Theo's Hideout

    Antigua may have a rich history but it's not a fairytale history where life was beautiful all the time. 

     As we stand out our balcony gazing at a rapturous view . . .

     . . . an object from the past looms to the right of our villa. It is an ancient stone building that dates back to when Antigua was home to huge plantations that processed sugar and whiskey. With the forced labor from the enslaved Antiguans on the island.

      These ancient leftover structures dot the island--remnants of the past--reminders that when Antigua was a British colony, native Antiguans toiled on sugar plantations.

       We decide to visit on of those plantations--long since inoperative-- and now a memorial to the world that was. Betty's Hope documents a plantation that existed for over 200 years. Owned by the Codrington family, it was one of the richest plantations on the island, producing sugar and whiskey. The family rarely lived on the plantation. They hired an overseer to handle the business.

        The land is now barren. Two windmills still stand to greet us as we enter this place. In those days, wind power was key.

          Inside the Visitor's Center, there's a model of what the plantation used to look like in the 1800's and placards documenting the history.

         How much do we tell Theo, who is happily roaming the grounds, sniffing everything in his past? The story of what happened here is a near tragedy. Is he ready to hear how cruel mankind can be to his fellow man? 

          I keep a careful eye on Theo, but I'm not too concerned. There's little danger here. 

         On the grounds themselves, what remains of the great house (pictured on the placard below) stands on a hill. A fire destroyed most of it in the 1930's. The building stones were recycled to build an Anglican rectory. 

          

         

          Domestic and skilled workers hired to work on the plantation lived in smaller houses, made of stone. 

          Enslaved people were not so lucky. They lived in tiny huts made of perishable materials--mainly Wattle and Daub, which in layman's terms mean mud, manure, sticks and dried grass. There were hundreds of these huts at one time. Windows with no glass. A dried grass roof that has since deteriorated. We see one in the distance. Preserved so that we can see the bare bones of how most of the people who worked this plantation lived.

          The enslaved people who lived in these huts labored in the fields and the boiling house (where they made the sugar or whiskey). I try to imagine what their life must have been like. Cramped living quarters. Too hot in the summer. No privacy. 

           I want to see this hut more closely. I can't quite believe that a family could live in a hut like this. As I move towards it, Dan stops me. 

           "By the way, where's Theo?"

           I don't panic. On this plantation, dotted with ruins of a life that used to be, I should be able to spot this gangster cat in no time--sniffing the great house or the windmills or any of the other leftovers from over 200 years ago.

           We retrace our steps, examining everywhere we've already been--the great house, the worker's house. Dan runs back into the Visitor's Center. No Theo.

        We're in Antigua. The day is getting warmer. I think like a cat. "Where would he go? We know he loves the heat."

            We gaze around.  

            "You don't think . . ." The Wattle and Daub house. Theo has to be there. I'm spurred on by the realization that this house had to be so hot most of the year. Theo would love it.

           We take off briskly toward the Wattle and Daub hut, full of anticipation. As I'm racing towards it, I expect to see him. I know he's there. 

          I peek in. No Theo. What? Then I have a vision, an inspiration.

          There, behind the hut in the tall weeds, curled up and practically fast asleep, Theo is napping. Totally oblivious to the tragic history that surrounds him. He looks so content, I hate to disturb him.

                 

       But I do. "Theo, we were worried. You disappeared. For a nap."

          Theo rubs his eyes, clearly not happy he's been woken up by two overly protective parents. 

           "I did what I have to do. See?"

 

            I whisper to Dan, " He sounds just like a gangster." 

         Then aloud, I say, "I'm glad this place is here--to remind people where we are and where we've been."

          We meander back to our hired car, feeling blessed and so lucky.

Theo and the Devil's Bridge

     Call us crazy. Knowing what we now know, we would never take Theo with us. But . . . we figure Devil's Bridge in Antigua can't be that dangerous. After all, it's one of the recommended tourist attractions. If you hire a guide (like we do) for a tour of the island, you will almost certainly end up there. 

       It's famous. 

       All we know as we drive across the island is that Devil's Bridge is a natural formation. A sight to see. Our guide, an island native, assures us it is a sight not to be missed.

        "Theo, do you want to come with us?"

         Theo, with a wide eyed look on his face, shrugs. He doesn't seem all that interested, but he hops into the car, nevertheless.

          As we get closer and closer, we're treated to beautiful scenery. The water seems calm and peaceful. So far, so good. 

          Then we learn some interesting facts--that we shouldn't get too close because there is no jumping off the bridge located precariously near treacherous waves that beat against the rocks. There is no falling off the bridge. There is no slipping off the bridge. Because rescue is impossible.

          We learn that two Canadians disappeared--like totally gone and never seen again--at Devil's Bridge. We learn that people go there specifically if they don't want to come back. 

          We park some distance away and walk. We smell the sea. The sun is out. We feel the wind against our faces. But the water is no longer calm. It's angry. Aggressive even.

 

           "Keep an eye on Theo," I whisper to Dan.

           "Maybe we should have left him in the car."

