Rascal Chuck and the Antique Elevator

         Alexandria is one of the truly ancient cities. It sits in Egypt like any other city, but in many ways, it's the crowned jewel with a past that other cities envy. But, first, you have to drive through crowded Egypt, and this country has traffic like anywhere else.

When you arrive, there's something magical that happens. You get a glimpse of the Eastern harbor of Alexandria, which has been a happening place for culture for 2300 years. This is where the Pharos lighthouse, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, was located, guiding people from all over the world safely into port. This is where Cleopatra (the real Cleopatra and not Elizabeth Taylor playing the part in the Hollywood version) first laid eyes on Julius Caesar. 

      

        And this is where the Great Library of Alexandria, built by Alexander the Great, was located. It was the largest library of the ancient world and contained somewhere between 40,000 to 400,000 scrolls or the equivalent of 100,000 books. It employed over 100 scholars. Although it was originally believed to have been destroyed by fire, it was accidentally burned by Julius Caesar during a civil war, rebuilt and then dwindled due to lack of funding and support.

         Today Bibliotheca Alexandrina replaces the ancient library. All of this, of course, is of no interest to the Rascal Cat. He is tired of driving in the car. Tired of looking at the scenery. Tired of hearing me drone on and on about the fabulousness of Alexandria.

        Chucky wants a snack.

         There is a wonderful restaurant in downtown Alexandria in the Cecil Hotel. It is old world and quite majestic looking and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. It was built in 1929, is considered one of the Grand Hotels, and has hosted celebrities and diplomats including Winston Churchill and Al Capon.

   

         Somehow, we figure, we'll talk our way into this restaurant with an orange and white cat. He is famous. In America. Star of Hot Blogging with Chuck. Or we can sneak him in.

        "Find a table in the back," I suggest to Dan.

    

        Chucky is wiggly around in the backpack. About to explode. We both know when he has had enough. And he has had enough.

        Discreetly, we are seated at the table. Chuck is in the corner. We are the model of propriety, but can't help ourselves from looking around because the place is even more glamorous and incredible inside.

        Quickly, we peruse the menu and order an interesting dish with lots of eggplant and chickpeas. Luckily, I've discovered that I love Egyptian food. We scoff down our lunch in record time. 

        We're about to leave (and this is when Chucky tempts the fates), he spots a beautiful, elegant, antique elevator--what was known in those days as an "open cage elevator", that is literally beckoning to him. I imagine he hears, "Come on over," because the next thing we know he is scampering across the lobby toward said elevator.

        Dan says, "It's a bad idea. Grab Chucky. We should leave now. After all, we're in Egypt. Soldiers walk around here with loaded rifles. No telling what they'll do to a cat."

         Sober warning. Are we taking a foolish chance? Egypt is not a democracy. 

         On the other hand, we both know, when Chucky gets an idea in his head, you might as well, give in. We can see by the way he is staring straight at it that he cannot resist checking out this elevator. Even for me, it is conjuring up all kinds of imaginings. It is as if I were stepping back in time. It dates back to when the hotel was built. 

          AND IT STILL WORKS. 

        Dan and I look at each other. "Let's just go with it. We'll keep him under wraps."

        The plan is simple. We'll get inside, just the three of us, and ride up one floor, and then ride back down again. How risky can it be? And Chucky will be happy.

           We have to wait. Someone is using it, and it's one floor above us.  (We discover later that the elevator is a MAJOR tourist attraction.)

            I glance over and notice a mirror. I somehow manage to secure Chucky's attention. We're going over there to take a selfie to prove we're actually here in Alexandria, I tell him. It'll only take a second. Stand over there and don't draw attention to yourself. 

            The elevator is in a corner. At that moment no one is there.

     In a flash we're back at the elevator. It still hasn't come down, which is odd. And what's even more alarming--no Chucky. 

       "You don't think . . ."

        We look up.  We hear the faintest of meows. A Chucky meow. 

         That darned cat. As we were busy with our selfie, that rascal cat must have jumped into the elevator and rode up to the floor above us. Without us.  

         Within seconds, he's coming down, but not by himself. First floor guests accompany our never to be underestimated cat down to the lobby. 

          "My bad," I tell Dan. "I should have dragged him with us over to the mirror."

          The black cage door opens and the three touristy people walk out. By some miracle, they've hardly noticed Chucky. Too busy snapping photos of the elevator, which here and now is the main star attraction. 

         Finally, the three of us are alone at last. Dan pulls the antique black gate closed in front of us. We are in a magic world--circa 1929, the way it used to be. Slowly, we go up and then, ignoring people who are waiting to get in, we quickly go down. 

