Theo Visits Alaska's SeaLife Center

 It is the visit of a lifetime. At first Theo is not convinced. He loves birds and squirrels. He tolerates whales. But fish? Oh sure, he'll eat fish--tuna and salmon are his favorites--but watching them swim around in a tank? 

But, wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Alaska's SeaLife Center in Seward, Alaska, comes highly recommended, and unless you want to spend days and weeks snorkeling in Alaska's vast bodies of water--you'll never get a chance to see--and I mean really see--some mind-blowing specimens of fish. All kind of fish. (www.alaskasealife.org)

The SeaLife Center is located square in the middle of some beautiful, breathtaking scenery that is so Alaska--the mist, clouds and sheer expansiveness of the place sets the stage for what is inside. 

We pass an amazing monument that provides just a glimpse of what is in store when you visit the ocean:

Once inside, we don't know where to go first. You can watch the seals swim in their super gigantic tank--from above and from below.

You can visit smaller tanks that house all kinds of fish--leaning toward the exotic--fish you have never seen before or even heard of.

These tanks represent just a small area of what lives underneath the ocean. The colors. The variety of fish.

 

I particularly love the starfish. Especially when you see them living in concert together. Hanging out. The good life.

And where is Theo during all of this time as we wander from tank to tank? I can feel him stalking beside me, but he's not satisfied to watch the fish from his lowly spot. I lift him up to give him what I would call a Birds Eye view. 

I'm not sure what he actually sees. But his gaze doesn't falter. He's truly mesmerized--watching the fish swim back and forth. 

I point to one tank in particular. "Do you see what looks like a rock with those pink spots?"

I think he nods or maybe he's stretching.

"Well, that's not a rock, Theo. That's a fish. Believe it or not."

He's a little impressed. At first I think he's spending the most time staring at the starfish. But they barely move. They float through the water. But then I realize he's not particular. 

Can it be true that Theo likes all fish? To eat???

 

Home Turf for Gangster Cat

 Theo's fans are clamoring--who is Theo, the gangster cat, really? What does he do when he's at home? So, I'm sharing photos of what his day to day life is like, whether he's perched on the dining room table (to see a bird out the window) or stretched out in casual style on my favorite writing chair.

First, Theo is the oldest of three cats. His two siblings (twins) are about two years younger than he is: Michelangelo (orange and white) and Sienna (mostly white with tips of gray).

Theo was adopted (or as he sees it--kidnapped) a few years ago from Tabby's Place, a privately owned cat shelter in New Jersey. He was rescued from a clinic where for 2 1/2 years they did animal testing--mostly for vaccines. At Tabby's Place, he was incredibly shy. It took some time for his true nature to emerge--a slightly sardonic, slightly sarcastic traveling man who has a heart of gold. 

He rules the household with an iron fist. No nonsense is his motto. He's not easily ruffled or insulted. At times Mico (nickname for Michelangelo) will chase him through the house, stalk him from a nearby sofa, or try to steal his snacks. Sienna is known for grooming him one second and then smacking him seconds later. Theo barely reacts. 

"I have their number," he assures me, fully understanding that the twins were feral and lived in a barn outside for the first few months of their life. Luckily, they were rescued (kidnapped) and taught some social skills. Still, Theo and I know the twins are wild to the core--they just know how to disguise it. 

That doesn't mean they don't do things together. Often the three of them are lined up at the patio door, furtively watching a squirrel or bird carouse outside. They take turns on guard duty, making sure that other cats don't invade their space. Because we have catnip growing outside, neighborhood cats like to come around and sniff. 

Usually, Sienna will smack the glass with her paw to scare them away, while Mico races from window to window, tracking their escape. Theo, his tail blown up like an oversized balloon, sometimes stays with Sienna and sometimes runs around with Mico. 

They take their sworn guard duty very seriously. 

The best times are when they play with a scratching board (covered with dry catnip) and hit a small ball around and around a groove, trying to hit it, then catch it. Or when they lounge around, ready to chant in unison: we have nothing to do.

The worst times are when we catch them--heads huddled together--plotting. Theo at these times is the spokesperson cat--meowing and explaining that we're three minutes past the due time for a snack or negligent in not turning on the nature channel so they can drool over the birds. 