            That suggestion begins to haunt me. It is slowly dawning on me that this place is dangerous in a weird sort of way. Don't get me wrong. We're not the only people here. Other tourists are milling around looking. Some have even left the less dangerous rock perch (which we're standing on) and have ventured further out--closer to the bridge of death (as I now imagine it.)

            There are no other animals in sight. No cats. No dogs. Even the birds seem to be giving this place a wide berth. 

            But everyone is standing around, talking, taking photos, even videos of this remarkable sight. 

            Theo hasn't left our side. But he is looking. The crashing waves can't be some kind of siren's call, can they? Remember, Theo is an odd cat. He doesn't dislike water. But, so far, he's being a good kid. 

 

         Dan decides that he can't get a good enough photo of the bridge. It is a bit mesmerizing when you stand there and watch the waves coming in and out. He ventures closer to the bridge. I keep my distance. The wet rocks are slippery. 

           I wish he wouldn't go out there. Bad thoughts spiral through me head. What if Dan slips and falls? No rescue. "Be careful," I shout, but he doesn't hear me. 

           Then I see it. Theo, who one minute is casually observing this treacherous bridge, decides--without saying a word or giving me any kind of warning--to follow Dan. He is literally teetering from one rock to the other as he makes his way closer to the crashing waves. Rocks that resemble volcanic rocks, an uneven surface replete with pits and holes.

         "Theo." 

          He doesn't hear me either. 

          This is not good. I see now that this is what people call a window of opportunity. Act now before it's too late. I follow, slip sliding over rocks that feels like glass.  

          Dan stops to take his video. Theo is moving closer to the end of the rock, the cliff. Sniffing. I cup my hands and shout as loud as I can. "Theo. Get Theo."

          But I am shouting into the wind, and my voice sounds like a whisper. Ten feet way, I estimate, and it hits me I might not get there in time. What if Theo runs away from me? What if he misjudges where the rocks end and infinity begins? What if he slips . . .

          Dan finishes his video and turns around. He sees Theo. A look of surprise flashes across his face. He takes a few steps and scoops Theo into his arms. He looks up.

          "Hey, what are you doing out here? It's kind of slippery."

          I have no words to express how I feel. I push the panic down deeper. And smile. 

          "He's quite a little adventurer, isn't he?" Dan marvels.

           "A real gangster," I reply as I take Theo from Dan. His fur feels like a wet ermine coat. 

           "Come on, you," I coo, so happy to have him safe and sound. At least for one more day.

           

          

          

          

          

Theo and Palm Tree Mania

        Don't ask me to explain, but in Antigua I discover that Theo has a fascination with palm trees. I like to look at them, watch them sway gently in the breeze, and sometimes imagine I live in a place full time surrounded by these wonderful trees. Theo likes to climb them.

      Of course, he denies that, but its clear that Theo's interest in the trees has more to do than with looking or sniffing. I decide early on to nip this in the bud.

      "Climbing palm trees is illegal," I tell him. 

       He looks at me skeptically. And, of course, it's a hard case to make. How else--if not by climbing the tree--would you be able to get the coconuts and dates? He doesn't ask that question, but I see the squint in his eye and almost hear his thoughts as we're strolling along near the villa. We are exactly passing what I now unofficially call "palm tree alley." A row of palm trees greet us as we step out of our villa every morning.

        I shoot Theo the "evil eye"--stay away from those palms. 

        Theo pretends he's not even interested. He's sniffing the air and enjoying the abundant sunshine. But I'm eternally suspicious.

         Dan says, "Now look over there. This is an example of a coconut palm. In Antigua, since 2012, thousands of coconut palms have been destroyed by a lethal yellowing. But the island took action and began a restoration project--replanting 1,000 new trees."

         Theo casually glances over at the coconut palm.

          "And over here," Dan continues, " is the date palm tree. They're very common in northern Antigua (where we are). The date palm was introduced in the 18th century. The Antiguans call this palm tree Nega Oil."

          Theo casually glances over at the date palm.

           So far, so good. We're on our way to the game room to play ping pong, and my plan is to keep Theo moving along. For a moment, I almost think I'm wrong about him. Maybe he does get the message. 

           "See, look here Theo." Dan points to the luscious dates that are hanging from the date palm. I have to admit I've never seen a date palm in person before, so I step closer to take a good look. 

            Later, I realize that Dan's pointing and my stepping closer sends the wrong message. Theo, who seemingly is uninterested, meanders towards the date palm. He begins to sniff the bottom of the tree. 

            I have a flashback. Two years ago when we were in North Carolina, visiting a conservatory with a palm tree, Chuck got too close to the palm and before I knew what was happening, he was climbing upward. 

           I gulp. Chuck was twelve years old by then. Theo is three years old. Chuck had a bucket list. Theo doesn't even know what a bucket list is. 

           But isn't Theo spending too much time sniffing the bottom of this palm tree? He turns around briefly but avoids eye contact with me. Then, in a burst of energy, he shoots up like an arrow headed towards its intended target. 

           "Theo."

           "Look at that kid climb," Dan says in admiration. 