        "If you were a cat back in 1929," I tell Chuck, "this is the kind of elevator you would have been using. Pretty cool, huh?" 

        Chuck looks around with some interest, then lets out a gigantic cat yawn. 

        When we're leaving, I can't resist pointing out to Chuck that although he's somewhat famous in America, here in Alexandria, it's the elevator that tourists are snapping photos of, not the cat!! He shrugs. But at least he's safe and sound. No soldiers with rifles. So far so good.

P.S. I'm offering 100 free Kindle copies of my recently published novel, The Blue Medallion, in a Goodreads Giveaway. The promotion will run from July 20 thru August 20. For a chance to enter and read more about this amazing offer, follow the link: 

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Rascal Chuck and the Disappearing Cat

          It's been two weeks and one day. But who's counting? Chucky and Theo are still in separate rooms. We've taken down the baby gate. Closed the bedroom door.  And, yes, you might say we're moving backwards . . . and it's all because of what happened two Sundays ago.

        I wouldn't be exaggerating to say that Theo completely disappeared. One minute he's in the study upstairs, hanging out, and I'm practicing piano. I leave the room, baby gate intact, to make dinner. I come back up an hour later, and he's gone. 

        The room is approximately 20 feet by 15 feet.  Three chairs, two tables, four bookcases, a filing cabinet and a piano. No Theo. I look everywhere. Underneath everything. Rick Gillis in 2002 in Cat's Structure says that "Unlike human arms, cat forelimbs are attached to the shoulder by free-floating clavicle bones, which allows them to pass their body through any space into which they can fit their heads." This fact gives them a strange flexibility to squeeze into tight corners, between narrow crevices . . . 

        We widened the search to the house. Dan and I rip the place apart. We figure he must have slithered between the slats of the baby gate and is now on the loose. Chucky had developed this habit of perching near the baby gate. He would stare into the room, straight at Theo, as if he were attempting to put him into some kind of mystical trance. Theo didn't like it, and we theorized, he finally made a run for it and was now hiding somewhere.

        We can't find him. 

         Then I have a horrible thought. Earlier Dan has gone through the kitchen, opened the door to the garage and taken out the recycling. Theo most likely followed him.

         He must be . . . OUTSIDE. As I pronounce these words, like a scene in the movies, I hear the DUN, da DUN, da DUN sound which means something bad is about to happen. Then the dark clouds hovering over our house for the last couple of hours let loose and begin dumping buckets of rain everywhere.

        Dan opens the front door and looks out. "He could be anywhere."

        "I know."

        "He doesn't even know his name yet."

         "I know."

         "And he has an hour head start."

         "He's our responsibility. How can I go back to Tabby's Place and tell them I lost him?"

          We stay outside for close to an hour. We wear inadequate rain jackets that barely keep us dry. The backyard turns into a flood zone. We scour under bushes. Look under cars. 

           I feel sick inside. I am the worst cat mother. Ever. 

           Like two drowned rats, we come back into the house. Dan flops on the sofa. I go back to the study and go through the entire room again. I want to find him so bad. 

            I get a brainstorm. Chucky is pacing outside in the hallway. 

            "Chucky." I let him in the study. There are a thousand things I can say to him. He should have been nicer to his brother. This is the moment when he can make up for his not so nice deeds. But I know from experience it is better to be short and sweet.

            "Inspector Chuck Clouseau, FIND THEO."

             One thing Chucky can do well is sniff.  And sniff he does. He starts from one end of the room, and like the last time, he methodically smells each and every object he comes across. Until he stops. 

            Now, that's odd, because he's stopped directly in front of the massive barcalounger that sits in the corner of the room. 

            "C'mon, Chuck."

            He looks back at me. 

            I've searched underneath that chair.  At least a thousand times since Theo has disappeared. No . . . it's not possible. But Chuck is adamant. He won't budge. If he had a pointer finger, he would be literally pointing at the chair. If he were a dog, he would be . . . Well, finally I get it.

            I put all my weight against the chair and tilt it backwards, craning to see upwards, into the inner workings of the chair.

             Two little eyes peek back at me. 

               We've had that chair for ten years and never knew there's a compartment big enough for Theo to climb into. And sleep in for the last four hours. 

             Carefully, I put the chair down. Theo is safe and sound. He hasn't drowned in the freak storm that is presently pummeling our house. He hasn't been hit by a car and is lying defenseless and hurt in the middle of some street. He isn't lost somewhere. 

            Chucky, meanwhile, has sauntered over to Theo's food and is calmly munching away. 

