Sorrento - What Is It Like Really?

 Sorento, Italy--what is is like really? Theo, the gangster cat, wants to know. We only have a day to walk around and visit this wondrous cliff side city that hovers over the Bay of Naples, renowned for its nature and culture. This is the city where mythical sirens with their sweet singing lured sailors to shipwreck on the rocks. Even the great Ulysses wanted to hear the songs, but he was smart enough to block his ears, commanding his men to tie him to the ship's mast so he could avoid catastrophe.

The night before we sail into the harbor, we are greeted by a lovely sunset. The sky is ablaze in pink. We listen carefully for the siren's call. Theo seems especially animated. Can he hear something we can't. We hold him tight, fearing he may leap off our ship. 

We are primed for a great walk around. The town is as quaint as you might expect: cobblestone streets, flowers everywhere, ancient buildings dating back to the 11th century, people on motorbikes cruising through the narrow streets, and a famed uneven landscape which gives you a unique perspective to see the town. 

We have to stop to see the Basilica of San Antonino, the oldest Catholic Church in Sorrento. Legend has it that the church was built to commemorate San Antonino when he saved a small boy who was swallowed by a sea creature back in the 6th century. The church is quite majestic inside:

But the most fascinating part is a red wall containing silver talismans, each representing the part of the body that was cured after praying to San Antonino. 

But we have arrived with a purpose. One of the oldest traditions of Sorrento is its Wood Inlay Carvings. Most of the old masters are no longer alive, and the town is filled with workshops and galleries located along S. Cesareo Road, but we are on our way to see a masterpiece within the walls of the Museo Bottega della Tarsia Linnea or the Inlaid Wood Museum. 

Inside this museum, there is a wood carving that defies description. It is quite remarkable considering that it was carved long ago, with what we would consider crude tools. It must have taken these artisans years to create this scene, and we are in awe.

Have you ever seen a scene so delightful, you wish you could jump right into it by some magic process. This is my only explanation for what happens next. Theo, who is content to look on and admire the scene, suddenly, with little or no provocation--other than the work of art itself--pushes off against my stomach with his fierce hind legs, and tries to make a jump for it. Into the scene. Aiming directly for the table with the food: 

Did he think it was real? I am appalled. I hold on tight and manage to keep him from committing the worst kind of atrocity. I try to keep calm and stare at the heart of the nativity scene: 

"You can have a snack if you're that hungry, but you can't eat the wooden food."

His efforts foiled, Theo, of course, pretends that he had no intention of eating the wooden food. But once a gangster, always a gangster!

Pompei-The Rest of the Story

 

It is crazy to think that we are walking through the streets of Pompei. In case you forget what Pompei is known for: In 79AD a nearby volcano named Vesuvius erupts (for the first time in 1,000 years) and covers the town of Pompei in approximately eighteen feet of volcanic ash. The eruption destroys the town but, ironically, preserves it, which is the reason why we can today stroll through the ruins and reach the center of town.

Experts see the streets as a marvel of engineering, a grid of paved roads, raised sidewalks and stepping stones that people used to stay dry and avoid the traffic:

We pass a property that is both a living quarters and a store that faced the street. I am fascinated by the stone counter with inlaid containers for vegetables, wine, grain or prepared food. It is a glimpse into how people made a living back then.

The buildings that have been unearthed so far still maintain some of their original color. There are paintings on the walls that were preserved; in some the architecture is stunning:

 

There is an original toilet:

How can a place so old be so modern and similar to our life today? I take some random shots to give you a feel for the Pompei of old:

You're probably wondering how Theo feels about this ancient Italian town. Well, it's a hot day in Pompei. The sun blasts down on us, and I'm forced to wear a hat to keep the overactive sun from blinding me. Theo, of course, is decked out in his gorgeous fur. Dan and I take turns carrying Theo. I carry him some of the time. Enough is enough, but with the crowds of tourists surrounding him, we don't dare let him down. He would either disappear in a split second or be trampled on. 

Finally, our very knowledgeable tour guide suggests that we check out the museum on site. Theo nods. 

"It's cooler in there," I promise. 

He wiggles around, anxious to get down on his own four paws.

"Okay. We'll let you down, but don't do anything crazy, Theo."

We pass a display of amulets, teeny tiny medals of gods that people would put into their coffins to insure safe passage:

Theo is on his best behavior. He trots along beside us. There are other tourists, but it isn't as crowded as I think it will be. No chance of being trampled on here.

We pass an assortment of cups and jugs and dishes:

We pass a colorful painting that was hanging on someone's wall:

We pass a shelf resting on a lion statue:

We pass an intriguing series of four plaques, depicting life in Pompei:

"Theo, check this out." I point to what looks like a pancake griddle pan,  glance down, and realize I'm suddenly talking to myself.

