Chuck Sleeps with General Grant

    California is a hard state to leave when you're on vacation!

    We were still obsessed--or rather I was still obsessed--with the giant sequoia and redwood trees. Seeing them. Breathing them in. We decided to pay a visit to Kings Canyon National Park and see one more famous giant sequoia. If you remember the General Sherman tree, this next tree was second only to that tree in trunk size. This Tree #2 on the Hit Parade of BIG TREES was estimated to be 1700 years old (can you imagine?) and was named after the great Civil War general and president Ulysses S. Grant.

   I know what you're thinking.

    Rascal Chuck did not have a good track record with giant sequoias. But he'd learned his lesson when he'd gotten stuck on the spongy bark of General Sherman. I was convinced Chuck could look and not climb the great General Grant.

    Plus, we had a ways to go before we reached General Grant and that journey involved a lot of walking. I was hoping the exercize would tire Chucky out. He would lose some of his rambunctiousness! Fingers crossed. 

    We first had to hike through glorious country to reach Roaring River Falls. The weather was in the low seventies. Despite the fires that were raging in parts of Yosemite National Park, up here in the Sierra Mountains the air was crisp and clear and there were no signs of smoke. 

    We traced the falls as they cascaded and broke along the rocks and wound along the river bed. Pure heaven. Maybe, for the first time, I understood, a cat's need to sniff. It's their way of interacting with nature. Here, near Roaring River Falls, you could taste the sweetness when you pulled that refreshing mountain air into your lungs.

    

    The riverbed water eventually dropped forty feet to a pool below, comprised almost completely of snowmelt from the mountains that ran through the canyons.  

   

    We then passed Kings River and the surrounding granite cliffs including two of the most famous. The first was named Grand Sentinel, and it measured 8,518 feet high. 

    

    The second equally famous structure was North Dome measured 8,717 feet high. 

     None of what we saw in the distance was of any interest to Chucky. He was focused on the trail that we walked and on the trees that surrounded us as we headed back to see General Grant. If he couldn't sniff it, he didn't want to know about it. 

    Finally, we reached out destination. There General Grant stood in all its glory in a fenced-in area, of course, so visitors won't stomp too close or touch the wonderful spongy bark (which makes these sequoias so impervious to insect attack or fire, but gives them that other world appeal). 

    

       I glanced down at Chuck, who was acting like a model cat. For the moment. I pointed to the fence. "Forbidden zone. Remember what happened the last time." 

    But was he even listening? Chucky has this annoying habit of looking directly at you as if he's hearing every word you're saying, but he's not really listening at all. 

    One of my all time favorite movies is Meet the Parents. Instantly I became the Robert De Niro character Jack in my favorite scene where he tries to intimidate his future son-in-law Ben Stiller. De Niro takes his two forefingers, points them at his eyes and then points them directly at Stiller. In other words--I'm watching YOU. I imitated that gesture to Chucky. He bounced back a little. 

      Satisfied I'd made my point, we took the wonderful boardwalk-like trail that went around the tree to the back. It was less crowded. Our guide was telling us about General Grant--the tree. 

    President Eisenhower declared it to be a National Shrine in 1956. It was dedicated to the men and women of the Armed Forces who fought and died to keep America free. General Grant is also called the Nation's Christmas Tree. 

    That piece of information--imagining this tree being decorated with bulbs and lights and tinsel--made me think about Chuck. One of his favorite places at Christmas is under our Christmas tree at home . . . Chuck. I looked down. No Chuck. 

    In the background I heard Dan ask when this magnificent tree was first called General Grant.

    "1867."

    I tugged on Dan's sleeve. "Chuck. Do you see him anywhere?"

    He shook his head.

    "Not again."

    Our guide and all the visitors were further ahead now. We stopped. "Chuck has to be here somewhere."

    We craned our necks upwards, both anticipating and dreading the inevitable--that Chuck, once again, was making an attempt to climb a giant sequoia. 

    We were dead wrong.

    It was only when we looked down that we spotted him--snoozing peacefully at the truck of General Grant. 

    

    Dan rescued Chuck from the forbidden zone. The poor kid, I thought. All that hiking and sightseeing had worn him plum out! Boy, could I sympathize. It was the end of a long day. 

