Theo the Holiday Hero

     We make a decision this year.

    Wait until next year to replace the Christmas tree. Even though it needed replacing. Even though I'd planned to replace it. 

    What changed our minds? 

    Sienna and Michelangelo. Two nine month old rapscallion kittens who took one look at the Christmas tree and decided, there and then, that they like Mohammad, were destined to conquer the mountain or . . . ahem, the tree. Which meant climbing it to the very top. 

    Michelangelo (Mico for short) put himself in charge of the mission. A secret mission. Even Theo didn't know what they were planning.  Or did he?

    We have one photo of them together meowing together. Or plotting?

    Three days before Christmas. We should have been suspicious, but  all we knew was that Mico was spending a lot of time under the tree. How were we to know he was doing valuable reconassance work that would be needed for later on? 

    We hardly noticed because Sienna was doing her bit. Distraction. Being cute. Prancing around. Wanting to be petted. Purring. We fell for it.

    Two days before Christmas. We're watching TV. It is close to ten o'clock. From the corner of my eye, I see the tree sway this way and that. The angel on top seems to be doing some kind of weird dance. Then suddenly she is not upright, but hanging on for dear life about to fall down, down, down. 

    I jump up out of my seat. "What's going on over there?" 

    Sienna races across the room--a streak of white fur--a mad dash--designed to capture our attention and draw it away from the tree. But we're no dummies.  

    Theo, who is lounging on the couch beside us, and who is unofficially in charge of the rascals (even though in public he is known as the little gangster cat himself) looks up in seeming alarm. 

    By this time, of course, the tree has ceased swaying. 

    "Mico?? Where are you, Mico?"

     Suddenly, Mico appears in front of us. Casual like. Then he begins to groom, which is always the tell-tale sign that something is up. Like . . .  "I'm so busy cleaning my coat, I don't have time to explain where I've been or what I've been doing. And that angel who is hanging down from the tree, well, I have no idea how that happened."

    Theo jumps down and saunters over. He is sniffing. 

    Now Mico looks worried. 

    Then Theo plops himself in front of the tree, in a semi-guard posture.  

    The rest of the evening passes with no incident.

    Christmas Eve. The angel is back in her place on top of the tree. All the calm. All is bright. 

     We are watching It's A Wonderful Life. Theo is beside us, but he seems on high alert. Sienna jumps up and wants to be petted. She is being even more unusually affectionate. Mico is absent. 

     And then . . . several bulbs from the tree crash to the floor. Our poor Christmas tree, which survived Mico's first assault, is now swaying like I've never seen it sway before. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Mico must be half way up the tree now, eager to accomplish his final assault. 

    The angel crash lands on the rug in front of the tree.

    Theo, who is beside us and watching the spectacle with horror written on his little gangster face, leaps across the sofa and over to the tree.

    A fierce "Meow" echoes through the room, directed at Mico.

    I imagine so many things are encapsulated in that Meow: Get down. You're in big trouble. Are you crazy? We meowed about this. If that tree falls . . .

    I hear the biggest kerplunk--the sound of Mico jumping and landing on the hardwood floor. 

    The Christmas tree stops swaying. Somehow it remains upright. Saved by hero cat Theo, who assumed command at just the right time. 

     Christmas Day. All three are up and scampering around. They run down to the tree to see what their presents are. Cat toys and treats abound. All except for Mico. COAL. Ha. Just kidding. 

    As Theo put it, "Mico had to get it out of his system, see? It's his first Christmas. A right of passage, see. I did what I had to do, see?" 

    Yeah. Yeah. We get it. From our house to yours--Happy Holidays! 

    

    

Theo and the Waterfall

     Most cats hate water. Or let me put it this way--they would prefer not to get wet. Theo, the little gangster cat, is a cat of a different breed.

   He's never met a water fountain he didn't like to drink from, a bathtub he didn't like to swim in, a puddle he didn't like to stick his paw into. How far would he go?

    We decide to make Theo's day, so to speak, and introduce him to a magical place where water is king. 

    Imagine a beautiful fall day. The sun is shining. Leaves are just beginning to turn. We are entering what is called the Chimes Tower District. An historic bell tower sits atop a fifty foot waterfall.

    Constructed in 1929 by Pierre du Pont, this 61 foot tall stone chimes tower was based on an ancient fortified tower du Pont saw at Chatillon-Coligny on the Loire River in France. Du Pont then bought chimes from a company in Chicago--the largest set of chimes he could find--twenty five tubular chimes costing close to $16,000--and installed them in the upper chamber of the tower. The chimes were replaced several times over the years. Finally in 2000 a Dutch firm created a 62 bell carillon for the chimes tower, which still exists today. 

 

    So you are likely to hear at any given moment the sound of rushing water from the waterfall and/or the sound of chimes playing music as you make your way along the path. It is an enchanting place. 