"What the hell?" I whisper too loudly.

"He has to be here somewhere," Dan reassures me.

I look right. Dan looks left. I move backwards. He moves forward.

No Theo.

"This is getting to be a habit," I grouse.

"We'll find him."

The end of this story is not dramatic. Theo is cat napping under the display table with the griddle. His eyes are closed. His ears are twitching.

I lift him out and up. "Did you hear us calling you?"

He gives me the stink eye.

"You know, Chucky (the past star of this blog) never would have done something like this. He was so well-behaved when he traveled with us." 

But even as I say the words, I know they're not true. Chuck was a rascal. This is exactly how he would have behaved. A cat is a cat is a cat. There is no doubt about it. 

Theo and the Alpacas

I thought alpacas were mean animals that looked suspiciously like llamas. I was wrong on both counts.

Recently, during the holidays, my sisters, Theo and I journeyed to an alpaca farm in Virginia. It is my youngest sister Cyndi's idea. I have to admit--I'm not really into it, but Theo--who, of course, has just seen a segment on alpacas on the History Channel--insists we go. 

It is cold and raining--unusual weather for Virginia, and we expect we will have to tramp through mud for the "full tour experience," but when Theo looks at you with those pleading eyes, how can anyone say no?

Besides, my sisters--who all love animals and have pets--seem really into it. They, in fact, are thrilled that they're going to meet a herd of alpacas face to face. I'm secretly wondering how long the tour will last. Theo is chomping at the bit.

"Aren't you the least bit afraid of sniffing them?" I ask.

Theo looks at me as if I'm insane. "It's something I have to do," he announces. 

The alpaca farm we plan to visit is approximately seven acres. We learn from the charming couple who own the farm that the 20 or so alpacas like to live together. They are social animals. There are also two gigantic dogs--guard dogs--on the property--beautiful dogs with the whitest and fluffiest fur--who guard against predators like the coyote who might visit the farm at night in search of an alpaca dinner. 

I soon learn I know nothing about alpacas. After an introductory talk, we learn that alpacas:

are considered domesticated 

are from South America

are a small relative of the camel

weigh approximately 110 - 190 pounds

are unusually shaped with long legs, long necks, small heads, pointed ears, and big eyes (which make them so appealing) and weird toes on their feet (which look almost like the toes of a devil)

are rumored to be spitters if you get too close. Not true. If you get too close and scare them, they will blow air at you to discourage you getting any closer. Sometimes some saliva may come with the air, but technically, that's not really spitting.

are covered with hypoallergenic fur which is water proof, warm, and less itchy and can also act as a repellant to other animals. For example, a bit of fur on a bush at home that deer like to eat can help keep your bush safe.

Very interesting. My concern is how will Theo react when he meets an alpaca face to face? How will the alpaca react? And what about those giant white guard dogs? Will they see Theo as an intruder, a coyote in disguise?

Theo is a small cat. He fits into my backpack, no problem. He is snuggled in there and I assume he's sleeping. Maybe that's my way out. I can tell him afterwards--you slept thru the entire alpaca tour. 

No such luck.

Remember cats are good at sniffing. As soon as we enter the barn, he wakes up and begins to rustle around. He can smell them. My sister paid for this tour--for five humans. No cats were included.

I strategize. I'll slowly back away from my sisters who are gathered around listening to the charming couple and feeding the alpacas from a small zippered bag filled with grain. I notice a few alpacas out of the barn eating hay. I'll meander over and let Theo get closer. 

Well, the best laid plans. I do meander over, but Theo leaps out of the backpack and heads straight for one of the alpacas, who is minding his own business. I feel a sense of doom descending as I watch Theo confidently moving toward said alpaca, and, of course, sniffing. 

I am of two minds in this moment. Prevent the close encounter or take a photo of it. Theo and the munching alpaca are nose to nose. Perfect! I drop my backpack to the ground, pull my phone out of my pocket, and as I am just about to click, a second alpaca who is sniffing the grain in the small bag that is also in my coat pocket, pushes me from behind. 

He wants a snack. He is trying to get my attention. My i Phone lands in the soggy hay beneath my feet. I retrieve it. I'll take a video.

No Theo. He's disappeared. Par for the course. No cat.

Now the second alpaca is pulling the grain bag out of my pocket, determined to snack at all costs. Two thoughts cross my mind--hold onto that bag of snacks and find Theo.

It all works out. I panicked for nothing. In a few short minutes, Theo jumps back into my backpack, and I am calmly feeding the alpacas as if nothing has happened. 

"Well, wasn't this a great idea?" Cyndi asks.

"I loved it!" Caroline says.

"They're so cute," Cheryl says.

"I'm freezing." That's Karen. 

It's time to go to the gift shop and head home. 

"Well, Theo, what did you think?" 