For the record, Mico and Sienna hate when Theo goes traveling. They've written up several petitions alleging the grevious offense of leaving them alone. Even though they absolutely love Rachel, their cat sitter. 

Theo tries to talk sense into them. Really? You want to travel? And then he tells a harrowing tale of what can happen when you're out there in the wild world. 

"But you're a star," they argue. 

Theo shrugs because, after all, he may be a star, but Theo is still the gangster cat and that's the way it will always be.

Is Theo Really Whale Watching?

 Everyone knows that whales are not birds. Theo, our gangster cat, (affectionately called) loves birds. He loves to watch them, chase them, cackle at them and well . . . who knows what else? But whales?

We love whales. I've even gone on whale watching cruises, hoping to see one. 

"They're super big. And they're the nicest animals, Theo. They hang out with their family."

And then we point. When you're on a cruise in Resurrection Bay, with hundreds of other tourists, you almost have to knock down and drag people out of the way to see into the bay--to actually see the whales. You have to be ready to rush from one side of the boat to the other. Someone shouts out a sighting, and everyone rushes to the spot. Then someone else spots a whale and everyone rushes to the next spot. It is a miracle if you're standing in the exact right place and can actually see the whales. 

We are dying to get a good photo. But it's hard. We click and click and all we end up with are whale tails. The whales leap up but by the time we click, they are submerged with just their tails as evidence that they were ever there.

Whales do not pose for photos.

I am determined, though, to catch a full bodied whale. I take a video:

Imagine--whales are swimming along--under the water and then they pop up like jack in the boxes, water spouts up and then they dive under the water again. You learn to look for clues so you can see one of those magic moments.

 You look for seabirds--the gulls, the shearwaters, the gannets and the petrels who gather near a whale family to partake of the buffet of fish the whales create. Whales herd fish and krill to the surface, which the seabirds love. You see the birds, you see the whales.

We realize part of the way through our whale watching (with Theo in our arms, equally captivated) or so we think that he isn't looking at the whales at all. No, by gosh, he's enamored with the seabirds that are madly flying around, hoping for a snack.

That's how Dan puts it. "See those birds, Theo. They want a snack."

It all makes perfect sense to Theo, whose view of the world is much simpler than ours. Much more pragmatic than ours. 

"Are you noticing the whales at all?" I want to know.

Theo looks up at me. Then goes back to watching the whales . . . no, correction please--I now know the truth. He's watching those darn birds. Even as we see the most magnificent sight of all, more than tails. We see the whales leaping up out of the water. Yes.

As we eventually sail back to dock (after spending hours chasing a whale family in the bay) we pass another amazing sight. Seals are sunbathing on the rocks. And you can actually see the entire seal. We imagine they've already put on their suntan lotion and will be there for hours, hoping for a tan.

Does Theo even notice or is he looking backwards, hoping to see more birds. 

Theo Visits Resurrection Bay

 We arrive at Seward, Alaska--Resurrection Bay or as it's properly known: Kenai Ford National Park. Promises are made. Board the boat for a six hour, non-stop, tour around the expansive bay, and you're sure to see an iceberg cascading into the water and an assortment of anything that flies or swims. We're hoping for whales, of course. And glimpses of beautiful scenery--which Alaska is known for.

The boat is crowded with passengers so priority number one is to stake out a place to sit. We find a table with chairs inside the boat. As soon as we leave the dock, the temps drop lower and lower. Outside, a brisk breeze can blow an iPhone out of your hands or a nine pound cat into the water.

Luckily, our table faces a window with a view. "I think Theo should stay here. Where it's safe and warm."

I expect an argument. For once, the gangster cat agrees. 

"I'll come get you if we see anything. A whale, for example."

The scenery is stunning. Snow capped mountains, cliffs, craggy inlets, sea water that changes from blue to green and every shade in between, a sun that shines like a white light in the darkened cloud filled sky, and waterfalls that snake down the mountain.  

We see glaciers tumble into the bay, which is not a sight you see very often in the contiguous United States.

Our first sighting are seals sunbathing on a long slim patch of ice in the water. 

Then we spot seals swimming among the ice chunks in the bay.

We run and get Theo. After all, we promised. But when he gets yanked from his cozy spot and carried (he would say kidnapped) to where the seals are, he gives me the stink eye and then a cursory glance at the seals.

Really?