    As we returned to our hotel that night, I thought about the day's events and wondered what I could have done differently. One thing for sure. I had to work on my Robert DeNiro I'm watching YOU impression. 

Rascal Chuck Falls in Love

    Do you believe in love at first sight? 

        Or for Chuck, was it love at first sniff?

     Cat lovers know that cats see the world differently than humans do. They tend to see objects that are farther away more clearly than objects that are close up. That's why they rely on their keen sense of smell. That tiny cat fact most likely explains why Chuck fell and fell hard, when from across the room he first spotted Jasmine, nickname Nunni, lounging on her mom's sofa. Soon after that, he raced over, stood up on his back paws, leaned onto the sofa and sniffed her. 

    You can guess the rest of the story. When she smelled like sweetness and light, he was a goner. He fell in love. 

    Nunni is a beautiful cat. She has pitch black luxurious fur. Her green eyes sparkle. Her meow sounded, no doubt, like a siren's call to my poor Chucky's heart. 

      We were visiting my lovely niece Kimber, Nunni's mom, and Chuck had decided to come along for the ride. We were not in some exotic location--no, not this time--just staying local and enjoying a little down time with family. 

    Chuck is a confirmed bachelor who prefers to play the field. He's always on the lookout for gorgeous girl cats. But this time with Valentine's Day on the horizon and love in the air, it didn't take long for Chuck to make eyes at Nunni and for Nunni to make eyes right back at Chuck.

       One sniff or two led to a luxurious nap together. Later we spotted them playing hide and seek together outside in the backyard. 

    

     I should have guessed that once Chuck arrived back home, all his oohing and ahhing was going to lead to plaintive meowing and then lovelorn sulking. 

    "Chucky, Nunni was just a passing infatuation," I tried to tell him. "You had one lovely afternoon. But it's over, buddy."

    Chuck didn't see it that way. When the ads for Valentine's Day on TV began to play fast and furious--flowers and chocolates and diamonds--Chucky searched for a better idea. He needed to find something special for Nunni to declare his undying love.

    At first he thought about a card. He poured his meows out in a sentimental valentine that I helped put in an envelope decorated with more valentines on it--addressed "Chickadee," his special term of endearment for Nunni.

    But that wasn't enough. He's all about food. And he'd discovered one thing about Nunni. She was a very picky eater. And she would only eat Fancy Feast. 

    The big idea struck a few evenings after when I was cooking in the kitchen. Could I make a special meal for Nunni using the cookbook that Aunt Kim gave me?

    Chucky figured if food was the surest way to his heart, it had to be the surest way to Nunni's heart! We flipped through the book together and found the purrfect recipe called the Holiday Special. 

    It's a simple recipe ( roasted turkey, cooked chicken, filtered water, and organic puree of pumpkin.) We gathered all the ingredients, and Chucky stood by as I chopped and mashed. 

    Of course, there was the taste test--just to make sure that the home cooked meal for Nunni was up to his fastidious standards. After a few "tastings," we were ready to go.

     Would Nunni actually prefer a home cooked meal to Fancy Feast? 

     Would Chucky's Valentine's Day dinner win Nunni's heart?

     Valentine's Day arrived on schedule and their date was scheduled for 3:00 p.m.  On the ride over, I felt I needed to say a few words--just in case. After all, I didn't want Chuck to get his hopes up too high.

    "Chuck, remember, the most important thing is that you wanted to do something nice for Nunni. You came up with a great idea. But there are never any guarantees when it comes to love."

    Chuck narrowed his eyes.

    "Maybe she won't like your grand gesture and just walk away. Don't be discouraged."

    He tilted his head. 

    I didn't want to say too much and rain on his parade.

    "After all, Aunt Kim did say that Nunni was a very picky eater. I know that's something that's hard to understand since you like to eat so much . . ." I was running out of things to say. It's hard when you want to protect your kids from heartache. 

    I didn't need to worry.

    Nunni was waiting for Chuck. We'd put her dinner in a special red bowl for Valentine's Day. Nunni, as if understanding the significance of the gesture, pranced right over and sniffed--of course. 

    I held my breath. 

    She took a tentative bite. And started eating. 