           "I knew he was going to do something dangerous."

            "Oh, he'll be okay. Take a photo. No one will believe this.

Hell, I don't even believe it."

             My hand is shaking as I retrieve my iPhone, find the camera icon, try to focus on his fast moving body and click. 

             Theo, in a flash of sanity, shimmies back down. Exactly the same way Chuck did. His little back legs are spread apart with his back claws firmly entrenched in the tree. He holds on for dear life then jumps down when he's about a foot off the ground.

             "Theo, you're in big trouble."

             "I did what I had to do. See?" he says defiantly.

              What is this about cats? They are so independent. You'd never catch a dog climbing a palm tree!

              "Let me see the photo," Dan says.

               But there is nothing to see. A big blur. That's all I was able to get. Later, of course, Theo half denies having ever climbed that palm tree. 

               "I wanted to climb it," he admits, ". . . but--"

               "But I said it was illegal."

               "Yeah."

               Palm tree mania. I have it, and Theo does, too. 

               "Was it the dates?" I prod. "Is that why you went up there?"

                Theo says nothing--a shrug--but if I'm honest, and if I were a cat, I would have done the same thing.

               

              

              

            

            

           

           

          

         

        

         

Theo's Revenge

         Maybe we can just stay in Antigua forever.

       Dan is discovering (and I already discovered) that Antigua is a magical place. The temps are in the low eighties at this time of year in January, but a cool ocean breeze makes it possible to enjoy the sunshine without breaking a sweat.

       We leave Theo at our villa with his chow and snacks, go to dinner in a lovely out door restaurant, and now--just the two of us--get to enjoy Antigua at night. Technically, we are in the parish of St. John's, in the northwest portion of Antigua. It is the capital of Antigua, founded in 1692, and has a population of close to 60,000. 

         We can't resist taking a photo of our villa and of the pool that sits in front of where we're staying. 

 

        

      As we walk back from dinner, we feel like we've left Kansas (so to speak) like in the Wizard of Oz and are following the yellow brick road (in our case it's a pale white) towards a place filled with palm trees and Caribbean magic.

 

          The dream is short lived. The next morning we go to breakfast. I'd like to say that Theo's almost encounter with the bird--who we now realize was a pigeon--is forgotten. But I can tell that Theo has forgotten nothing. 

          He is gazing around--not at the beautiful scenery--but rather he is acting more like a spy in enemy territory. Expecting at any second to be ambushed. On high alert. 

         I try to calm him down. "We're going to breakfast. There's nothing to worry about."

         He looks at me as if I am delusional. 

         I order the Eggs Benedict but Dan orders the Antiguan breakfast--an interesting mixture of foods which includes salted cod. Fish. Theo begs for a piece, and it is in that moment of feeding Theo that the nightmare begins to unfold. 

          

         Suddenly a bird swoops into view--an unwanted visitor--and this time it is the Carib Grackle. And why am I surprised? His reputation has preceded him. So, this is the bold bird who will fly into a restaurant and steal the food right off your plate. 

           Carib Grackle hasn't seen us yet, but Theo has seen him. He immediately freezes. His normally sweet eyes turn into laser beams as he spots his new arch enemy.

            And then it happens. 

 

            The Grackle flies to a table close to ours and pretending not to notice Theo, begins his reconnaissance--searching for anything edible that he can scoop up and take back to his nest. He is a forager, a scavenger, eager to collect any food left over from the family who's just vacated the table. He spies the bread basket.  

              

             I'm thinking at this moment that this is a good development. Grackle eats the bread. Theo eats the fish. I glance down and Theo, super suspicious, has one paw protectively over the fish as if he is anticipating the Grackle's next move. 

      

         Would he dare? Steal the fish from a cat? And not just some ordinary cat. Theo has a reputation. He's a gangster cat, and he's not likely to take an enemy invading his territory lightly.

           I lean down and pet Theo for reassurance. He's sitting at my feet, partially under the table. But he isn't eating. He's watching. He's waiting. 

        

           "Eat the fish, Theo," I say, but Theo waits. Obviously, he knows the bird kingdom better than I do, and sure enough before I can say another word, the Grackle flies to the railing. He pretends to be grooming. He pretends to be totally unconcerned about Theo and his fish. 

            

           This bird was smart, I realize later.

        My guard goes down. Dan is eating his breakfast, and I sit back, about to finish mine. Too much worry about nothing. 

  

        A flash. A scuffle. Theo reacts better than I would expect. Carib Grackle swoops down low, as if he thinks he can swipe up the fish in his claws as he's flying by. Theo, one step ahead, sits on top of the fish.  He then raises his right paw like a fist to fend off the invader.

        The fight over the salt cod is over in a mini-second. The Carib Grackle flies off to another table. Theo relaxes and begins to eat. 

        Dan says, "What just happened?"

 

        "I'm not sure," I say, "but I think it's over, and Theo won."

         "For now."

         We glance down at Theo. "Well?"

          Cats can't smile. But if they could, I bet you he would have a big fat smile on his fishy face.