Christmas Kidnapping - Who Done It?

 When you live with three rascal cats and something disappears, you can never be sure who did it. Let's call this case the mystery of the missing Christmas angel. Yes, what you're imagining is absolutely true. 

Here are the facts of the case:

We put our new artificial tree up in the beginning of December and put our beloved angel on the top. Now, this angel has been in the family a long time. She looks perfect on her perch on high. She stares directly into the living room. We love her and never suspect she will disappear like a puff of smoke.

We wake up on December 18 and at first, don't notice the angel is missing. But because we're so close to Christmas, we turn the lights of the tree on early in the morning. Something is wrong. We gasp in horror.

The Christmas angel is gone. 

Are we seeing things? Maybe our sweet angel is tilting backwards, and we can't see her. But no, the angel isn't tilting; she's gone.

Who would kidnap an angel?

Culprit one: Theo, our oldest cat, named after Theodore Roosevelt. Although he is affectionately called the gangster cat as current star of the family blog, he usually is an upstanding feline citizen in our household. He is the least likely to cause mischief. But . . . we have noticed on occasion that if something nefarious is in progress, he'll look on and not make a meow. He is becoming more like rascal Chuck everyday.

Culprit two: Sienna. The sister of the brother and sister duo we adopted a year ago. Sienna is wily and extremely smart. She seems to see everything. At the most unlikely of moments she is racing around the house, looking guilty of having perpetrated some crime, but we can never figure out what she did. She never admits to anything. Usually she's on top of our oversized brown chair in the living room, stretched out, one paw dangling like she plans to stay there forever, or is she just taking the opportunity to plot her next crime?

Culprit three: Mico. The brother of aforementioned duo who is named after Michelangelo. He is as cute as a button, but mischievous and was initially charged (last year) with removing the sink stoppers in our three bathrooms and hiding them. We never could figure out how he pried the stopper out of the sink. But he did.  We must ignore his cuteness, especially when he's pretending to be fast asleep.

We have to take drastic measures. For example, we have an oversized hibiscus tree in our living room. Usually it is outside in warmer weather. Now inside, the three rascals insist on climbing into the planter, digging the dirt, making a mess . . . we try covering it with aluminum foil, with dog pee pads--nothing works. 

 

Finally, inspired by a Facebook video, we put plastic forks into the dirt with the tongs facing upwards as a deterrent. It looks ridiculous but it works!

Dan and I confer on our recent tragic situation.  It's a matter of principle.

"Well, we know one of them kidnapped the angel. But which one?"

Dan smiles. "Based on past experience, it has to be Mico. I'll put my money on Mico."

I don't want to believe it, but the orange and white troublemaking cat does seem the most likely suspect. Perhaps, he swiped at her and she landed upside down, hanging onto the tree for dear life. My imagination is running wild.

But no, she isn't hanging off the side of the tree. 

"It will break my heart if we don't get that angel back. After all, who wants a tree with no topper?"

We decide that using the third degree is our only choice. I get the ultra bright light to shine in Mico's face. Dan prepares the questions. (As a last resort, we can always pull the other two aside and resort to bribery.)

Mico, of course, denies everything. He stares at the top of the three and shrugs his orange and white shoulders. "No, mom. I didn't do it."

"You didn't kidnap the angel?"

We cannot shake his story.

We move onto Sienna. She denies nothing but won't admit to anything. Her blasé attitude almost pushes us to the limit. She silently meows in protest. I'm a firm believer in one rule: Better to let a guilt party go free than punish an innocent party. 

We need proof. 

Our last suspect, Theo, is sleeping soundly on the back of the love seat on a horsehair blanket that he loves. Can someone sleep that soundly if they have a guilty conscience? 

"Theo, tell us who did it. No one will be punished. We just want our angel back."

Theo tilts his head as if considering, as if he would ever play the role of mole in his criminal organization. 

I spy them together on the couch, conferring, plotting. 

"This is ridiculous," I whisper to Dan. "They've obviously taken a code of silence. All for one, one for all."

"So all three were in cahoots together."

It's late. We make one final plea. "Delicious snacks for all if whoever kidnapped the angel, returns her to her right place."

The next morning arrives. It is now five days before Christmas. No Christmas angel. These are the stubbornest cats I've ever met.  

Two days before Christmas Eve. Morning arrives. Dan calls upstairs, "You're not going to believe this. She's back."

I race down the stairs. Sure enough, there the angel sits as if she were never missing. How did they get her up there? How did they get her down? Are they trying to gaslight us? And now they expect snacks.

"You did promise them snacks," Dan says innocently.

"Really."

"Let it go, Kate." 

And let it go I must for my own sanity. 

Happy Holidays! And . . . Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Theo Investigates the Horrors of Pompei

 Everyone thinks they know the story of Pompei. Read on if you want to know the real story. Only made possible because Theo wants to know and decides to investigate. 

Theo, the gangster cat and my faithful traveling companion, asks the most important questions: why is Pompei so important? what actually happened?