But . . . luckily just as we're about to bring him back inside, we make his day. Small white birds are perched on a nearby mountain side. I mean there's nothing too unique about them. White birds. Kittiwakes? Theo spots them immediately. 

What is it with cats and birds?

We hold onto Theo, expecting that given the chance, he'll leap off the boat and somehow swim across the icy water to get to those birds. Holding Theo captive is no easy feat while you're trying to take photos. He begins to make that cackling sound. His tail is wagging.

"Calm down. You see birds all the time at home." 

What you see you can't unsee! Did someone famous say that?

Now he's twisting and turning with a clearly defined mission. I'm afraid if I bring him back inside, he'll sneak out again.

We are in a quandary. Is it time for a snack? A distraction?

Just as that thought hits me like a bolt of lightning, the birds are out of view. The boat picks up speed. 

We're headed to a family of whales that have been spotted, way out in the distance, barely bigger than flecks of black in the water. 

Yippee!! 

And, believe it or not, even Theo looks excited. Have we finally found something he is keen to watch, besides birds?

Stay tuned for Part 2 next week. 

 

Theo Finds a Musk Ox Friend

I have to admit. I never heard of a Musk Ox before I went to Alaska. I never saw one in a zoo. I never saw one on TV. 

Theo is also suspicious. We have a chance to visit a Musk Ox Farm.

"Sounds like fun," I tell him. 

He squints up at me, seemingly disbelieving every word that comes out of my mouth.

"No, they're real animals," I hasten to add. "I'm not kidding."

"Do I have a choice?" He doesn't say those words, but I can usually tell what's rattling around in that cat brain of his.

So we are here. A beautiful day. A rambling farm where the musk oxen roam. In Palmer, Alaska.

We learn there's an organization FOMO that's dedicated to protecting and teaching the world about musk ox. And, of course, selling some products and making some money.  

We learn that back in 1954, to help preserve these animals, John Teal domesticates a few musk ox calf on his farm in Vermont. Ten years later he moves his animals to Fairbanks, Alaska. His idea is always compassionate caring for animals through gentle, low stress husbandry. 

We learn that the musk ox goes back 2 million years and are often confused with the bison or the yak. During the last Ice Age (10-20,000 years ago) the musk oxen roamed the earth with woolly mammoths. 

We learn that both males and females have horns like sheep and goats. They also shed and regrow their coat every year, a process that is spurred by on by the warmer and/or colder weather.

Finally, the process of socialization (getting used to people) is important for the musk oxen on the farm so they feel comfortable and safe.

We are anxious to get out and see the musk oxen in person. They are behind a fence. But we can get fairly close to them.

They are magnificent creatures. I try to imagine their existence even 10,000 years ago. It is truly a look back into time itself. I want more than anything to get on the other side of the fence. I want to get closer. 

I glance down at Theo. He is here by special permission, a solemnagreement that states Theo must stay on our side of the fence. 

I see him mosing around, closer and closer to the barrier that separates him the musk oxen and his chance to sniff. I fear he'll find a way to break through, which would not be a good thing. 

"Don't even think about it. Remember you promised."

Sometimes Theo seems to have a hearing problem. Can he hear me? Do cats enter into their own world where they block out everything else in the pursuit of a single goal? Chase a squirrel or bird. Sniff a bug crawling on the floor. Slip into a closet where there's a giant bag of snacks.

"Maybe you should pick him up just to be sure," I say to Dan.

"He's fine."

"I'm afraid . . ."

"Theo can see how big they are. He's not going anywhere."

But then everything changes. We go to a separate part of the farm, still fenced in, where most of the baby musk ox are. There's something about seeing a miniature version of the musk ox, how small and cute they are. How cuddly they must be if you could pick them up. Theo seems to be thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, a baby musk ox wanders up to the fence. 

He's as curious as we are. I turn to see where Theo is. He's at my feet, his nose already in between the openings of the fence, sniffing, sniffing. By gosh, he begins to sniff the baby musk ox. No fear. And the baby seems perfectly content to sit there and be sniffed!

I feel guilty. Right above the musk ox's head is a sign--Do Not Put Hands Through Fence. Technically, Theo is keeping his paws on his side of the fence, but that sniffing nose . . . 

It's over even before it's begun. Theo is safe, but in that short amount of time, he's made a friend. They both stare at each other. Close encounters. How wonderful!