    Chuck's grand Valentine gesture was a success!

    Hallelujah!

    Chuck stood on the sidelines and watched Nunni eat and eat. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He inched closer. And closer. He circled around the bowl. Then, in an impulsive move, he nudged her out of the way and began to eat her Valentine's Day dinner. 

    Nunni, slightly stunned, stepped back, but not for long. She came back and nudged him out of the way and ate some more. 

    The two of them--Valentine Day sweethearts--finished every last morsel in that red bowl. Then they sauntered off, side by side, to take a good long nap. Because they're cats and that's what cats do. 

    Chuck and Nunni hope that everyone had a . . .

             

     

    

    

 

        

Chuck and the General Sherman Tree Scandal

 

    There are such things as sacred trees. In Sequoia National Park, in the southern Sierra Nevada Mountains (which are over 10 million years old), in California, giant Sequoia trees still live and breathe. This park, established in 1890, protects over 404,000 acres of forested mountainous terrain--most of it wilderness area--which means you can only get there by foot or horseback. 

    I was obsessed with seeing the sequoias in person. I wanted to stand next to one. I wanted to touch the bark. And I wanted to hear all the stories. They are legendary trees. 

    Dan and I (and, of course, Chuck) decided to visit California in the summer. Seeing the sequoias was number one on our list. Chuck was all in. It meant being outside. I also suspect the Chuckster had a secret desire to do more than just sniff one. 

    I did my research and was not shy about sharing the facts. We were on our way to the park. It was a beautiful California summer day. "Did you know," I said to Dan and Chuck, "that sequoias belong to the cypress tree family? They are the longest living organism on earth. They can live up to 2200 years or more. How's that for a startling statistic?"

    "Pretty impressive," Dan said.

    Chuck snorted.

    "Their bark, which is a bright red brown color, is about a foot thick which makes them disease and insect resistant. Also, fire resistant."

    "The bark feels spongy when you touch it," Dan added.

     I hadn't heard that. We were riding along for what seemed like hours, steadily gaining altitude, literally climbing a mountain, and about to see our first sequoia tree. Our tour guide Jeff was looking for a good parking spot. I was making a video, trying to capture all the trees that we passed.

    "Look. Look there." We passed our first giant sequoia." The bark of the tree was reddish. The trees themselves were wide in girth. Majestic looking. I was getting more excited by the minute. 

    Fast forward . . . in the park, we were in a kind of tree wonderland. 

Trees surrounded us: sequoias, redwoods--a distant cousin, lodgepole pines, sugar pine, red fir. We could get close and touch them. I took a moment and issued a silent thank you to the man who made it possible. John Muir. He believed it was important to protect the wild places in nature. He founded the Sierra Club. He is often called the "Father of our National Park System". He led a movement that resulted in Yosemite becoming a National Park. 

But the tree we were headed for was the most famous tree of all--the General Sherman Tree.

    This tree--as measured in 2022---is the largest tree on Earth by volume. It grows in the Giant Forest with five of the ten largest trees in the world. 

    As we got closer, the path became busier. Visitors, like ourselves, with backpacks and binoculars and cameras, crowded the path. To appreciate this natural wonder, you have to crane your neck back and look up--a long ways up. General Sherman is tall and wide. You have to step back to see how big it is. 

  

        Most people come to gawk. To take a photo of it. I had a different idea. It's hard to experience the tree with people milling around, talking and laughing.

    We decided to go around to the back of the tree. 

    You have to imagine General Sherman stands in all its magnificence as it has stood for 3,200 years. A wide expanse of land surrounds the tree. A gate made of logs surrounds the entire area so there is no way you can get close to the tree. The gate not only protects the roots but it prevents people from carving their names in the precious bark. It was quiet in the back. Deserted. Perfect.

    Chuck, believe it or not, was on his best behavior. I wasn't sure if he was more interested in General Sherman, however, or in the squirrel who was scampering near General Sherman.

    "Let it go," I said to Chucky. "That area inside the gate is the forbidden zone. General Sherman is a national landmark. You can get into big trouble if you try to go near it.