Our local guide--and believe me, you need a guide in Pompei. There is just too much to see. Anyway, he gives us the gist up front:

In 79AD a nearby volcano named Vesuvius erupts (for the first time in 1,000 years) and covers the town of Pompei in approximately eighteen feet of volcanic ash. The eruption destroys the town but, ironically, preserves it. 

Theo narrows his eyes. He says, "I didn't know it was the first time in 1,000 years." (Let me explain. What Theo does know comes from the History Channel.)  

The people of this thriving town die--some breathe in the poisonous gas that drifts into the town. Some die from the intense heat. Others initially escape but return for money and jewelry, misjudge the time, and die.

In essence, time stops in Pompei. It is both a tragedy and an opportunity.

We wander through the museum first because Theo wants to see the bodies, caught in the act of whatever they were doing when the volcanic ash made its way to their door. I can't blame him. Years ago, when I visited Pompei for the first time, I remember seeing some of the bodies, literally frozen in the moment the ash hit, in their houses. Now years later, some have been moved to a museum to help keep them better preserved:

 

They are a ghastly sight. One minute everything was fine. Normal. The next--the entire town they live in is destroyed.

Archaeologists over the years have uncovered the city by carefully removing the ash. From Theo's perspective, he would love to climb into those glass enclosures and sniff, but Dan is holding him tight. Not here. There are too many tourists around. Everyone wants to see the bodies.  

Pompei is immense. Walking around the city will take hours. Our guide is fantastic. He takes us to see everything. We are literally privy to an entire town--with its houses, shops, stadiums, statues, and even some ooh la la houses where the rich and famous lived. 

When we first arrive, the entrance way into Pompei is lined with flowers and trees, in stark contrast to the ancient town that lies ahead. 

The tricky part about visiting these ancient sites is that you have to imagine the way they were. A bustling town. Filled to the brim with people. We glimpse some of the structures that were unearthed from the ash, large pillars that hint at the town's construction:

The large amphitheater gives us an idea of just how many people lived in Pompei:

I'm imagining this amphitheater filled, like the Colosseum, people waiting for entertainment. Music? A play? A speech? 

That's when we spot a streak of gray and black, cruising along the grass and headed for the amphitheater. We're standing off to the side. I glance down. Theo was here a minute ago, sniffing the ground. Now he's running toward the stone arch that is the official entranceway to this outdoor space. 

Dan, my always hero, takes off after the gangster cat. The amphitheater is a big place. If we don't keep Theo within our sight, who knows where he'll end up. 

I arrived at Pompei, imagining it is a small town. I am dead wrong. Since I was here over 20 years ago, so much more of the town has been unearthed. 

Theo has, of course, disappeared now through the arch. Dan disappears too. Luckily, you can touch everything and walk around Pompei. So Dan is not in violation of any Italian laws. I start running too. After both of them.

Dan reemerges with Theo. He is now walking calmly towards me as if there's nothing wrong. It's hot.

"Theo, what were you thinking?"

But the honest truth is--he wasn't thinking. He was being a cat. 

"Was it a squirrel? A bird? What were you chasing?"

He shrugs. "I had to do it, see?"

There is an Edward G. Robinson look on his cat face. All he needs is a lit cigar and one of those 1940 style hats on his head. Ah, he's impatient and wants to see more. 

"No more running away, okay?"

We reach a compromise. A few snacks, some rest in the shade, and we're ready to move on. Pompei awaits.

Next week: Part 2: the rest of the story . . .oh, wait, there will be a special Christmas adventure next week. Pompei will have to wait.

  

The Bones of St. Matthew? Theo Investigates.

 If you weren't born and raised a Catholic, you probably don't know that the religion is rife with stories--regarding saints and apostles and popes--that report that so and so's bones are buried here. Case in point. 

Dan, Theo (the gangster cat) and I are traveling around Salerno in Italy when we catch wind that St. Matthew's bones (or relics) are buried in the underground portion of a church. 

Who is St. Matthew? One of the apostles. He wrote one of the gospels that form the basis of the New Testament. If you are a fan of The Chosen, a publicly funded multi-part mini series that authentically traces the life and death of Jesus, Matthew is portrayed as slightly autistic. He was a tax collector for the Romans before he converted. 

By pure coincidence, I have a brother named Matthew. So how can we resist checking out the relics of a saint he was named after. Are they really his bones? Experts waver. 

The official story is: In Salerno, the Duomo of Salerno, or St. Matthew's Cathedral was built between 1080 and 1085. The remains of St. Matthew were found in 165 and later transported to Salerno in 954. Originally they were placed in an ancient Christian church (on the same site as the Cathedral). Later the remains were moved to the crypt. In 1688 the Cathedral was destroyed by an earthquake and rebuilt by 3 Italians. The Cathedral includes a bell tower and an impressive courtyard surrounded by porticos.

 

It is a majestic church that literally takes your breath away when you walk inside.

There is so much to see--the walls of the church and all of the artwork on the walls and the magnificent ceiling: 

We are enthralled, but anxious to go down the stairs to visit the crypt which lies underneath the main altar. This is where San Matteo is--the bones of the apostle we call St. Matthew.  