    Now I forgot to mention that Theo is a musical cat. When either Dan or I are practicing piano, he is usually perched on the rug nearby, listening. It doesn't matter if we're playing Bach or the Beatles. Occasionally, he jumps up and plays the keys himself.

    For now, though, all we can hear is the waterfall. The chirping birds, the usual rustle of the leaves falling--nature at her best in the fall is drowned out, literally, by the magnificence of the water as it cascades down, never-ending, propelled by some hidden pump. The sound is both captivating and mesmerizing and it lulls you into a different world.  

    Dan and I walk along the path. Theo is listening and sniffing. He can both hear and smell the water, but I think he's standing a little too close to the edge, gazing out at the water.

    "You think everything is okay, right?" I say to Dan.

    "Sure, why not?"

    We are totally alone. We don't for a minute think that Theo is a suicidal cat. We don't for a minute think that Theo would ever jump off the bridge into the frothy, turbulent water below. 

    "You don't think he looks a little too interested in that water?"

    "Well." Dan shrugs. "He is a cat, after all. They tend to be curious about everything."

     That comment unnerves me. I stare at the water. It's a big drop down. 

    "Call me crazy, but I'd feel a hundred percent better if you pick Theo up. Just in case. Who knows? He might just impulsively do something crazy."

    Dan knows me by now. He leans down to retrieve Theo, and it's at that very moment that the chimes go off. Now they're on a schedule. They chime about every quarter of an hour. And they're loud. If you've never heard them before, if you're not expecting the sound of a very loud chime to resound through the air, to even overtake the cascading waterfall . . . you'll be taken back. 

    You might even lose your balance temporarily. "What's that?"

    Later, we realize that that's what must have happened. When Theo hears the chimes, he freaks out. He's used to the sound of the waterfall. He's into all the water gushing downward. But the chimes are just too much. 

     So, imagine Dan is grabbing Theo by the middle. Theo tries to get away. There's a bit of a skirmish. 

     I'm afraid that if Theo breaks loose, he might skedaddle off to who knows where. 

     Maybe Theo thinks Dan is trying to throw him into the water. 

     Later, back at the ranch (well, it's actually a townhouse), Theo tells the story, leaving the part out about the chimes, the misunderstanding and the skirmish. His version to Mico (Michelangelo) is more like: "I see the waterfall, see, and it's big, see, and I'm going to go for a swim, see, but . . . mom and dad wanted to go home."

    "I wish I could see it," Mico said.

    "Maybe someday, kid," Theo says, in his best big brother meow voice, not giving away a thing.

    

    

Theo Horses Around

     I discover later, after we're safely home, that Theo got the idea from YouTube. A horse on a farm--location unknown--fell for a cat. An unlikely pair, to be sure. They became fast friends, so much so, that the cat would jump on the horse's back and go riding. 

    That image of a cat on the back of a horse was the inspiration for Theo. 

    That's why when we're in Pennsylvania, riding around on a very beautiful day, Theo decides he wants to go horseback riding. 

    "Out of the question," is my first response. A horse and a cat? No way. 

    Theo, who is quickly developing a reputation as a little gangster cat,  gets that look on his face which essentially means he's not budging. At least, not yet. 

    We're riding past a pasture, and there are horses, of course, that are right there. And there is a place to park. 

    Dan smiles. "Come on. Let's humor the kid. It'll take five minutes."

    Now, I love horses myself. And if there is anyway I can get out of the car and jump on the back of a horse and go riding . . . like if this is a fantasy movie, and we just happen to have saddles in the back seat . . . and the horses are friendly and love to be ridden . . . and there's no fence or maybe one of of those low split rail antique numbers that we can easily hop over . . . and nobody's going to suddenly show up and have us arrested.  

    This is reality. There are no saddles in the back seat. And there is a fence, shoulder height, that no one is jumping over. And the horses are looking at us with suspicion in their eyes.

   

     I'm thinking--this is an impossible idea on Theo's part. 

    Theo comes waltzing up--every bit like a gangster would. He's got a certain style. A kind of confidence that I would not have if I were a cat facing at least ten equine beasts.

     But if I look closely, Theo's not looking at ten horses. He's looking at only one horse. And one horse is looking at him.

      

    Theo's eyes grow wide. He marches up to the fence. His nose goes high. He is sniffing. The horse moves even closer. And then she does something quite extraordinary. She lifts her foot off the ground, her knee bends, and she stomps it down. Once. Twice. She does the same thing with her other leg.                         

   Theo does the exact same thing. He lifts his tiny paw off the ground, kicks it forward and stomps it back on the ground. He does it again.

    I push any traitorous thoughts out of my head. For example, that this stomping horse could crush Theo's skull with a single kick.  

    Dan practically reads my mind. He shakes his head. "I think they're communicating. She wants to meet him. She's not going to kill him."

    "He's not going in there," I whisper. "Theo can stomp all he wants."