            "Chucky, you're my hero!" I cry out, but he barely hears me. 

            That's how cat heroes are, I suspect. They don't need praise or snacks as motivation to do the right thing. Well, maybe they can do without the praise . . . but never the snacks. Oh, no. 

                 P.S.  When I'm not traveling the world with the rascal cat, I'm writing. The Blue Medallion, my latest novel, weaves together adventure, fantasy, and romance as Lily, the heroine, searches for redemption and love.

                 She doesn't know that the sacrifice she is called to make to fulfill her destiny will change her life forever.    

                  Available on Amazon in paperback 10.99 or kindle 2.99.

                  Follow the link for more information: 

             The Blue Medallion

     

       

The Rascal Cat Can't Sing!

    "Egypt is more than just pyramids," I tell Chucky as we're in the midst of our next adventure. This morning we're 60 miles northwest of Cairo, visiting a famous monastery called Dier Anba Bishoi in Wadi El-Natroun, surrounded by a desert consisting of salt lakes and salt flats. The Egyptians used to extract salt from here. The Christians established their monasteries here dating back to the 4th century.

        Dier Anna Bishoi or St. Bishoi Monastery is named after patron St. Bishoi, who immigrated here and lived in solitude. It is one of five churches and is used only in the summer. It is an oasis with greenery and palm trees.

 

   

        Everything about this place is old. We move from room to room. Chucky is in seventh heaven. The priest takes one look at Chucky, assumes he is a cat who lives at the monastery, and doesn't give him a second glance. Which is good news because this place is a wonderland for Chuck. He is sniffing to his heart's content. 

             We're greeted by a very charismatic priest who gives us a tour and recounts some of the highlights of the monastery's history--the destruction that was done and the many restorations over the thousands of years. Most notably there is a well on the property called the Well of Martyrs where, you guessed it, martyrs were thrown down to their death centuries ago. Today the well still produces fresh water, which is considered to be a miracle.

  

        We pass ancient signs, frescoes, pottery laid out on tables that was used centuries ago and realize that even though this place is a working monastery, it is in many respects also a museum of sorts. 

        Out of the blue, and this is how the universe works, at times, we're invited to a baptism. Now I've attended plenty of baptisms in my day, but never one in a monastery in a desert in Egypt performed in Arabic. 

        Out of nowhere, or so it seems, people have arrived and are filling up a beautifully decorated room--standing around, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Dan and I, and Chuck melt into the crowd. 

 

       

         Another priest arrives and the baptism procession begins. 

              There is incense, cymbal clanging, clapping, singing, chanting and an overall festive atmosphere. Dan is busy snapping photos. I'm in awe, watching everyone as they gather around the parents and the newborn.

        And then I hear him. At first--what is that sound? It's not quite singing--a kind of mixture of mewing and meowing and . . . "Chuck, shshsh."

        But Chucky, who is plastered to my side (thank God), is swaying in time to the chanting that is reverberating through the room. But his singing sounds more like caterwauling. Which is getting louder and louder.

        I'm not going to panic. But I imagine a cat interrupting a baptism would not face an easy fate. I can see it all now--masked men swooping him up and dropping him in the Well of Martyrs!

        I have to get him to stop singing. But he is just so darned cute. I hate to interrupt his reverie. Is anyone else noticing that he's horribly off key? The rascal cat can do many things well, but he can't sing!! 

          I kneel down next to him. "Chucky, no more singing, honey."

          He looks up at me.

          At that exact moment, everything around me goes quiet. 

          I place my finger on Chucky's lips. 

          The priest recites a prayer in Arabic. 

          Chucky goes silent. Is it a miracle? Or . . . I look over my shoulder. Dan, Mr. Hero Man, holds out a luscious treat and Chucky, needing to make a decision, chooses to eat and not sing.  

          Crisis is averted. No masked men will be coming for Chucky. The Well of Martyrs will not claim another innocent victim. I heave a sigh of relief. 

           We've learned one valuable lesson: the rascal cat can do many fabulous things but he can't sing!

Chuck's New Brother--Adopted or Abducted?

               Adopting a cat is an adventure. Tabby's Place is a privately owned no kill shelter which houses over 100 cats. The cats live in suites, not cages. If things don’t work out, you can bring the cat back. That part is great. 

 

            But, you have to fill out an adoption form—mega pages long—and convince this wonderful shelter you will make decent enough cat parents. Tabby's Place sees these cats as precious as children. You sign a contract to treat them in a loving and humane way. 