He's cuddled up. Hand over his face. Fast asleep. No comment.

Theo and I wish everyone a Happy New Year! 

 

Christmas Kidnapping - Who Done It?

 When you live with three rascal cats and something disappears, you can never be sure who did it. Let's call this case the mystery of the missing Christmas angel. Yes, what you're imagining is absolutely true. 

Here are the facts of the case:

We put our new artificial tree up in the beginning of December and put our beloved angel on the top. Now, this angel has been in the family a long time. She looks perfect on her perch on high. She stares directly into the living room. We love her and never suspect she will disappear like a puff of smoke.

We wake up on December 18 and at first, don't notice the angel is missing. But because we're so close to Christmas, we turn the lights of the tree on early in the morning. Something is wrong. We gasp in horror.

The Christmas angel is gone. 

Are we seeing things? Maybe our sweet angel is tilting backwards, and we can't see her. But no, the angel isn't tilting; she's gone.

Who would kidnap an angel?

Culprit one: Theo, our oldest cat, named after Theodore Roosevelt. Although he is affectionately called the gangster cat as current star of the family blog, he usually is an upstanding feline citizen in our household. He is the least likely to cause mischief. But . . . we have noticed on occasion that if something nefarious is in progress, he'll look on and not make a meow. He is becoming more like rascal Chuck everyday.

Culprit two: Sienna. The sister of the brother and sister duo we adopted a year ago. Sienna is wily and extremely smart. She seems to see everything. At the most unlikely of moments she is racing around the house, looking guilty of having perpetrated some crime, but we can never figure out what she did. She never admits to anything. Usually she's on top of our oversized brown chair in the living room, stretched out, one paw dangling like she plans to stay there forever, or is she just taking the opportunity to plot her next crime?

Culprit three: Mico. The brother of aforementioned duo who is named after Michelangelo. He is as cute as a button, but mischievous and was initially charged (last year) with removing the sink stoppers in our three bathrooms and hiding them. We never could figure out how he pried the stopper out of the sink. But he did.  We must ignore his cuteness, especially when he's pretending to be fast asleep.

We have to take drastic measures. For example, we have an oversized hibiscus tree in our living room. Usually it is outside in warmer weather. Now inside, the three rascals insist on climbing into the planter, digging the dirt, making a mess . . . we try covering it with aluminum foil, with dog pee pads--nothing works. 

 

Finally, inspired by a Facebook video, we put plastic forks into the dirt with the tongs facing upwards as a deterrent. It looks ridiculous but it works!

Dan and I confer on our recent tragic situation.  It's a matter of principle.

"Well, we know one of them kidnapped the angel. But which one?"

Dan smiles. "Based on past experience, it has to be Mico. I'll put my money on Mico."

I don't want to believe it, but the orange and white troublemaking cat does seem the most likely suspect. Perhaps, he swiped at her and she landed upside down, hanging onto the tree for dear life. My imagination is running wild.

But no, she isn't hanging off the side of the tree. 

"It will break my heart if we don't get that angel back. After all, who wants a tree with no topper?"

We decide that using the third degree is our only choice. I get the ultra bright light to shine in Mico's face. Dan prepares the questions. (As a last resort, we can always pull the other two aside and resort to bribery.)

Mico, of course, denies everything. He stares at the top of the three and shrugs his orange and white shoulders. "No, mom. I didn't do it."

"You didn't kidnap the angel?"

We cannot shake his story.

We move onto Sienna. She denies nothing but won't admit to anything. Her blasé attitude almost pushes us to the limit. She silently meows in protest. I'm a firm believer in one rule: Better to let a guilt party go free than punish an innocent party. 

We need proof. 

Our last suspect, Theo, is sleeping soundly on the back of the love seat on a horsehair blanket that he loves. Can someone sleep that soundly if they have a guilty conscience? 

"Theo, tell us who did it. No one will be punished. We just want our angel back."

Theo tilts his head as if considering, as if he would ever play the role of mole in his criminal organization. 

I spy them together on the couch, conferring, plotting. 

"This is ridiculous," I whisper to Dan. "They've obviously taken a code of silence. All for one, one for all."

"So all three were in cahoots together."

It's late. We make one final plea. "Delicious snacks for all if whoever kidnapped the angel, returns her to her right place."

The next morning arrives. It is now five days before Christmas. No Christmas angel. These are the stubbornest cats I've ever met.  

Two days before Christmas Eve. Morning arrives. Dan calls upstairs, "You're not going to believe this. She's back."

I race down the stairs. Sure enough, there the angel sits as if she were never missing. How did they get her up there? How did they get her down? Are they trying to gaslight us? And now they expect snacks.

"You did promise them snacks," Dan says innocently.

"Really."

"Let it go, Kate." 

And let it go I must for my own sanity. 

Happy Holidays! And . . . Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!