    My best approach was to distract him with interesting information. "Sequoias can drink up to 160 gallons of water a day. Now prepare to be amazed. Most plants get their water through their root system. But in these trees, the roots are not deep, they run sideways, so the roots can only provide about 60% of the water they need. The other 40% comes from the air."

    Dan interrupted. "What do you mean?"

    "Sequoias and redwoods can only grow in very wet areas--near an ocean, a stream, where there's a lot of fog. Their leaves literally have to pull the water out of the--" I stopped.

    Near the base of the General Sherman tree, an orange and white cat who looked suspiciously like Chuck, was sniffing the bark. 

    "Chuck, do not sniff--"

    He stopped sniffing. That much is true, but then he leapt up onto General Sherman, his claws latching onto the bark.

    I couldn't believe it. "Chuck."

    With no hesitation, he started to climb up General Sherman. One paw reached up and grabbed on. The other paw reached up.

    Sniffing was bad enough but climbing was an outright scandal. 

    "We have to get that cat down from that tree!"

    "Just give him a minute," Dan calmly said.

    Luckily, there was no one in sight. It was amazing how no one came around to the back of the tree. 

    "Does he actually think he's going to climb to the top?"

     Chuck took his third step. His fourth step.

    "How tall is it anyway?" Dan asked.

    "275 feet," I choked out. 

    "Well, Chucky has a long way to go."

    Suddenly he stopped climbing. 

    "Do you think he's stuck?" I asked.

    By this time, I'd had a chance to feel the bark on these sequoias. Dan was right when he'd described it as spongy. Had Chucky's nails somehow become embedded in that spongy substance, and now he was clinging there for dear life, hoping to be rescued?

    "Come on, Chuck," Dan called in his best fatherly voice.

    Chuck gave a little shake as if he were shaking off some kind of voodoo spell that had taken him over. Then with no preamble, he jumped to the ground and flew back, his paws barely touching the earth, through the danger zone. One second he was clinging to the tree, the next he was sitting, grooming near our feet, as if he hadn't done the worst possible thing.

    "Chuck--"

    Dan touched my arm. "If you're going to tell him off, don't waste your breath."

    Well, Dan was right. I decided to change tactics. "What did General Sherman smell like?" I was more than a little jealous that Chuck had gotten close to this historic tree when I'd had to admire the General from a distance. 

    "A tree," said a snarky voice.

    But it wasn't Chuck's voice. It was Dan's. 

    I gazed down at the Rascal Cat who always dares to do more than I'll ever do. I guess that's why I take him places when I travel. I often call him my alter ego, and I guess he is!!

    

    

    

Chuck and the Munching Camels

   What could go wrong with a rascal cat at a petting zoo? 

        After Chuck's almost wild encounter with bison at Yellowstone . . . after the rascal cat's near scalding experience with a baby geyser when he jumped off the boardwalk in protest of a growling girl dog, how could a visit to a local petting zoo be considered dangerous?

        My sisters and I decided one beautiful morning, well, it was one beautiful hot morning this past summer to visit a nearby zoo in the Poconos to see the local wildlife. 

        Chuck loves animals, and I convinced myself that the wildlife advertised obviously wouldn't include bison, wolves, or bears so the danger factor would be considerably less. Nevertheless, I'd learned my lesson on how to be a good mom the hard way. Never underestimate what Chuck will do in any situation. 

        I was on high alert. 

        We arrived, parked the car and as my sisters moseyed on over to "experience" the zoo, I read Chuck the riot act. "Behave yourself. Look don't touch. Most important of all, don't eat their snacks. I've got my eye on you."

        Chuck grumbled. I could see he was hot and hungry. But he's always hungry. 

        The small petting zoo was not very crowded. Good. Enclosed within a fence, the zoo of wildlife was actually a safe assortment of animals. Better yet. I tried to relax. 

        First up was Mr. Turtle, a mellow guy who seemed harmless. He moved at an alarmingly slow speed and was preoccupied with eating lettuce leaves visitors could buy to feed him. Still he was quite charming and larger than the usual turtles you see in the park.

        

        

         I kept my eye on Chucky. He waited on the sidelines. Luckily, he's not a fan of lettuce and had no interest in meeting a turtle. 

       So far so good.