 

            If you’re integrating a cat with another cat or cats, there is a protocol to follow. Don’t for a moment think you can bring the cat home and plop him in the middle of the living room and let him fend for himself amidst a menagerie of the dogs and cats you might already have living there. Oh, no. 

            And, then, there was Chucky. Did he even want another brother? Yes and no. He liked the idea of having a younger brother, but he was also afraid and nervous. He was number one cat now in the house. Would he somehow become number two cat when a younger, cuter cat arrived?

 

            Dan and I spotted Theo first online and then we had a meet and greet in Suite E, where Theo lived since March with about 15 other cats. He was rescued from an animal testing laboratory. 

            I was smitten from the first. Big eyes. Mostly brown tabby. Extremely shy. Which usually means hard to find someone to adopt him. Everyone wants a friendly cat!

 

          

         “Don’t worry. We’re naming him after Theodore Roosevelt. Calling him Theo for short. And pronouncing Theo the Italian way—Teo (the e is short). "If we believe in him, name him after a famous explorer and brave man, this shy boy will rise to the occasion."

 

            Bree, who is working Adoption that day, hands me meds—just in case he’s so scared he doesn’t eat. A giant alarm rings in my head--we might have a challenge here. 

 

            Bringing him home in the carrier is no trouble. He’s as quiet as a mouse. We decide to put him temporarily in our study--and it’s waiting for him with liter, water fountain, two cat beds, two feeding bowls, and toys.

 

            Twice, Chucky comes to the study door that we’ve carefully closed—giving Theo a chance to acclimate to one room. Chucky sniffs and sniffs. I know the question that Chucky wants answered.

 

            “Hey, mom, is he in there? How long is he going to stay?”

 

            “Theo’s in there. You new little brother.”

 

            “Can I see him?”

 

            That’s tricky. I know that more time should pass. It’s way too soon to let the two of them meet face to face. 

 

I’ve been advised that before they meet, we should do what is called a sniff exchange. Take something that has Chucky’s smell on it and give it to Theo and vice versa. Also, we should install a baby gate at the door so they can see each other and sniff each other with the gate between them. THEN if all goes well . . .

 

But Chucky is one of these mellow cats. And he’s very insistent.

Theo has his own version of the story: 

"I want to meet my older brother. But, basically, I was minding my own business, see, and you two came and abducted me, threw me into a carrier, put a blanket over it so I couldn't see a thing, brought me to a house, locked me into a room. And all you two want to do is pet me." Yeah, he kind of speaks like a gangster even though he looks as cute as pie.

"It's going to be okay, Theo."

"This other cat . . . do I know him? My older brother?"

"He wants to meet you, Theo."

 

I do the worst possible thing. When I open the door to the study, Chucky sneaks in. Theo is at the end of the room, squeezed in the tiniest space on a lower book shelf. Minutes go by as Chucky, like a cat version of Inspector Clouseau, sniffs the entire room. I figure he’ll head straight for Theo. But, no, he’s maddeningly thorough as he moves from object to object, space to space, until finally he manages to make it across the room. He comes face to face with his new little brother.

 

He stares for a second and moves even closer. I hold my breath.

 

         Theo does nothing. (Is that a good sign or a bad sign?)

 

          Chucky lets out a huge hiss which reverberates through the room and practically shakes the house down.

          Theo counters with a growl that sounds like it's coming from the throat of a lion, who must be hiding somewhere in our study because little Theo couldn't possibly have made that growl!

 

          Faster than a speeding bullet, I whisk Chuck away. All my beliefs that the rascal cat is the lover of peace and good will fly out the window. 

          But what did I expect? I know it's not Chucky's fault. He sees Theo as an intruder. "This is my house," he's probably thinking. "No cat--even if he is my younger brother--is going to come in here and take over, eat my snacks  . . ."

          Bree later explains that Theo has come to Chucky's house, not only with his own smell, but the smell of all 15 kitties who lived with him in Suite E. When Chucky was sniff, sniff, sniffing the study, he was registering all the smells and probably figuring there was a menagerie of cats lying in wait for him. Not just one scaredy cat.

          Now we understand. Patience. Chucky needs more time. 

           Days go by. Chucky stays in the hallway, on his side of the door, even though he does camp outside the door in protest. Theo examines every square inch of the study. He refuses to eat in the beginning, and I think he's going on a hunger strike, but he's just nervous. When we go into the study, we often find him camped out on the other side of the door, equally curious as to what's on the other side.

    

        So what's next? After many days, maybe even a week or two, we will try the sniff exchange and then install the baby gate and if all goes well, we might be able to make a proper introduction.  No hissing. No growling. 

            There is such a thing as brotherly love, right?