"Do you think it is really him?" I ask Dan.

Dan shrugs. "It could be."

Theo looks up, and I can almost see his brain thinking. He'll find out, he seems to want to say. He precedes us down the stairs to the crypt. 

"How does he know where to go?"

We pass an engraving on the wall which seems to identify that what we are about to see is for real. After all, St. Matthew is the patron saint of Salerno.

We round the corner and see the crypt in all its magnificence:

 Well, actually the crypt is blocked by a railing which surrounds it.

What we see is a sign that reads San Matteo. 

Right away I spot the problem. The crypt is under the altar. You cannot get close to it unless you leap over the railing that surrounds it. We stand as close as we can get and peer in.

And there he goes. Before we can say--don't go near the crypt, Theo has slipped between the rungs on the railing and is making his way toward the crypt.

"Theo, come back here."

Now I have to be honest. There are no armed guards protecting St. Matthew's remains. We could leap over the railing if we wanted to. There are very few visitors who are standing around. 

But somehow it feels sacrilegious. 

Nothing is going to stop Theo, however. He heads straight toward the crypt. And he's sniffing and sniffing.

I'm sceptical. Will Theo, with his expert sniffing, be able to answer the question--is St. Matthew really in the crypt?

Slowly he comes back, slips through the railing and acts as if he hasn't been on some deep secret mission. 

"Well? Is it St. Matthew or not?"

No answer. Theo has sniffed but he's keeping the info to himself.

"We're pulling out a snack."

The crinkling of the bag tells Theo that we mean business. 

Finally, he nods.

Theo has nodded. It is St. Matthew! Go figure.

Theo and Buffalo Bill

 

Dare I admit that I am in love with buffalo? Just take a peek. Yeah, I admit these guys are baby buffalo, but how cute!

Years ago I visited a buffalo farm in New Jersey which was known for their bison. I remember watching the buffalo in the field--I always think they are so magnificent looking--but what I remember most was accidentally stepping into a gigantic pile of buffalo poop. It looked like a mound of dirt. I had no idea. Yuck!

Today Dan, Theo, and I are on our way to another buffalo farm, but this farm is known for its buffalo mozzarella. It is family owned, of course, and it is surrounded by palm trees. Only in Italy. 

My appreciation for mozzarella has grown over the years. When I make lasagne, you can buy mozzarella all wrapped up and ready to slice. When you make a pizza, you can buy already shredded mozzarella. You can buy low fat and full boat mozzarella. Now the trend is fresh mozzarella, which is still sitting in its own juice. 

Most mozzarella is from cows. In Italy, in Capaccio, a province of Salerno in the Campania region, they breed buffalo for their mozzarella. The taste of that particular mozzarella is richer and more tangy.

So here we are at a buffalo farm, and I am very careful where I step. The buffalo here, when we arrive are in stalls, and luckily, we can walk on pathways--free of poop? I'm hoping.

The buffalo do roam outside, but for now they are in their pens. This place is enormous. 

Theo is in his glory. He can smell the buffalo--and his little nose is sniffing away. He stops a few times along the trail and just stares. 

I've seen them before, of course, in the wild at Yellowstone National Park. There you keep your distance. They can move fast, and like most wild animals, the mamas will defend the baby buffalos if they sense any threat. A close encounter with a buffalo will land you in the hospital or even dead. 

"Keep an eye on him," Dan calls out.

"I know." He means Theo, whose curiosity might just get the best of him. 

I call it close encounters of the third kind--when you go nose to nose. I can imagine Theo . . .

And sure enough there he is, the little gangster cat, stalking along the perimeter of the fence, separating safety from buffalo. He stops. And a buffalo saunters over. Curious too?

I can easily imagine the worse case scenario. Theo slips under the fence, misinterpreting the buffalo's friendliness. Something Chucky would do. 

If I move closer, will Theo make a move? A wrong move? 

Meanwhile, the buffalo--let's call him Bill--is inserting his head between the iron fencing and sniffing. I know he's spied Theo. I know he's curious. Has he ever seen a cat before? Sniffed a cat?

Dan, my hero, who has saved Theo from more unfortunate incidents, scoops Theo in his arms. He takes a step back but not too far. Theo protests. He meows. I feel incredibly bad. 

I have to admit this buffalo looks totally harmless. But I've heard the stories from Yellowstone. I know they are deadly wild animals. And yet, dare I say it, they look cute.

I snap a lot of photos. I take one more video.  Stalling?

"Should we let Theo sniff the buffalo?" I tentatively ask.

Dan looks like he can go either way. But he steps closer.

"Wait. Not too close--"

But Theo is giving me the evil eye. Even Buffalo Bill is looking at me a bit funny.

Nothing much happens. Theo sniffs. Buffalo Bill sniffs. There is no biting, punching, eye gouging, cat eating. Nothing. Later we eat lunch there also (it's always about food), and Theo even tries the buffalo mozzarella. 

Theo likes it. Yes!!