       We moved on to the next exhibit--the cutest rabbit you ever saw. I anticipated big trouble. This was a worst case scenario. At home Chucky loves to chase bunnies and squirrels. This rabbit was called Mr. Einstein. I hoped he was named after the famed genius for a reason. Maybe he'd developed good social skills. If you're one of the star attractions in a petting zoo, surrounded by kids (and the occasional rascal cat) who are trying to pet (or sniff) you, you must have a uniquely calm personality, right?

        Chuck spied Mr. Einstein and glanced over at me. 

        "Don't even think about it." Chasing Einstein, I meant.

         He looked restless. 

        "Remember, look, don't touch."

         My sister Cheryl at that moment noticed the goats in the next pen. "Look how cute they are," she said. I turned to look. Of course. That's all it took. Chuck, who can move faster than a speeding bullet when he wants to, was standing right near the calmer than calm bunny, sniffing. 

        I held my breath. Mr. Einstein didn't move. On his best behavior, Chuck shrugged and walked away. A miracle.

        We visited the goats, the pigs, the donkeys and the horses. All my sisters are fans of the show Heartland on Netflix, and we love to see horses and ride horses. We were having fun. Every time I glanced over to see what Chuck was doing, he was moping around, waiting. 

        My sister Cyndi said, "Maybe he's just hot."

       Or maybe things were building to a crescendo. But after the non-rabbit incident, I had hope that, maybe, this was going to be a good day.

        

 

        Finally, I couldn't take his passive resistance any longer. "What's the matter, Chuck?"

      He let out a plaintive meow. Usually he'd be trying to get closer to the animals. Instead, he ambled over to the one shady spot in the tiny zoo. Maybe it was the weather. Hot and muggy. 

       "Well, I got myself worked up for nothing," I said to my sister Karen. Secretly relieved. "I guess we've seen everything . . ."

        "What about over there?" Caroline, who's always open to adventure, was pointing across the yard.

        I looked over. Two camels. Most zoos in the middle of Pennsylvania don't have camels. Behind a fence. But close enough that you can reach up and pet them. Get right in their face if you want to.

        "Geez." When I was in Egypt a few years back, I went on a camel ride and grew to respect them.

         I couldn't resist meeting these two.

         

    Full disclosure--I find camels quite exotic. They can live up to 50 years and are gentle and friendly animals. They're highly intelligent, smarter than a horse, and have incredible memories. They are also big animals. Camels average between 7 to 11 feet long, 5 to 7 feet tall, and weigh between 900 to 1300 pounds depending on the type of camel. 

    Camels eat grains, grass, wheat and oats. These camels were eating up a storm. Munching, munching, munching.  I have to admit in that moment I was in camel heaven.

      They were wonderful to watch. They looked happy and well cared for. As I was taking a closer look at these fantastic animals, I saw something quite out of place-a long tail of orange and white fur with dark orange stripes running sideways through the entire length of it. 

       "That looks just like . . ." I glanced over to the shady spot where Chuck had been sitting only moments before. No Chucky.

        My gaze shot back to the tail.  

        "Chuck." He was inside the fenced in area with the camels, sniffing one of the camel's legs. This was wrong on so many levels. I couldn't believe it. A barage of thoughts raced through my mind. How had he gotten in there? Why was Chuck interested in camels? And then . . . oh my God, danger. My blood pressure spiked through the roof. 

        "Out. Out of there. Now."

         Chuck stopped sniffing and gazed up.

         "Come on. Out. Now."

         Camels are not mean animals, but they can do mean things if provoked. I'd just read an article about a camel who bit, then trampled a worker who punched the camel in the face. Let's call it a revenge trample. What if this nice camel didn't appreciate being sniffed? One lift of a camel leg. The weight of a camel on Chucky and he'd be crushed to smithereens.

          I blamed myself. My obsession with camels must have rubbed off on Chucky and spurred him to get a little closer. 

         Chuck stopped sniffing and let out a big sigh. He then proceeded to wiggle himself under the wire fence, somehow managing to squeeze himself out of the fenced in area. 

        Safe and sound. 

        Later that evening, after the drama of the day had subsided, I looked down at a sleeping Chucky. Was it the camel's incessant munching that had lured him into the camel's den? Chucky loves food, especially snacks. I guess I'll never know.