go for it, but then . . . Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. What? 

         "Oh, well." He is more than happy just to sniff the aroma of the apple and tobacco.

        He's no dummy. When I rethink about the entire incident later, when we're safely ensconced back in our hotel room, I wonder if he didn't do the smarter thing!