    But . . . I do pick Theo up and bring him closer to the fence. The horse does saunter over and they get a chance to go nose to nose and sniff each other. It is a close encounters of two different species who interact with each other moment. 

    When Theo wriggles to get free (no doubt he has visions of jumping on the horse's back and riding into the sunset), I hold him closer. 

     Later, when we're all safe at home, he is retelling the almost adventure to Michelangelo and Sienna, the two younger nine month old kittens we recently adopted, but in Theo's version the almost adventure sounds like it was an adventure.

    Mico's eyes are bigger than quarters. "Did you ride her, Theo?"

    "That was the plan, see?" Theo says in his usual Brooklyn style accent. "To ride across the fields. Bareback." He puffs his chest out.

     "Wow." Mico is impressed. He takes a few steps closer to Theo, maybe hoping that Theo's bravery will rub off on him.

     "Don't get so close, kid," Theo says. "I need my space."

                            https://youtube.com/shorts/Kug17lpcxP4

       

    

    

   

Theo, the Little Gangster

    Theo won't say a word. He will neither confirm or deny. Can he see or hear Chuck? Is he taking orders or acting on his own? As I flip through photos, I find yet another photo of Chuck about to confer with Theo in that last week before Chuck passes to the other side.

    Dan says, "Chucky knew. He was cementing his legacy."

    My eyes well up with tears. "How brave can one cat be?" 

    We are on our way to see an exotic plant called the Bird of Paradise, an exquisitely beautiful flower that looks like a bird and even moves like a bird in flight when the wind hits it. That small detail, that a plant can imitate a bird, is what causes poor Theo no end of humiliation on his first travel assignment. Because he thinks we are going to see Birds of Paradise. Which are actual birds.

    Like Chucky, Theo has a bucket list. Where Chucky loved the History Channel, Theo loves animal shows and mafia movies. He even talks like a little gangster. And he does his research.

    Dan says, "The Bird of Paradise is a perennial plant from South Africa. It's also called the crane lily. It causes no allergic reactions--" 

    We are on the way to the conservatory, and Theo is listening intently, but he begins to shake his head, disagreeing with everything Dan is saying.

    But we can't stop and argue. Sneaking Theo into a place like this will be tricky business. A bird of paradise is a rare plant. We suspect there will even be someone watching--a kind of plant guard. Sure enough as we move closer to the plant, I feel eyes on me.

    "Be careful," I whisper, "there are spies all around."

    The Bird of Paradise is beautiful and looks exactly like a bird who has been, unfortunately, attached to a plant. 

    "Stand and block the view so I can let Theo see."

     That's the plan, but the plant guard comes rushing over. He's a nice guy who offers to take our photo, posing with the plant. We pose.  At this stage we'll do anything to get rid of him.

   

    I then pretend to admire the plant while Dan lets Theo peek out and see the plant. (Which, of course, we find out later, he sincerely believes is a bird.) 

    No one can anticipate what will happen next. Or how strong Theo is. We're used to traveling with Chucky who was a rascal but he'd never, ever have been able to leap out of a backpack in a single bound. Somehow Theo is able to get traction with his tiny paws and do just that. He leaps out of the pack, onto Dan's shoulder, intent on . . . well . . . if you were a cat and you thought you were that close to a bird.

    I am taken completely unaware.

    Dan is one step ahead of me and two steps ahead of Theo. As Theo readies himself for the final leap (no doubt harboring images of bird of paradise served up on a serving platter with delicious gravy dripping off its wings), Dan catches hold of him and reels him back. 

    Theo grunts. 

    "Oh my God." That's me in total shock.

    It is a miracle that the plant guard sees absolutely nothing. Mainly because at that very moment a bevy of children have come in with their mom and they are running wildly through the place, as if they've consumed too much grape juice. The plant guard's attention is diverted. We are saved. 

    Later, at home, we have the discussion:

    Dan: "It is a Bird of Paradise. A plant."

    Theo: "I did my research, see. I know it was a bird." Is it my imagination or does Theo talk with a Brooklyn accent?

    Dan: "I know it's confusing, Theo. But we went to a conservatory. No birds. Only plants."

    Theo: "So, you took me to see a plant?"

    We have nothing to say to that. I take out my iPhone and show him close up two shots of the Bird of Paradise. 

 

 

    "Now do you get it? Birds of Paradise are birds. From Indonesia and Australia. They're known for their plumage and feathers. They live in rainforests." I take a deep breath. "Still, Theo, you can't go into a conservatory and eat the plants."

      Dan taps me on the shoulder and points. Theo, like Chuck, closes his eyes when he's heard enough. 

     "We'll do better next time," I tell my little gangster cat, rubbing the top of his head gently.

      One eye pops open. I could say he's got the cold hard stare of a killer. But beneath that gangster exterior is a mama's boy. I just know it.