Chuck and the Giant Goldfish

     I should have titled this blog: Chuck Loves Fish. Or maybe Chuck Loves to Watch Fish? Chuck Loves to Eat Fish? Actually, I wasn't sure when we found the pond, what the end result was going to be.

     After the Jethro Giraffe incident, when Chucky decided he didn't even want to sniff Jethro, we decide it's better that our next outing with Chuck be a low-keyed affair. 

    We discover quite by accident--my friend named Barbara tells me--there is a delightful 300 acre park, botanical gardens and woods in Hamilton, NJ open to the public that she's recently visited and highly recommends. Although the Sayen House and Gardens began in 1912 when Frederick Sayen purchased it with his wife and began collecting plants and flowers from all over the world, it became municipal property in 1988 and was finally opened to the public in 1991. 

    Today the property boasts 1,000 azaleas, 500 rhododendrons, over 250,000 flowering bulbs on display as well as ponds, bridges, gazebos and walking trails near babbling brooks.  We're determined to see it all.

    

    And there is parking. Which is always a plus. We leave our car, with Chucky in tow and start walking down one of the white pebbled paths. Everything is in bloom, well-tended and sparkling. We find a bench and Dan poses for a photo while I keep an ever present eye on the Chuckster.

    A wood chipped trail leads into a shaded wood. The temperature in late afternoon is perfect--low seventies. Birds are tweeting. There's a faint scent of honeysuckle or something sweet in the air. We pass a few people, but not many. We fantasize we are in our own private wood and going out for a leisurely stroll. 

    "Chuck," we say, "you're not just an ordinary rascal cat, but you're someone special today. These are your woods, Chucky. Your birds. Your trees. Your bushes."

    Chucky is prancing along. For a cat who likes to sniff, this is paradise heaven. We cross a wooden bridge and . . .

 

suddenly, we face a pond, surrounded on all sides by trees and bushes. In the middle of the pond, a fountain shoots water into the air, which fans out into a perfect arc.

    There's something about water--lakes, ponds, brooks--that makes everything better. We decide to walk around the lake, and that's when we see them.

    The fish.

    And realize. This is a giant fish pond. 

    Chucky sees them too. The fish seem to sense we're there, and for some unexplainable reason,  start swimming near us. 

   Dan and I start counting the fish. We count close to a dozen. But Chucky doesn't care about how many fish there are. He's only interested in one fish in particular.

    A giant goldfish, sparkling in the sunlight, has spotted Chucky and now begins to swim in gigantic circles in front of him.  

   

    "Look at that, Chuck." I point to the fish, but Chucky is more than aware. His eyes are glued to the fish. He steps closer to the pond, weaving his way between the bushes and other obstacles in his path. 

    I'm not concerned. Cats hate water. There's no way he's going to jump in that pond. I'm certain of it.

    That darned goldfish swims even closer to the shore. 

    

    Chucky spots an opening, a pathway that leads right into the pond.

   

   Now I'm panicking. Does he want to swim with the fish or eat him? Can he even swim? Doggie paddle? Cat paddle?

    "Chuck, read the sign."

    

   I, of course, panick for nothing. The rascal cat only wants to get a closer look. He's read the sign and understands quite clearly the rules. He's never had any intention of harming the fish. 

   Later, as we relax in the gazebo, he says, "You know, mom, sometimes you're just too much." At least that's what I think he says.